What are you planning to do? I ask.
We need a system, he says. Well reward people who follow the rules. Its the same principle, really, as training a dog.
I flash to the woman at the party: She looks like she can handle a litter of em.
And well punish the people who dont conform. Not bodily, of course. This is a civilized country. I plan on appointing Douglas Finch as the new minister of energy.
Minister of energy? I repeat. Ive never heard the term.
We reach a stoplightone of the few that still work downtown. Fred gestures vaguely at it.
Power isnt free. Energy isnt free. It has to be earned. Electricitylight, heatwill be given to the people who have earned it.
For a moment I cant think of any response. Power-outages and blackouts have always been mandatory during certain hours of the night, and in the poorer neighborhoods, especially now, many families simply choose to do without dishwashers and laundry machines. Theyre just too expensive to maintain.
But everyone has always had the right to electricity.
How? I finally ask.
Fred takes my question literally. Its simple, actually. The grids already in place, and all this stuff is computerized nowadays. Its simply a matter of collecting the data and a few keystrokes. One click turns on the juice; one click turns it off. Finch will be in charge of all that. And we can reevaluate every six months or so. We want to be fair about it. Like I said, this is a civilized country.
There will be riots, I say.
Fred shrugs. I expect a certain amount of initial resistance, he says. Thats why its so important that you be on my side. Look, once we get the right people behind usthe important peopleeveryone else will fall in line. Theyll have to. Fred reaches out and takes my hand. He squeezes it. Theyll learn that rioting and resistance will just make things worse. We need a zero-tolerance policy.
My mind is spinning. No power means no lights, no refrigeration, no working ovens. No furnaces.
What will people do for heat? I blurt out.
Fred laughs a little, indulgently, as though Im a puppy and have just learned a new trick. Summers almost here, he says. I dont think heat will be a problem.
But what happens when it starts to get cold? I persist. In Maine, the winters often last from September until May. Last year we had eighty inches of snow. I think of skinny Grace, with her doorknob elbows, her shoulder blades like peaked wings. What will they do then?
I guess theyll find out that freedom doesnt keep you warm, he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He leans forward and knocks on the drivers window again. How about some music? Im in the mood for a little music. Something upbeatdont you think, Hana?
Lena
Night is coming quickly, and with it, the cold.
Were lost.
Were looking for an old highway that should lead us toward Waterbury. Pike is convinced were too far north; Raven thinks were too far south.
Were striking out mostly blind, using a compass and a series of old sketches that have been passed back and forth among other traders and Invalids, filled in a little at a time, showing a random scattering of landmarks: rivers; dismantled roads and old towns, bombed by the blitz; the borders of the established cities, so we know to avoid them; ravines and impassable places. Direction, like time, is a general thing, deprived of boundaries and borders. It is an endless process of interpretation and reinterpretation, doubling back and adjusting.
We come to a stop while Pike and Raven argue it out. My shoulders are aching. I unload my pack and sit on top of it, take a swig of water from the jug I have looped to the belt around my waist. Julian is hovering behind Raven, red-faced, his hair dark with sweat and his jacket tied around his waist. Hes trying to see beyond her, to the map that Pike is holding. He is getting skinnier.
At the periphery of the group, Alex is sitting, like me, on his pack. Coral does the same, inching closer to him so their knees are touching. Over the course of a few short days, they have become practically inseparable.
Even though I want to, I cant bring myself to look away from him. I dont understand what he and Coral have to talk about. They talk while they hike, and while they set up camp. They talk at mealtimes, sequestered in the corner. Meanwhile, he hardly speaks with anyone else, and he has not exchanged a single word with me since our confrontation with the bear.
She must have asked him a question, because I see him shake his head.
And then, just for a second, both of them look up at me. I turn away quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. They were talking about me. I know it. I wonder what she asked him.
Do you know that girl? Shes staring at you.
Do you think Lenas pretty?
I squeeze my fists until my nails dig into the flesh of my palms, inhale deeply, and will away the thought. Alex and what he thinks of me are irrelevant.
Pike is saying, Im telling you, we should have gone east at the old church. Its marked on the map.
That isnt a church, Raven argues, snatching the map back from him. Its the tree we passed earlierthe one split by lightning. And it means we should have continued north.
Im telling you, thats a cross
Why dont we send out scouts? Julian interrupts them. Startled into silence, they turn to him. Raven frowns, and Pike stares at Julian with open hostility. My stomach starts squirming, and I silently pray in his direction: Dont get involved. Dont say anything stupid.
But Julian continues calmly, We move more slowly as a group, and its a waste of our time and energy if were headed in the wrong direction. For a second I see his old self float to the surface, the Julian of conferences and posters, the youth leader of the DFA, self-assured. So I say two people head north
Why north? Pike breaks in angrily.
Julian barely misses a beat. Or south, whichever. Hike for half a day, look for the highway. If it isnt there, hike in the other direction. At least well get more of a sense of the terrain. We can help orient the group.
We? Raven parrots.
Julian looks at her. I want to volunteer, he says.
Its not safe, I burst out, climbing to my feet. There are Scavengers patrollingmaybe regulators, too. We need to stick together. Otherwise were easy prey.
Shes right, Raven says, turning back to Julian. It isnt safe.
Ive dealt with Scavengers before, Julian argues.
And almost died, I fire back.
He smiles. I didnt, though.
Ill go with him. Tack spits a thick wad of tobacco onto the ground and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I glare at him. He ignores me. He has made no secret of the fact that he thinks it was a mistake to have rescued Julian and a liability to have him with us. You know how to shoot a gun?
No, I say. He doesnt. Now everyones looking at me, but I dont care. I dont know what Julians trying to prove, but I dont like it.
I can handle a gun, Julian lies quickly.
Tack nods. All right, then. He extracts another bit of tobacco from a pouch he wears around his neck and balls it into his mouth. Let me unload some of my pack. Well leave in half an hour.
Okay, everyone. Raven raises her arms in a gesture of resignation. We might as well camp here.
The group, as one, begins to shed packs and shake supplies out on the ground, like a single animal molting its skin. I grab Julians arm and draw him away from everybody else.
What was that about? Im struggling to keep my voice down. I can see Alex watching us. He looks amused. I wish I had something to throw at him.
I take Julian and swivel him around, so he blocks Alex from my view.
What do you mean? He shoves his hands in his pockets.
Dont play dumb, I say. You shouldnt have volunteered to scout. This isnt a joke, Julian. Were in the middle of a war.
I dont think its a joke. His calmness is infuriating. I know better than anyone else what the other side is capable of, remember?
I look away, biting my lip. He has a point. If anyone knows about the tactics of the zombies, its Julian Fineman.
You still dont know the Wilds, I insist. And Tack wont protect you. If you get attackedif anything happens, and its a question of you or the rest of ushell leave you. He wont endanger the group.
Lena. Julian puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at him. Nothings going to happen, okay?
You dont know that, I say. I know Im overreacting, but I cant help it. For some reason, I feel like crying. I think of the quietness of Julians voice as he said I love you, the steadiness of his rib cage rising and falling against my back, as we sleep.
I love you, Julian. But the words dont come.
The others dont trust me, Julian says. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. Dont try and deny it. You know its true.
I dont contradict him. So what? You need to prove yourself?
He sighs and rubs his eyes. I chose to make my place here, Lena. I chose to make my place with you. Now I have to earn it. Its not about proving myself. But like you said, theres a war on. I dont want to sit on the sidelines. He leans forward and kisses my forehead once. He still hesitates for just a fraction of a second before he kisses me, as though he has to shake out that old fear, the terror of touch and contamination. Why are you so upset about this? Nothing will happen.
Im scared, I want to say. I have a bad feeling. I love you and dont want you to get hurt. But again, its as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears and past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.
Well be back in a few hours, Julian says, and cups my chin briefly. Youll see.
But they arent back by dinnertime, and they arent back by the time we rake dirt over the fire, extinguishing it for the night. Its a liability now, and even though well be colder, and Julian and Tack will have trouble finding their way to us without it, Raven is insistent.
I volunteer to stay up and stand watch. Im too anxious to sleep. Raven gives me an extra coat from our store of clothing. The nights are still edged with a hard chill.
A few hundred feet from the camp is a slight incline, and an old cement wall, still imprinted with ghostly loops of graffiti, that will shield me from the wind. I huddle up with my back against the stone, cupping the mug of hot water Raven boiled for me earlier to help warm my fingers. My gloves were lost, or stolen, somewhere between the New York homestead and here, and now I have to do without.