White Out: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Eric Dimbleby Page A

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    Annie sobbed, trying to hide her face from Tony.
    He didn’t notice, and he continued to sing, “Hi Ho! Hi Ho! To The Purple Cat we go!”
    Annie fell asleep to the soothing swoosh of the sled, with vivid images of an innocent prince with radiant blue eyes, looking up at his mother for the very first time.

 
    Chapter Eight
 
    The Purple Cat came at them out of nowhere, awash in blinding white. Annie drove by it so often that she couldn’t recall the way it snuck up on you when you came around the steep curve before Lower Eastman Road. It wasn’t there, and suddenly you were in The Purple Cat’s parking lot, taking in the smell of greasy fries and burgers, except on Fridays when they had their prime rib and broiled chicken specials on the menu.
                  The last time Annie and Christian had dined at The Purple Cat, Christian swore that he was a victim of food poisoning. Given that he had a pretty ironclad stomach, Annie swore off the place from that moment forward. And here she was again, trudging through waist deep snow as they neared the path, ready to kick in the front door, which looked like it had been recently shoveled or cleared out with a snow blower. Somebody had been here recently, but Tony continued, unflinching against obstacles.
    The heavy oak door seemed unmovable at first, wedged in place by an icy accumulation of snow. The path from the road led directly to the front door and was well manicured, to an almost fastidious degree. Despite Annie's protests, Tony pushed ahead, leaving their “sled” behind, marching right up to the door, and pounding his fist once, twice, then three times. He didn't wait long for a response, instead opting to kick away at the buildup of ice along the threshold, freeing up the swing of the door enough to pry it open a few inches. "What do you think you're doing?" Annie asked, looking around at the scurrying drifts of snow that seemed like they might sneak up and strangle them at any moment. Tony inserted himself through the door’s crack. He didn’t naturally fit, but he contorted himself enough to force his way through.
    In the last hour, Tony started panting, nearing the end of his useful internal battery, and so the sight of The Purple Cat was a blessing for them both. All the way through their trek, he had tried his damnedest to hide the fatigue that was overwhelming his every thrust, but Annie could see right through it. She could feel it in the movements of their sled-- the once sturdy engine was now diminished to a wobbly surge, sputtering by on energy-deprived fumes. Tony needed to rest if he was going to get her home safely. She didn’t stand a chance of moving the sled herself, and that still shamed her to no end. Tony was nearly twice her size, so the engine in their rig could not be easily replaced.
    And this , she thought to herself, was why women always got the shit end of the stick. She knew it wasn’t true, that a woman could overpower brawn with brains, but in this particular situation, she fell short on both. Her womanly nature was in jeopardy. You’re just like one of those limp fairy princesses from the animated movies, waiting in your tower for a man to save you. Isn’t that disgusting, that you’re nothing more than a Walt Disney cliché?
    Annie scowled now, pushing herself through the door crack after Tony. Regardless of the conditions of the world, this was still considered breaking and entering as far as Annie was concerned. She couldn’t help the thoughts that came with ease: Shut your mouth . You know as well as anybody that this is survival of the fittest . And that shit just got real.
    Annie couldn’t filter the joyous giggle in her throat, as the warm air caressed their bodies upon entering The Purple Cat’s inner sanctuary. For an instant , it reminded her of that tingling feeling that one felt when they jumped in a pool, after being in a hot tub; a euphoric sense of inexplicable bliss in every nerve of the