The gun fires but explodes backwards into the younger man's face. Pellets blow back and upward, most of the metal slag missing the guy, but a low percentage of it sprays across his right cheek, eyeball, and forehead. As the hot lead scores his flesh, the man screams like his skin is on fire. He collapses to the floor, holding his face, his shrieks ear piercing and unyielding.

Before the shotgun had discharged, it seemed like a fifty-fifty proposition that it would fire at all. I expected the empty click of a trigger and a twenty-gauge shell failing to fire. I did not anticipate something as horrible as what happened, but I'm glad I'm alive with Ariel by my side.

As the younger man continues to wail, I grab Ariel and we make a run for it. On the way out, she bends over and scoops up her knife, dashing past the older unconscious man who has begun to stir.

We flee through the kitchen, stopping to cram as many food items as we can into my backpack. Cans of beef stew, varieties of soups, Vienna freaking sausages, and stale bran flakes along with the creamer to make the powdered milk. We also snatch up a pair of bowls, a few spoons and forks, even a couple of steak knives. Once we have all we can take, we hightail it out the back door, exit through the broken-down fence gate, and then circle around to the front of the house to our van.

I drop the gear shift into reverse, and we peel out of the driveway. It doesn't take long to leave the two home intruders behind to deal with their wounds, which they brought on themselves.

Back in the heart of the small city, one I had frequented for various reasons growing up, we see a few red eyed people running around like wild animals. Like zombies, for lack of a better word. I know that's not what they are, but it's the only way I can describe them.

Deeper in town, we stop while I siphon gas off several abandoned vehicles. As I do so, I remain on constant alert with Ariel in the van, having slid over behind the wheel for a quick getaway if needed. As I finish up filling our tank, I wonder if all that's left of humanity are small remnants of people, red eyed or not, who only want to steal or kill to survive. I also wonder if there is anyone like me and Ariel left. Anyone who might have the slightest amount of love and common decency in their hearts, who might still want to help their fellow human. People not consumed by selfishness, greed, strife, and hate.

After tossing the siphon hose into the back of the van, I climb inside, and Ariel drives away. Judging by the sun in the sky, I know it's getting late. We're not chancing another trip into suburbia, and we won't make it out of the city before nightfall. I have no desire to have a run-in with the rider of the red horse, and I want to avoid all people for the rest of the night. So, with Ariel in agreement, we decide to go somewhere where our vehicle will blend in with other cars.

She steers the van into the parking lot of a large shopping plaza with stores like Books-A-Million, Belk, Five Below, Ross, and even a Publix. There are a lot of open spaces to park, but there are also a ton of abandoned cars and trucks of every kind littering the area. Ariel pulls into an empty space between a Buick sedan and a Ford SUV and switches off the engine. We sit there for a while, waiting to see if our arrival brings anyone out of the shadows. It's quiet, except for the engine cooling down with a low clicking noise. But soon, all we can hear is the sound of our breathing.

"I'll take my pack," I clutch the tire iron in my hand, holding it on my lap, "and we can check out the Books-A-Million. Good with you?"

Ariel nods. "I'll be ready for whatever." The crack in her voice tells me she's had enough.

"I want us to have that date." I place a hand over hers, noticing her glassy eyes. "Joe Muggs. Me and you and a cup of java. What do you say?"

"I'm thinking caramel-mocha." She manages a smile despite what we just survived.

At the front entrance, we realize the doors are unlocked. The day fades behind us as we creep inside and have a look around, seeing the cash registers are open and empty. Books litter the floor. Tables and chairs are turned over in the cafe section. The place is a wreck and my heart falls when I glimpse the menu board hanging on the backwall by one corner, the other end resting on the tabletop behind the ordering counter. Most of the words on the menu must have fallen off when the board dropped because there's nothing legible on the display.

Right away, I turn back to the front entrance and lock the doors behind us. Ariel closes the blinds that cover the floor to ceiling windows in the cafe section. I do the same with the windows behind the registers. The only thing uncovered is the front doors.

"We should look around and clear the place," Ariel says.

"Good idea." I turn a table over and set my backpack on top of it.

She leads with her knife and the flashlight; we had found extra batteries at a general store, which gives us a bright beam to scan the interior with. I follow behind her with the tire iron, my eyes probing the dark shadows where the flashlight doesn't reach. After thirty minutes, we return to the front of the store, confident we're alone. We even made sure the back doors were locked, one of them accessed through a storage area. Inside that area, we found an office with candles and a box of matches. Apparently, the manager had stayed for an undetermined amount of time when the world was falling apart. I even found a can of black spray paint.

"Be careful," Ariel says. "Are you sure you don't want to spray it from the inside?"

I nod. "I'm sure. The smell would run us out of the cafe. I'll do it fast and get back inside."

"I'll light some candles and check out the coffee supplies."

"Good deal. Be right back."

Not wasting anymore time, in the dying sunlight, I spray paint the front glass doors black from top to bottom. The only thing that concerns me is if someone sees or hears me during the process. By the time I finish, nightfall has set in, and in the growing darkness, I'm confident no one has. Back inside, I lock the doors and find that Ariel has turned another table upright and pulled over two chairs. Candlelight baths a tiny area in the cafe with a warm glow.

She turns to me and smiles. "I found some coffee, but I have no clue how to make it without electricity."

"We may have to get creative." I sigh, pondering how we can make our date a success. "I'm not giving up. We need this, and I'm determined to make it happen."

"Okay, Mr. Handyman," she replies. "Let's see what you can come up with."