Like Riding a Horse
Samantha Jane had never before ridden a horse, but all the gas stations in the state had run out of fuel weeks ago. It was either a horse or a bike, and as it was winter—and it goes without saying that there were no plows coming to clear the snow—the horses, Pam insisted, were their only chance of making it to Kansas.
Samantha Jane didn’t know Pam all that well. Before the coasts had been nuked, they had been messaging on Tinder. Cedar Springs was a city of only about twenty-thousand, and about ten of those people were single lesbians between the ages of thirty-five and forty-four. Within six months of moving to town Samantha Jane had dated every other eligible female seeking female in her age group. She even liked a couple, but they happened to like each other more.
Pam wasn’t like the others. She didn’t flirt endlessly or ask Samantha Jane for drinks at the sole gay bar in town. Pam was too down-to-earth for that. She ran a farm outside of town where she raised pigs and chickens and had a cow and a vegetable garden. When society collapses, she told Samantha Jane, I want to be able to be able to feed myself.
Their first date was the night the nukes were dropped. Samantha Jane had invited Pam over for chicken fajitas and she had shown up at her doorstep with a large mason jar of milk.
I believe its customary to bring wine to a dinner, Samantha Jane said.
I don’t grow grapes, Pam said so deadpan Samantha Jane wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke.
They got the alert on their phones just as Pam asked to help with the dishes, so they didn’t see until they had shared their first kiss—Pam pulling Samantha Jane close with her soapy hands—that there had been an attack on the country. DC, New York City, LA and San Francisco were all hit. Nobody would waste a nuke on a small city in Southwest Iowa.
You have to come back with me to the farm, Pam said. I have a bunker we can hide in, if we need to.
Samantha Jane informed her of the fact that no one would waste a nuke on Southwest Iowa.
You never know, Pam said. It’s best to avoid civilization in general.
It all just feels a little fast, Samantha Jane said. I mean I’ve only just recently learned that our entire governmental system has gone up in a mushroom cloud. I need some time to assess and research the best course of action.
Fine, Pam said. You do that.
When Samantha Jane closed the front door on her then, she really believed it would probably be the last time she would see Pam alive. Maybe I should have had sex with her, she thought. After all, who knows when I’ll next encounter an eligible lesbian.
By the time Samantha Jane thought to go to the store, most of the shelf-stable foods and all of the toilet paper were gone. As were all of the cashiers. Samantha Jane filled her NPR promotional tote with canned peaches and green beans. She was beginning to regret not taking Pam up on her offer. She must have plenty of food out on her farm.
She texted: what’s up?
Several hours later, Pam texted back: Sorry, I don’t get great reception in the bunker. I’ve been in contact with a friend down in Kansas. Some tech billionaire has a silo stocked with enough provisions to last ten people ten years. The guy died in the San Francisco bombing. We got an extra spot, if you want to come.
Samantha Jane weighed her options. She didn’t have family anymore. Her parents had both passed years ago, and her brother had been living the last five years in Brooklyn. She had called him nonstop in the forty-eight hours after the bombing. She assumed he was dead; it was difficult to envision him without his phone. All she had left for food was a half-dozen cans of greened beans, a box of oatmeal and a jar of protein powder that her last girlfriend had left in her cupboard.
Unless you think it’s moving too fast, Pam said.
Yeah, no, Samantha Jane said. I mean what are my options at the moment, anyway?
That’s exactly what I was thinking. No offense.
Yeah, none taken.
Pam asked if Samantha Jane had enough gas left in her car to make it to the farm. She had a third of a tank, which she assumed would get her there, but she ran out and had to walk the last mile in the snow.
We can sleep the night in the bunker, Pam said, and leave by horseback in the morning. Samantha Jane told her she’d never ridden a horse.
Don’t worry, Pam said. You’ll get the hang of it quick.
There are going to be a lot of things, Samantha Jane thought, that I’m going to need to get the hang of rather quickly.