“Let’s have carbs and protein then,” she suggests.
“Good idea.” I agree knowing it’s a terrible idea. We need to ration everything we’ve got.
I set a tea candle on the top of one of the cans. I found a pack of them during our last stop. It hasn’t been long enough for pre-event supplies to have run dry but you can only carry so much. These candles may not last very long but they’re lightweight and easy to shove into pockets.
In the hazy candlelight, I see my mother clearly. She turned fifty last fall and we had a huge party with all her friends. My sister Jane came up from school and even Dad stopped the work talk for the night. I remember thinking then how young she looked—dark, barely graying hair. She had it styled just under her ears but now it is longer and she ties it at the back of her neck with a band. It’s not like going to the salon has been an option lately. Mom’s eyes are deep brown and they pop even more when she wears makeup. She’s always been a flake—smart but flaky. Loves to live in the world of books and movies more than the realities of the world.
Silently we divide the food between us, ignoring the ghosts around the table. Dad should be here and we should be splitting this food three ways.. Now the crackers and meat go further, filling our bellies just a little bit more than they would have two weeks ago.
Even prolonged, dinner only takes a few minutes. Cleanup takes even less. Mom rolls out her sleeping bag while I check and re-check our packs. Eight cans of food between us, six packaged meals, a couple of snacks—including four candy bars. Two pocket knives, a pistol, and a small assortment of clothes—mostly socks and underwear. It’s all here. Everything we own. The small photo album Mom stashed away when we left. My diary and favorite book. The ring my parents gave me nine months ago on my eighteenth birthday. It was also the same day I got into Duke.
I sort them carefully, a little into each backpack. Making sure it’s even for weight or if one of us is separated from the other. We made this mistake with Paul, allowing him to carry the heavier supplies. That mistake is the reason I wear the small pouch my father gave me under my shirt. I never take it off. I never will.
Between us we had three canteens. I offered my mom the remaining swig and stood up, dusting the hay and dirt from my behind. “Heading out to see if I can find water. There’s a small house on the other side of the barn. I bet the outside faucet still works.”
“Now? Shouldn’t you wait until morning?” Mom asks rubbing her fingers on the sides of her ankle. I may need to find something to wrap it with.
“I’m not that tired,” I tell her. The silence unnerves me. I’m used to the city not the country and things here have a deeper sense of stillness. Moving around makes it a little better—or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“I’ll go with you, let me just put on my shoes.”
“I can go faster without you—and I want you to rest that ankle.” Her concern is obvious but bringing her along will take too long. “Do you have your knife? The gun?”
“If you hear or see anything, come right back,” she warns.
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m your mother—when am I not going to worry?”
“Your weapons?” I ask again.
“Right here.” She rests her hand on the weapons close by her side. She’s used them before. I have no doubt she can take care of herself if she has to. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
Chapter Six
~Before~
3 Months Ago
“Don’t forget your—”
“Lollipop. I know. Blood sugar. I’ve got it, LabGuy.”
“LabGuy?” Small lines crinkle by his eyes and I know I earned a smile underneath that blue mask.
I blink. “Well, you won’t tell me your name.”
“So.”
“So, everyone needs a name and since you won’t give me yours I’ve been calling you LabGuy.”
“Cute.”
“It’s not cute. It’s convenient.” He raises an eyebrow. I can see those too. They’re dark, in contrast to his fair eyes. Between the eyes and the eyebrow and the crease mark between his nose, my crush has reached epic levels. “Like, when I mention you to my friend Liza.”
He laughs. “You’ve mentioned me to your friend Liza?”