Thirty days.
The countdown has started, North America shivers under the shadow of a massive alien spacecraft, and humanity is hurtling toward an unknown future that lurks at the end of the timer. Somewhere, somehow, the heroes are making their plan...
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JEFFERSON CITY, MISSOURI, USA
August 12, 6:20 AM
Chadwick Wilkins' heart burned. It burned for her, his life, his everything, his wife.
Ingrid.
It had been twenty days since he'd seen her. She was supposed to be back home fourteen days ago. This time was the longest Chad had been without her, ever since the day they'd met.
As he looked at the empty Walmart shelves, he couldn't recall why the groceries were so sparse. All he remembered was that his wife was lost in total darkness under the vast cloud.
His daughter said it wasn't a cloud, but he forgot the real word for whatever it was.
Chad motored his scooter cart away from the aisle and to the checking area, all while his heart squeezed.
The kind young woman he'd seen at this same time, every day for the last ten days, stood behind the checkout counter. She wore her blue and yellow Walgreens pullover with a badge that said "Maine" pinned to her. They were the only people in the store, as usual. Everyone else was home watching their televisions, most likely the 24/7 news coverage of the big, constant cloud.
Maine showed all her pearly white teeth. "Chad! You're later than usual."
Chad tried to smile back. He really did. But it turned into a grimace as his chest tightened.
She moved to the other side of the counter to help him unload his groceries, her big black curly hair bouncing every time she leaned down. She arched her bushy black eyebrow at his cart, which only consisted of one thing. "Still using napkins as toilet paper?"
Toilet paper was the first to go when the cloud appeared. Then the fruit, meat, and corn. Then everything else. So rapidly, most local businesses were out of business or steadily crashing, including Chad's favorite bakery in town. His wife loved their scones.
Ingrid.
As Maine checked through the numerous, extra-soft napkins, Chad tried to catch his breath. But he couldn't. Sweat broke out in visible droplets over his body, and began leaking from his red flannel button-up, creating dark spots. And yet he shivered in his scooter. He was so cold. It reminded him of running, like the good old days when he and Ingrid were still young and able-bodied.
But no, he just sat in his scooter cart in Walmart with pain stealing the air from his lungs. Chad knew the symptoms of a heart attack. He'd had many before. His heart had become increasingly cantankerous the longer he lived. It was worth it when Ingrid was around—less so now. Not with the cloud, a shade on Earth, a shade on Ingrid.
He wanted to see her again. He needed to.
To do that, he needed help. He couldn't die yet.
He stood from his cart, one hand on his chest and the other carrying him. The burn intensified. He gasped, mouth open like a fish out of water, desperately trying to draw air into his oxygen-starved body. He doubled over, clutching his heart like it was his lover.
