Now Skylar was on her side, mere inches away, and Thomas was conflicted like a man who had won the grand prize without knowing how or why. Locks of blonde hair dangled in front of her eyes. Her gauzy pink tank top stretched across feminine curves he was helpless not to notice.
“I’m sorry about before,” she said.
“Sorry about what?”
“For accusing you of trying to be perfect.”
“I’m not perfect, Skylar. Not by a long shot.”
She scooted closer. Brushed her foot against his. Her cleavage was a fault line that stretched into infinity. For the first time since he could remember, the dampness of sheets, the constant sheen of sweat on his skin, ceased to be unpleasant. Instead, the humidity that hovered between them seemed charged with electricity. And still he wondered what had brought her here, why she seemed to have forgotten about the desperate state of the world.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said. “But in the meantime I guess we don’t have to be miserable every second.”
And when her hands reached for him, as she pulled him on top of her, a voice in his head announced in something like all capital letters, HOLY SHIT I’M GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH SKYLAR STOVER. But once this salacious bit of gossip had been acknowledged, his hands and mouth found their usual rhythms and wandered into the usual places. And if there was a subtle-but-unmistakable human odor associated with sweat and the absence of proper hygiene, if her tank top was damp as he tossed it to the floor, these organic sensations only heightened the immediacy of his arousal. For the first time since the supernova had appeared, Thomas could imagine a future in which he was not constantly miserable.
On the other hand, he might have been misled by the primal relief of entering Skylar, or by watching her eyes roll back while she thrust against his body with the brute force of a woman determined to enjoy the entire length of him.
It was easy to be happy during a moment of sexual bliss.
He would lean heavily on this memory during the difficult days that followed.
DC ASSAULT (AS REPORTED BY AIDEN)
TWENTY-SEVEN
According to Chelsea, the Walmart distribution center was on the other side of Melissa, an exurb northeast of McKinney. She couldn’t tell us which street the building was on, but she did know you had to drive past a landfill to get there. With that information Ed deduced the approximate location.
We left Mack’s place around 4PM so we could scout the DC in daylight. Ed, Mack, and Jimmy rode in the pickup’s cab and the rest of us climbed into the bed. My mind whistled like a kettle. The hard shell of my skull shrieked. A dull knife of pain poked into the space behind my eyes, and I wondered for the first time if something was physically wrong with me.
By now weapons had been assigned, and the semi-automatic rifle I’d been given was clearly meant as an insult, since most everyone else was carrying a full auto. The pistol was shoved into the back of my jeans.
From Mack’s place we drove east through a rural region where stalled cars were less numerous than other areas we’d been. At one point we passed a pickup traveling in the opposite direction, an old brown Chevy with four men piled in the back. The men carried handguns and one of them offered a knowing nod. Only two days had elapsed since the EMP, and already a new order was understood. One class of citizens was armed with guns and transportation that gave them a fighting chance to survive. The other would probably starve to death before summer was over.
At the Highway 75 intersection we headed north, and the road was a disaster. Ed honked his horn repeatedly to move people out of the way. They were single walkers, married couples, families, the elderly. At one point a small BMX-style motorcycle passed us, steered by a girl who could have been twelve or twenty. People carried backpacks and duffel bags and rolled suitcases behind them. Some carried nothing at all. Fear rose from this mob like waves of heat. People yelled at us for help. They threatened us. One guy claimed Army tanks were approaching from the south.
Fortunately the drive to Melissa was only five or six miles, and by the time we exited 75 at TX-121, we were making good time again.
When Chelsea figured out where we were, she began to babble directions. Eventually the truck slowed down, and Mack motioned us to lower our weapons. Then, at long last, I spotted it: A driveway labeled with a blue-and-white sign that looked like this:
Because of the tree line, and because the DC was set well back from the road, I caught only a short glimpse before it vanished from view. The building was uniformly white and enormous. When we reached another break in the trees, I could see the facility was divided into two separate buildings, one of which was taller than the other, like maybe three stories high. A large propane tank stood on the front lawn, along with taller, cylindrical tanks that probably held fuel.
Standing atop of one of these taller tanks was a man wearing a brown shirt and jeans and holding a rifle. Beneath him a crowd of people had gathered on the other side of a chain-link fence. The entire scene was visible to us only a few seconds and then was hidden by trees again.
“Did you see that?” said Bart. “They got guards just like we thought.”
A couple of minutes later we turned into a neighborhood of condos and duplexes. One more turn brought us to the home of Chelsea’s mother, where we climbed out of the truck to stretch our legs. Though nightfall was still a couple of hours away, the overcast sky made it seem as though the sun was already going down.
Chelsea took us inside, where she found her mother napping on the couch. Here was a wispy, graying woman who clearly had not been expecting company.
“Oh, Chelsea!” she shrieked. “Oh, my God! I didn’t know if I would ever see you again!”
“Everyone,” Chelsea said, “this is my mom, Marie.”
The mother cast a wary eye upon our motley crew and especially the rifles.
“Mom,” Chelsea said, “these friends of mine are going to visit the Walmart warehouse tonight. We think there will be a lot of food.”
“I wondered about that,” said Marie. “Danny Armstrong walked over there this afternoon, but I don’t know what came of it. He lives next door.”
“I’m sorry for bringing weapons into your home,” said Jimmy. “But we think the Walmart building might be well-guarded. In a situation like this they ought to share their supplies.”
“I agree,” said Marie. “But won’t it be dangerous to force your way in?”
“It will, but we won’t take the girls with us.”
“And if they’re able to bring back food,” Chelsea said, “I was hoping you’d let us crash here for a while.”
Marie didn’t love the idea of taking in so many guests, but after Jimmy gently reminded her of the desperate reality she faced, that everyone faced, she relented.
Soon, the men were outside again, standing next to the pickup, while Mack explained our next steps.
“As you could see, people already want inside the DC. That means our assault will come from the rear of the property. I’m willing to bet there’s nothing but pasture back there, but we won’t know until we arrive.
“And we can’t just drive all the way to the property, because they’ll hear us coming. So we’ll need to leave the pickup far enough away to maintain stealth, but close enough that we can retrieve it in a timely manner. This interval will be important, because the civilians outside may approach the building when they realize something has changed inside.