Page 56 of The Last Stars in the Sky
“What about food? And water?” she asks.
He shrugs again. “I had some, and I got some from the Foodland when they were handing it out. And my neighbor shared some stuff. I don’t know. I’m hungry.”
“All right, these don’t seem too dirty.” She throws a pair of sweatpants at me, and another pair at Mattie. “Do you need help?” she asks, and I nod and shrug at the same time because I’m not sure.
Kyle clocks my wounded shoulder for the first time. “What happened to you?”
“She got shot,” Kerry replies. “Two rednecks broke into the school where we were trying to get some stuff.”
“There’s been a couple of gangs around,” Kyle says with a sniff. “That’s why I’ve been staying inside. Why so many people have left.” He sounds so pitiful, so young and so alone, that I feela flicker of sympathy for him, even in his disgusting, disheveled state.
Kerry, however, is all practicality. “Have you even changed your clothes in three weeks, Kyle?” she asks, and he shrugs again, looking lost. “Well, put something clean on now,” she orders, and throws him a T-shirt from his drawer.
We all change as quickly as we can; I manage to peel the frozen jeans from my reddened skin and put on a pair of only somewhat clean sweatpants that hang about my hips. I’ve lost weight in the last few weeks, I realize, probably a fair few pounds.The Armageddon diet works wonders. I leave my shirt on, even though it’s damp, because I’m not brave enough to try to pull it over my shoulder.
Kerry bundles our wet jeans into a plastic shopping bag she finds in the kitchen. Then she glances around the apartment, which is a disgusting mess, looking as if she’s assessing whether there’s anything worth taking, and then deciding that there isn’t. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”
“How are we getting across the river?” Mattie asks.
“By car,” Kerry says, which is no answer at all.
We head outside to a day that’s both dusky and freezing; the sky is already darkening, the metallic tang of snow in the air. Kyle’s crummy little rust bucket of a Toyota is one of the only vehicles left in the weedy little lot behind the building. Mattie and I sit in the back, Kerry driving, and Kyle in the passenger seat. He turns to me.
“Who are you?” he asks.
I open my mouth to reply and find I don’t have the energy to explain. After a second’s silence, Kerry answers for me.
“She’s a Benson,” she tells Kyle.
A Benson. My parents were Bensons; at one point up here the name meant something, caused eyes to widen, heads to nod.TheAmericans, people might say.The ones who actually stayed. Kyle, however, just looks blank.
“Benson, Kyle!” Kerry exclaims impatiently. “You know, the American family with the cottage that my mom looked after?”
“Um, yeah, I guess,” he mumbles, and she blows out an exasperated breath. It’s then that I realize what she’s doing. She’s heading straight across the bridge, toward the three guys bristling with weapons, standing in the center of the road, in front of a clumsy, jumbled blockade of chairs, sofas, wooden pallets, even a stroller.
“Kerry,” I exclaim in a yelp of fear. “What—”
“I’m sosickof this,” she exclaims, and she presses the gas until she’s halfway across the bridge, heading straight toward the barricade. A camo-man with various knives strapped to his body points a semi-automatic rifle at the driver’s window. Kerry rolls it down, unfazed.
“What do you think you’re—” he begins, only to have her push the gun away from her face as if she’s swatting a fly.
“I’m crossing this bridge, is what I’m doing,” she snaps. “And you or one of your thugs can shoot me, but what’s the point? You guys keep playing king of the Bonnechere River, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Where are you going?” the man blusters. He clearly hasn’t prepared for pushback.
“Home. I’ve picked up my cousin, and I’m heading out of this shithole. So just let me pass, unless you really want to die for absolutely nothing? Because I’ll happily run you over, just saying.” She stares him down, unblinking, while everyone else in the car remains completely still, holding our breaths, not daring to move an inch. A millimeter.
“Fine, whatever,” the man grumbles, and he steps aside. There is a space between an old sofa, its springs coming through the cushions, and a couple of oilcans. Kerry floors the car, so itpractically jumps across the road, crashing through the barrier, and a shriek escapes Mattie—or maybe me—as debris flies, both side mirrors come off the car, and then Kerry starts weaving all over the road.
“Kerry, what—” I exclaim, grabbing onto the door handle as Mattie and I slide across the seat.
“Just in case they were thinking about shooting out my tires,” Kerry replies. She slows down, staying on her side of the road, as she comes around the bend. The car is looking a lot worse for wear, but at least it’s still drivable. For now.
“Kerry,” Kyle breathes, his expression alight with awe, “that wasseriouslybadass.”
She grins at him. “Yeah, well, take notes,” she tells him, and drives on.
I exhale quietly, relief making me sag in my seat.We’ve made it, I think, even though I know we haven’t, not really. Not yet. Not for twenty more miles, and even then…
