“Who the hell are you?” Thomas said in the steadiest voice he could muster.
“I said hand over your piece, asshole.”
Thomas held out the gun. The man took it from him and then pressed forward with his own.
“Move,” he said. “Into the kitchen.”
In a film, the hero would execute a sudden, brutal move that would disable the intruder and use him as a human shield against whoever was in the kitchen. But Thomas was so paralyzed by the presence of deadly force against his neck that he could barely put one foot in front of the other.
The kitchen was pale with moonlight, and when he turned the corner, Thomas saw the silhouettes of two other men standing near the table.
“Honestly, I’m glad you woke up,” said the guy behind him. “We can do this a lot faster now that we don’t have to sneak around.”
The other men chuckled and one of them switched on a flashlight that blinded Thomas. His arms jerked up involuntarily. He thought they were going to shoot him.
“You got flashlights,” the guy said. “You got spare batteries and candles and lanterns and more food than an army could eat. You know somethin’ about this whole thing ahead of time? You some kinda spy?”
“I prepared,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.
“Funny how you didn’t say nothing about being prepared when I came by a few days ago,” said the man behind him.
As he turned around, Thomas finally realized the armed man was Matt, the same Matt who on Sunday afternoon broached the idea of a neighborhood food collective.
The flashlight painted Matt’s shape in grayscale hues. He was a little taller than Thomas, and his beard had grown in rough patches. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans.
“I’ve got a family here,” said Thomas. “These are my supplies. I was only trying to protect them.”
“If you were more of a neighbor,” said Matt, “you mighta told people this could happen. Maybe we could have prepared, too. Maybe it could have been, you know, a community effort.”
“I didn’t know this would happen. I prepared in case it did.”
“Sounds like some fake news to me,” said one of the other men. “I been waiting for you elitists to take it on the chin. It’s high time the common man got his.”
“By stealing?”
“Your kind has been stealing from us for years,” said Matt. “Lookin’ down on real Americans like we ain’t as good as you. But the world ain’t slanted in favor of the educated liberals no more. Now we’re back to God’s original design: Survival of the fittest.”
“The world is what you make it,” Thomas said.
“You got that right,” said Matt. “It’s a world where our families get to live a lot longer now that we have all this food.”
Matt nodded at the two other men.
“Go on and carry that outside. When you come back, bring them other boys and let’s speed this up.”
The two of them carried their loads away, and without the flashlight the kitchen was returned to moonlit shadows. In the distance, Thomas could hear the men talking to someone outside. He remembered all the trips he’d made to Sam’s wholesale club, to Home Depot, all the shipments from Amazon. The guys at the liquor store assumed he was throwing a party, at least at first. Later one of them asked if he was trying to kill himself, which was said in the manner of a joke but didn’t seem like a joke. In the end, it had taken weeks to stock the safe room, and Thomas had been so proud of his preparation that he’d driven 250 miles to “save” a family he could no longer feed.
“Will you please leave something for us?” Thomas asked Matt. “There are children here.”
“‘Fraid not. You knew this would happen and didn’t tell anyone.”
Right about then, a couple more men ambled into the house, and Matt directed them toward the safe room. As they walked away, down the hall, Thomas saw movement on his right and realized one of the twins was walking toward the kitchen. He could barely tell them apart during the day and in this light it was impossible.
“Brandon? Go back to bed, son.”
“I’m Ben,” said the boy. “I thought I heard my daddy. Is he awake?”
“No, he’s not up. Go back to bed.”
But Ben kept walking and eventually rounded the corner, where he saw Matt. Thomas instinctively put out his arm and stepped in front of the boy to block him from the gun.
“Hi,” said Ben. “Who is that?”
“I’m a neighbor. Me and Thomas are friends.”
Thomas looked back at Matt and saw with some relief that he’d hidden the gun behind his back.
“His name is Matt. He came over to borrow some food.”
“But I thought we weren’t sharing the food,” said Ben. “Since there’s no more to get.”
“Thomas changed his mind. He’s a real nice guy. Ain’t you Thomas?”
“You could say that. Anyway, Ben, why don’t you run back to bed? Your dad isn’t up and you don’t want to be tired in the morning.”
Behind Matt, more men walked by, stooped by the weight of supplies.
“Okay,” Ben said, watching the men. “But is that guy really your friend?”
The enormity of what was happening was still taking shape in Thomas’ mind. He hesitated just long enough for the truth to be evident, even as he countermanded it with his words.
“Of course he’s a friend. Now, get back in bed, all right?”
When Ben was gone, Matt brought the gun out where Thomas could see it. His smile twinkled in the moonlight.
“Wish I could be around when that kid hears the truth,” Matt said. “I bet you made yourself out to be a real hero, didn’t you? Except you ain’t no hero. You’re just an elitist who thought it was fine to live high on the hog while the rest of us starved to death.”
By now Thomas was no longer afraid for his life, not in the short term, anyway. Matt was clearly enchanted with the idea of him going hungry.
“Rich people fuckin’ over the common man,” Matt added. “I’d say that’s as American as apple pie.”
By the time Matt and his men had left, Thomas could see the first colors of dawn peeking over the horizon. He found a broken window in his study, which was how they had gotten into the house.
He shuffled to the safe room to see what was left, but of course the men had taken everything. There was no water, no food, no alcohol. His supply of candles and flashlights and batteries was gone. Everything was gone, save a few empty boxes and bags left on the floor like fallen soldiers. The stark emptiness of the safe room frightened him in a primal way that made him want to strike out at something, anything. Matt had even taken his handgun, though there was another under the front seat of his car.
He kept thinking about the car.
On its face, a working vehicle seemed like a valuable commodity, but the problem with driving it was the attention it would attract. By now it was Wednesday morning, five days since the pulse, and people were beginning to run out of food. They would take to the streets and eventually flee the city. They would be armed and desperate. An innocent-looking family in a convertible would be an obvious target.
And by the way, he’d spent nearly his entire gasoline supply on the trip to Tulsa. Even if the roads were clear they wouldn’t get very far.
There was no way to recover from the loss of his supplies. He could try to catch fish from the lake, or hunt for food in the trees, but these gestures would do nothing more than pass time and preserve false hope. No matter what he did from this point forward, Thomas and every one of his guests would surely starve to death. And it was all his fault.
Eventually he found his way back to the bedroom. In the early morning light Skylar’s curves were thrown into dramatic relief, and her skin shimmered, slick with sweat. Thomas climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He could smell smoke. He thought about what Matt said before he finally left.