After interminable hours of driving through the featureless desert, we have arrived in what’s left of California, where, right on the border, we find exactly what Logan said we would: The last Target of the 23rd century. But if Target is some sort of fabled promised land here in the realm of Wally World, why is it completely deserted? I have a bad feeling about this, and am beginning to wish I had simply gone back to the Doghouse of Justice instead of agreeing to help Logan escape from the Mark-Downers. But, as they say, in for a bit, in for a kibble.
Finding the Target parking lot empty, Logan does what any good shopper would do, and parks as close to the entrance as possible. The door to Target yawns open. An invitation? Or a hungry mouth waiting to devour us? We are about to learn which.