Tim Washburn - Powerless

“What’s that smell?” Kaylee asks, wrinkling her nose. She’s made her way to the kitchen, the blanket draped over her shoulders. A small gap in the front reveals some sort of Asian letters tattooed lengthwise along her side. Sam looks away, embarrassed. But just as quickly turns for another glance.

“The fridge.” He hands her the pan of soup. “Put this close to the fire while I clean it out, please.” When she reaches for the pan more of her front is revealed. One breast is exposed and a small silver hoop dangles from the nipple, winking in the candlelight.

She follows Sam’s gaze but makes no attempt to pull the blanket together. She offers Sam a wink and carries the pan over to the fire.

Sam grabs a large black garbage bag and begins cleaning out the refrigerator while trying to hold his breath. He opens the freezer door and gags. Blood from the steak fillets he had purchased on his last trip to the grocery store has congealed with the Chunky Monkey ice cream. On the verge of vomiting, he slams the freezer door and carries the garbage bag outside. He decides the rest of the mess can wait till later.

“Sam?” Kaylee says when he reenters the kitchen.

“Yes?”

“I need to go to the bathroom. What should I do?”

“There should be enough water in the tank to flush at least once, so go ahead. But don’t flush it yet. We’ll use it as long as we can stand it. In the meantime, I’ll fill up a bucket with snow to let it melt. We’ll use that to refill the tank.”

“Okay.” She wanders down the hall with the blanket trailing behind her like a bridal train.

He watches her go, a sudden surge of desire flooding his brain and parts lower. He suppresses the urge and gives the soup a quick stir. Though he’s still slightly nauseated from the disgusting mess in the fridge, the aroma of the soup rekindles his appetite. He and Kaylee had been eating ramen noodles and PowerBars for the last week while at the Space Weather Prediction Center. He returns to the kitchen and pulls out two bowls and spoons and gathers the last bit of crackers from the pantry. He experiences a slight twinge of worry at the lack of remaining food stores.

Kaylee returns from the bathroom, the blanket bunched over her shoulders. Sam gets an eyeful of her body stem to stern and tries to avert his gaze.

“Sam, don’t be such a prude.”

His cheeks flush.

She steps forward and grabs his hand. “We’re both consenting adults put in an extreme situation. Now take off your clothes and join me under the blanket. A little pre-meal workout.”

“But I’m old enough to be your father,” Sam says.

“Who cares, Sam? You’re only fifty-one, and I’m an old soul. Jeez, it’s not like you’re on the way to the nursing home. I mean, really? It’s just us, and I know you want me—hell you’ve been screwing me in your mind for the past week. And don’t think I haven’t been doing the same. Human nature, Sam.” She sweeps the blanket from her shoulders, exposing her white, but toned, body. She pulls him toward the sofa.

Sam pulls off his clothes and he joins her under the blanket. Their lovemaking is primal, each with a need, and Sam enters her with little foreplay. Kaylee responds, pushing her tongue deeper into his mouth as Sam slowly rocks back and forth.

“Faster, Sam,” Kaylee whispers urgently into his ear. Her legs are locked behind him, pulling him deeper into her body. Sam quickens his pace, pounding into her in a desperate need for release as Kaylee moans and grinds against him. She leans forward and takes his nipple in her mouth, clamping her teeth down before switching to the other. Sam shudders, and Kaylee bites harder on his nipple until he is spent.

“You didn’t go,” Sam says, pulling out and lying beside her.

“I will.” Kaylee reaches her hand down and Sam peppers her with kisses until she climaxes.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says.

“For what?”

“For not finishing,” he says while stroking the back of his hand across her midsection. “It’s been a while for me.”

“It’s all good now. That’s all that matters.” Kaylee releases a contented sigh and leans in and brushes her lips across his. “Besides, there’s always next time.”

Sam smiles.

“What does this say?” Sam asks, lightly brushing his fingers across the tattoo along her side.

“ ‘Live like there is no tomorrow.’ It’s in Japanese. I guess that’s appropriate now, don’t you think?”

“I hope there’s a tomorrow,” Sam says. “I want more of this.” He rubs his fingers across her mons pubis, eliciting another shudder from her body.

“I’m starving,” Kaylee says. She sheds the blanket and takes the pan of soup from the coals, comfortable in her nakedness. Sam shrugs off the blanket and his shyness and follows her into the kitchen. Kaylee ladles equal portions into the bowls and they both sit nude at the breakfast bar. As they eat, the roaring fire adds to the warmth of their overheated bodies.

“What are we going to do, Sam?”

“Stay here as long as we can, I guess. Do you have any better ideas?”

“No, I don’t. I just wish there was some way to reach my parents. I’m worried about them. I called to warn them, but I know they probably didn’t have enough time to get out of the city.”

“Are they pretty resourceful? I mean, can they make their way out of the city now?”

Kaylee ponders the question for a minute. “I don’t know. Dad has always been handy around the house, but how that transfers to resourcefulness, I don’t know. But I hope like hell it does.”

West 77th Street and Amsterdam Avenue

New York City

Greg and Lara Connor have covered eight blocks in their trek up Amsterdam Avenue. Both are surprised at the number of people out and about. Backpacks are slung over shoulders and a good number of children are lumbering along behind their parents. Greg steers Lara toward a small grove of trees next to a playground for a brief rest. It’s dark as hell with only the moon for illumination.

A squeaking noise from the unused swings swaying in the cool breeze screeches in the night. The basketball court on the other side of the playground is empty. On any other usual night basketball players would be waiting for their opportunity to enter the game. Greg and Lara share a bottle of water while surveying the area. They’re both dealing with lingering fear from their last outing. But the presence of other people offers some comfort.

They wait for a family of four to walk past. “Let’s go,” Greg whispers. “Stay as close to the building as you can.”

They move away from the sparse cover of the nearly leafless trees and hug the side of the buildings as they continue north on Amsterdam. The once-crowded restaurants along the sidewalk are deserted, most of the glass façades shattered by looters. Pieces of tempered glass crunch under their feet as they continue along.

They pass 96th and then 108th without incident. Now in Morningside Heights, an upscale community bordering Columbia University, they relax a little and slow their progress. More people are out, many of them college students in search of entertainment. Knots of people are scattered around the campus and the faint sounds of someone strumming an acoustic guitar drift along the chilly breeze.

Still over fifty blocks from their destination, Greg and Lara slow their pace further to better blend in with the crowds. Laughter pierces the night, something the Connors haven’t heard since the whole mess started. The resiliency of these young people offers a small boost to their spirits. Greg approaches one of the students.

“Has anyone tried crossing the bridge?” he says to a young man stumbling along the sidewalk. A fifth of whiskey dangles from his hand.