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committing suicide by stepping outside the doors. I vote
that we stay put for now."
    "So what are we supposed to do in the
meantime?" Wayne Richards asked.
    "How about taking care of your wife," Pete
suggested. "A wife as pretty as yours needs to be taken care of. I
haven't seen you doing much of that since all this started
happening. Maybe I could help."
    “You watch yourself,” Wayne shouted, pointing
his finger at the burly plumber. “Keep away from her. You hear
me?”
    “Jeez, man. Lighten up. It was just a little
joke.”
    “It’s not funny,” Wayne said, “none of this
is. You don’t know me. You don’t know her. Why you’re even taking
sides in something you know nothing about is beyond me.”
    “Enough,” I said, shouting to be heard before
things got completely out of hand. “We don’t have time for
this.”
    “I agree,” Chuck said. "If we’re going to try
to survive, then we’re going to have to rely on each other. I don’t
think we’re much of a team at this point.”
    “So what do you suggest, Chief?” Wayne asked,
his voice oozing sarcasm.
    “I think the first thing we should do is to
get some real lights going. Flashlights are fine, but I'd rather
have my hands free in case I need them. I'll go get one of the
generators out of hardware. Steven, you gather up a few lamps from
the lighting department. Matt, round up some gas. Look around the
lawn mowers, there's probably a can lying around. Once we can see a
little better, it might be easier to think."
    “I don’t think lights will have anything to
do with anybody’s ability to think,” Wayne smarted off.
    Chuck headed off to find the flashlights and
then stopped. “Oh, and Wayne, I almost forgot. While we try to do
something constructive, you keep acting like a jackass. We’ll
consider that to be your contribution to the group.”
    Both of the Weaver boys started laughing at
that. I could see Steven smirking in the darkness too. Wayne,
understandably, didn’t seem very amused. None of us really cared.
We left him standing there, without waiting for a reply.
    As we started going our separate ways to
gather up the items on our scavenger hunt, a huge explosion outside
shook the panes of glass. I think all of us hit the floor, the
possibility of a terrorist’s bomb seeming more and more realistic
by the second. Yet, after several seconds, it became clear that the
building was still intact.
    Vera Weaver, however, didn’t fare quite as
well as the store. We had just gotten to our feet and were about to
go investigate the source of the explosion when Jesse Weaver
started shouting for help.
    At first I was sure that the woman was dead
given the amount of panic in Jesse’s voice. She didn’t appear to be
moving at all. But her eyes were open and she was breathing despite
the pasty pallor of her cheeks and the thin line of drool that was
trailing out of one corner of her mouth.
    "It's her heart," Jesse said in a tremulous
voice. "Kenneth, go in your mom's purse and find her pills. She
needs 'em."
    It was the first time I'd ever heard a trace
of humanity in Jesse Weaver's voice, and I felt sorry for him. The
possibility of losing his wife scared him more than whatever was
outside waiting to turn all of us into piles of salt. To look at
him, all tattooed and biker-chic, you would never guess that Jesse
Weaver was frightened of anything. Somehow, the fact that he was
scared made him a little more human, a little more fragile than
before. Given the nature of our situation, I wasn't sure if that
was a good thing or a bad thing.
    “Hurry up,” Jesse yelled to Kenneth,
desperately needing the medicine that would keep his wife alive.
Kenneth was doing all he could. A woman’s purse is a labyrinthine
place, full of nooks and crannies and abysmal places that could
double as the hiding spot for a pirate’s treasure. Vera Weaver’s
was no exception, full of change, mints, Kleenex, car keys, a cell
phone, cough drops, tampons, and all sorts of