“Soy el cordero de dios,” says the Prophet. I am the lamb of God.
Arturo puts his forehead to the door. The Prophet places his palm on the glass, blessing him.
“Podemos entrar?”
May we come in?
Arturo steps back, shakes his head. “Ellos nos encierran,” he says. They lock us in. He pulls out his pockets to show he has no key.
Simon looks at the Prophet. If he’s frustrated, it doesn’t show.
“Sledgehammer time,” says Flagg. “Or is God gonna send us the key?”
The Prophet takes off his glasses, wipes them. “He already has,” he says.
*
They move to the dark side of the building. A half mile of loading bay doors backed up to a cyclone fence. There is a metal security door at the far end of the building. A sign next to it reads PROTECTED BY ALLSAFE ALARMS. Flagg hoists Katniss up so she can black out the security camera with a can of spray paint. Cyclops eyeballs the door.
“Problematic,” he says. “See those hinges? That means the door swings out. I could maybe knock ’em off with the hammer, but I can’t guarantee the door’ll fall.”
“We could blow it maybe,” says Katniss. “I’ve got some M-80s in my saddlebag.”
For the better part of ten minutes, the group debates various methods of breaching the door. Simon sits on the ground. There is a Clif Bar in his pocket. He takes it out, opens the wrapper, but looking at its kitty-litter composite-board texture, he loses his appetite, closes it back up. He stands, walks over to the dumpster, lifts the lid. He is about to toss the bar inside when he sees the glint of something shiny inside. He raises the lid farther, peers in. Overhead, the moon is nearly full.
There is a wooden crate on the ground beside him. Simon steps onto it, leans over. What is that? he thinks, peering inside.
Louise wanders up behind him. “Let me guess,” she says. “You found a dress that’s just your size.”
The dumpster is filled with cardboard, plastic, and shredded paper. But in the folds of a box, he sees it again—a silvery gleam. Fighting off his fear—of disease, of roaches and rats—Simon levers himself up and, balancing on his stomach, he leans in and grabs for the flash.
He falls into the dumpster.
“Whoops,” says Louise.
But when Simon comes up, there is a chain in his hand. And on the end of the chain is a set of keys. He jumps down on the macadam, hurrying for the back door.
Louise falls in beside him. “Are those keys?” she says.
Simon approaches the door, a skip in his step. “I bet the manager lost them when he took out the trash,” he says, passing the bikers, now debating the use of a winch they don’t have to pull the door free. The Prophet is kneeling on the threshold, hands clasped. He looks up as Simon approaches, sees the key ring in his hand.
“Amen,” he says, and stands.
“I went to throw out my Clif Bar,” says Simon. “And I saw them.”
There are twenty-five keys on the ring, and Simon thinks he will have to try all of them, but the first key slips into the lock. It turns with a click. And then the door is open. Cold air hits him from the arctic inside.
“Oh, boys?” calls Louise. Flagg, Katniss, and Cyclops turn. They see the open door, the Prophet and Simon already moving inside.
“Try to keep up,” says Louise, and sticks out her tongue, then turns and follows them in.
*
Simon has never been inside a Walmart. Sure he’s heard talk of them, of the scourge of box stores, places you can buy radial tires, sugar cereal, and gym shorts, but only theoretically—the disdain of NPR commentators and New York Times op-eds. And yet inside his first thought goes like this: It really is the everything store. Around him are miles of house and garden supplies, home electronics, books, food, movies, games, automotive gear, and guns. Lots of guns. Crossbows, longbows, deer blinds, varmint traps, salt licks, duck calls, and camouflage everything （flame retardant camouflage pajamas only $9.99）。 He wanders the store in wonder, as the Prophet talks to Arturo near the manager’s empty office. Six other night workers have emerged from the shadows and are gathered around him. They speak in low tones. Simon knows he should be with them, focusing on the plan, but the wealth of consumable goods calls to him, triggering some deeply ingrained instinct to shop.
I need that, he thinks, passing a pair of binoculars, then again when he sees a cordless drill. But for what? There are books he wants to read, movies he’s never seen. In the snack aisle, he finds Louise filling a brand-new backpack with plastic sacks of salty-sweet.