Page 45 of The Last Stars in the Sky
I do as she says, and I wait in the truck in case we need a quick getaway while she and Mattie dump half a dozen two-by-fours in the back.
“Good haul,” Kerry says with satisfaction as she climbs back in the truck. She glances at Mattie, who smiles back and agrees, “Yeah, good haul.”
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward town. We made a wish list of what we hoped to find in Corville today—everything we could possibly think of that we might need, and even stuff I’m pretty sure we won’t. Lumber, a nail gun, sheets of plexiglas—all of it could be found at Country Depot if it hasn’t been looted, but I’m pretty positive that it has. And then other, more wistful things—papers, pens, books, boots that fit Mattie and Ruby, hand lotion, chocolate.
“Even looters leave stuff,” Kerry said when I, in typical pessimistic fashion, pointed out once again that we probably wouldn’t find anything. “They won’t take everything. It’s just a lot of grab-and-go.”
“Even up here, where people can find a use for anything?” I countered.
Kerry gave me a wry smile. “Fair point.”
Now, as we come into town, it is clear things have changed—a lot—since we were last here, when, at least in the parking lot of Foodland, I felt a sense of goodwill from the people waiting in line. Now there are broken windows, both in houses and in stores, and the very air feels bristling and dangerous. I see a man on a street corner, a rifle strapped to his chest; a woman pushing a shopping cart full of what looks like looters’ leftovers down the street, two small children following behind her, one of them kicking a deflated soccer ball. As we drive past, all four people look at me silently, eyes wide and empty. It’s only been a week, and yet it feels like an age. Back when we went to Foodland, it all felt new, strange; now this has become the reality.
There are signs around too, I can see, written in Sharpie on cardboard or on scraps of wood, posted or nailed to storefronts, doors of houses, even to telephone poles. WE HAVE NO FOOD. WE ARE ARMED AND WE WILL SHOOT. JESUS LOVES YOU.
“Corville’s never looked so good, huh?” Kerry says, and Mattie lets out a gurgle of laughter. When I look in the rear-view mirror, though, I see her face is pale and shocked.
“Stop here,” Kerry instructs, and goes so far as to put one hand on the steering wheel to direct me to the pharmacy on the right-hand side of the road.
I pull up onto the curb with a screech of tires, swearing under my breath. “You could have caused an accident,” I accuse, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yeah right. Do you see another car on the road? Let’s see what’s left in the pharmacy.” She starts climbing out of the car, and Mattie scrambles to follow her.
“Wait,” I say. “Let’s just…wait. Mattie, maybe you should stay with me.”
Mattie looks as obdurate as she did when we were wrestling about her phone. “I want to see what’s in the store.”
“There won’t be anything in the store.”
“There might be, Mom. Come on.”
I shake my head. “I’ll stay with the truck.” If we lose the truck, we are in seriously bad shape. I give Kerry as commanding and forbidding a look as I can. “Be careful. And watch out for Mattie.”
“I’m not a baby, Mom, I can take care of—”
“We’re in anuclear holocaust, Mattie,” I bark at her, “and I’m not taking chances!” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, that we’rearguingabout it. It almost makes me laugh, except it really, really doesn’t.
“Of course, I’ll take care of her,” Kerry says, almost sounding offended. She glances at Mattie, who smiles back at her. I watchas they step through the broken plate-glass window and into the pharmacy, whose shelves I can see from here are depressingly empty.
As Kerry and my daughter disappear further into the store, I let out a shaky breath and lean my head back against the seat. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tense, soscared. My breathing is shallow, and every second feels endless as I wait for them to return. I scan the street, but I don’t see anyone; the hardware across the road looks as looted as the pharmacy. We’re never going to find plexiglas, I think, or a nail gun. We are not going to be able to build a greenhouse. Why on earth did we come here? Why did I let myself be persuaded?
For a moment, I let my mind drift beyond that immediate and necessary horizon. Problem-solving about a greenhouse is comforting, familiar, even safe. A difficult problem, but one with a potential solution. But what about after? What about the rest of our lives? What on earth can my future—Mattie and Ruby and Sam’s future—even look like? And then I let myself think about things that were once tedious nuisances, like getting our teeth cleaned. Having my moles checked by a dermatologist. Ruby getting braces. Or little luxuries, seeming so utterly frivolous now—a back massage. A haircut. A manicure.
Never again?
Kerry and Mattie emerge from the store, their arms full of stuff, their expressions triumphant. I’m too nervous even to be curious about what they found. “Getin,” I bark, as Kerry opens the door of the truck.
“Relax, Alex.” As ever, Kerry looks amused. “This isn’t World War Three, you know. Not quite.”
“Actually, it is,” I snap, and she just laughs.
“Mom, look what we got.” Mattie is bubbling with excitement as she brandishes her new treasures—a bottle of nail polish, a box of Band-Aids, a jar of gummy vitamins. She looks thrilled.
“Wow,” I manage weakly. “Good job, sweetheart.” I glance at Kerry. “What did you get?”
“Most everything was gone. All the prescription stuff. Pfft. Not a chance.”
“I told you—”
