It’s difficult to overstate the surreal nature of the scene at that point: rain pouring down in buckets; me clinging to ladder rungs, the weight of my wet clothes threatening to peel me away; a chick sniper who had fired with impunity upon fellow American citizens. And possibly strangest of alclass="underline" I was intrigued by this woman.
“It’s true we came here expecting a fight,” I said, “and maybe you had every right to shoot at us. But it sounds like the rest of my group is inside the building now. You can’t stay up there forever.”
“I can wait as long as it takes.”
“Maybe so. But I haven’t eaten an actual meal in two days and I’m out of energy. Why don’t you follow me down so we can talk?”
“If I come down, and your people are in charge, I could be executed. In that case I’d rather do it myself.”
“So do it, then,” I said.
She didn’t answer. The roar of rain remained deafening and unbroken by a gunshot.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“I’m not telling you my name!”
“If I guarantee you won’t be killed, will you come down with me? I’ll explain what you did and why.”
“Like that’s going to work.”
“Fine. Stay up there forever.”
By that point the rain was beginning to relent, and I heard something that might have been a laugh. But my hands were at the limit of their stamina, and I couldn’t wait there any longer. I was about to start back down when I looked up and saw a face peering at me.
And whatever you call the unspoken communication that sometimes passes between strangers, where connection is achieved by nothing more than a glance, it happened to me then.
“If you want to be the hero,” she said, “now’s your chance.”
“Just be careful. These rungs are slippery.”
When we were both on the ground, I got my first full look at the woman who had tried to kill me. Her face was pale and plain-looking, her red hair tied in a knot behind her head. Her eyes were a dusty shade of blue, like they had been colored with chalk.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Paige.”
I noticed she hadn’t brought the rifle down with her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t armed.
“All right, Paige. Hand over your weapons. I can’t bargain for you otherwise.”
She was wearing a camouflage rain suit and black boots. From the right boot she removed a handgun, what looked like a Beretta, and from the left she retrieved a green-handled combat knife.
“Thank you,” I said. “There must be a door somewhere nearby?”
“That way,” said Paige, pointing to her left.
I motioned for her to walk in that direction, and we trudged along the edge of the building, feet splashing in puddles on the concrete sidewalk. By then it was nearly dark, and I didn’t see the entrance until we’d almost reached it. The door stood open and beyond it lay even more darkness, tinted I thought by a faint green glow.
“Jimmy!” I yelled. “Are you inside?”
An echoing rustle of feet followed, and then someone answered.
“Aiden?” growled Bart.
“It’s me,” I said. “And the sniper.”
“Good work. Bring Paige in here. We need to have words with her.”
Entering the DC was like stepping into an underground cavern so enormous its true dimensions could only be guessed. Light was supplied, as Mack had suggested, by what appeared to be a collection of propane lanterns and candles. On our left, the grid-like skeleton of a vast shelving unit seemed to flicker into and out of existence. Ahead, in the lit area, a sizable crowd had gathered. Today I know there were eleven members of three families, all of whom were connected to the DC by someone who worked there. Paige was number twelve and the guards assigned to the front of the building brought the total to fifteen.
I expected Jimmy and the others to approach Paige with suspicion or anger, but the three of them had already discussed her fate with the DC’s occupying group. Jimmy stood beside an officious-looking black man who wore spectacles, slacks, and a short-sleeve white button down.
“Aiden,” said Jimmy. “This is Anthony. He and Paige are in charge of the families staying here. We’ve just negotiated a deal with them. They’ll supply us with food and bottled water in exchange for gunning down our men.”
“What did you expect her to do?” shouted one of the warehouse employees.
“Fair enough,” growled Jimmy. “Just don’t forget we have three dead men out there.”
I had the feeling Jimmy was bluffing about our downed soldiers. It didn’t seem like he cared much for Mack and Nick, and the only reason Aaron had come along was because he owed Jimmy money. We were lucky to be inside the DC and I’m sure Jimmy knew that.
“It’s time to gather supplies these men will carry back to their truck,” Anthony explained to his people. “Deion and Mike, please bring me two cases of canned chicken, a box of tuna in pouches, and a case of Vienna Sausages. Also grab a case of Chunky Soup, something with vegetables. Fred, bring me three boxes of bottled water. Michela, please grab a box of potato chips.”
The light sources, which seemed bright when you looked at them directly, pushed back the darkness in a rough sphere of maybe eighty yards in diameter. This was a blip when compared to the DC’s interior space. Luckily, the occupying families had already worked out a method where Tiki torches, the kind favored by white supremacists, were lit and used as makeshift flashlights. Soon the runners were off to find their assigned supplies while the rest of us stared at each other. The idea of food awakened a raging appetite that recalled the blasted pizza landscape. My stomach made sounds loud enough for everyone to hear, but the shrieking of my brain was nearly silent, at least for the moment.
“We’ve been here since Friday night,” Anthony finally said. “We knew to come because of Mr. Miller. Her dad.”
Paige nodded. “He’d been worried about a possible EMP for a long time. He taught me and everyone who worked here what to do if one ever happened. I thought there would have been more of us, honestly.”
“Where’s your dad?” I asked her.
“I think maybe his pacemaker didn’t hold up. Found him in the shower.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But this is what he prepared me for.”
“Where did you come from, exactly?” Anthony asked Jimmy. “What’s it like out there today?”
“Getting worse. Dallas is burning and the fire line is moving this way. The roads are packed with refugees.”
“I wish you would reconsider your strategy,” said Anthony. “Every trip you make into or out of the building will jeopardize security for all of us. Can’t you bring the rest of your group here?”
“In a week,” Jimmy said, “you could have a thousand people on your front lawn. We don’t have enough personnel or ammunition to repel a crowd of that size.”
“We should get as far away from the city as possible,” Ed added. “I don’t think any of us can imagine what it will be like if a million hungry people come through here.”
“But carrying food makes one a target,” Anthony said. “And water is heavy.”
“There are plenty of small lakes nearby,” Ed replied. “And stock tanks to water cattle.”
“Water like that would need to be purified,” said Paige.
There was a presence about this woman that made me want to be near her. I wished everyone else would leave so we could become better acquainted.
When Anthony’s people returned with food and water, it was time to carry these supplies to the pickup and back to Marie’s. We decided two of us should go and the other two would remain behind to help with security. I volunteered to stay, and unfortunately so did Ed.