This World We Live In (The Last Survivors, Book 3) (13 page)

"Al right," I said. "You want country, we'l try country." I began biking a little faster than him, taking the lead. We rode along at a steady pace while I tried to decide how far we should go to satisfy him.

I'd like to say I didn't know where we were going, but that wouldn't be true. I had a flash of "I'l show him" when I turned onto Hadder's Road, and then made the left onto Murray, the back road to the high school.

We were there in fifteen minutes. The mound of bodies. Only in the month since I'd been there, the temperature's gone above freezing, the snow has melted, and the bodies have started to decompose.

It was awful. The stench was unbearable, even outdoors. The bodies were bloated, the faces unrecognizable. As bad as my nightmares have been, the reality is far worse. And it had been my choice to go there, to punish Alex for going against my advice.

128

"I wondered where al the bodies were," he said like he wondered where Mom hid the Christmas presents.

"I know people there," I said. "Friends of mine are in that pile."

Alex stopped his bike and bowed his head in prayer, which made me feel even worse. Especial y since the sight and the smel sickened me and al I wanted to do was get as far away as possible.

"It's hard to lose friends," he said.

I figured that meant we could start biking again.

"Have you lost friends, too?" I asked.

"Everyone has," he said.

I thought that was a pretty lousy answer. He could have consoled me for my losses or he could have told me about his, but to point out the whole world is a rotten stinking mass of death didn't make me feel any better.

And I resent being told the whole world is a rotten stinking mass of death. Every night Mom turns on the radio and gets stations from Pittsburgh and Nashvil e and Atlanta, and we get to hear, every single night, about their rotten stinking masses of death.

So I didn't need Alex to point out that everyone on earth has lost friends.

The one good thing about getting mad was it made me bike even faster. This time, though, I paid attention to where we made our turns and what roads we were on. I had no desire to get lost with this particular LLBA.

One of us would spot a farmhouse, and we'd check it for signs of life--more careful y than I had in the past because it's warmer and there's a chance people inside weren't using their woodstoves. But the first three we went to were empty. The only problem was they were empty inside as

129

wel . We took half a bar of soap and a quarter tube of toothpaste and not much more.

I considered resisting saying "I told you so" but gave in to the temptation. "I didn't think we'd do so wel out here," I said. "People in the country stayed on longer, so they used up al their stuff."

"You never know," he said, which I took to mean

"Shut up, you stupid girl."

I wonder what Cinderel a would have done with a wicked stepbrother.

We did better with house number four: a summer cabin you couldn't see from the road. Most likely no one had used it the year before, so whatever was there was two years old. But that doesn't matter when it comes to soap and paper towels. And because it was a summer house, there was lots of summer house reading. I grabbed a dozen paperback mysteries for Mom and some romances for Lisa and Syl.

"I'm sorry there are no Latin books for you," I said.

"I'm sorry we can't eat books," he said.

If Alex knew how to smile, maybe he would have smiled then, and I would have known it was a joke and smiled back. But he doesn't and he didn't and I didn't.

We kept biking up that road, stopping at a couple more cabins, but mostly finding more of the same.

One house, miraculously, had a half box of disposable diapers. Syl and I have been the diaper service since Gabriel's arrival, and even a dozen disposables looked like treasure.

Our trash bags stil looked empty, so we kept on.

The houses were getting more isolated, and I was glad to have Alex by my side as we searched.

glad to have Alex by my side as we searched.

I can't say the last house we went to was going to be the last one of the day. Alex hadn't said we should stop looking,

130

and every half rol of toilet paper wil make our lives a little bit better. Maybe we would have kept on for another hour or two.

And neither one of us noticed anything particularly different about the final house we went to. I could tel right away it wasn't a summer house, but that didn't mean anything.

We used Alex's trick of throwing a few pebbles against a door and then running for cover in case anybody started shooting. No one did, so we got closer and looked through the windows for signs of life. When we thought it was safe, we tried the doors, which were locked, and threw a stone through the living room window.

The sound of shattering glass has replaced doorbel s in my life.

It was Alex's turn to stick his hand through the window and unlock it. I love breaking in, but that's my least favorite part, since there's a part of me that's sure whoever owns the house is waiting to chop off my hand. I've had lots of nightmares about that.

But no one came at us with an ax, so we climbed in.

We both smel ed death right away. It was like the mound of bodies only worse because the house was al closed up and the smel had intensified.

"Please," I said. "Let's go."

"Wait outside if you want," Alex said.

But I knew what I didn't see would frighten me more than what I did. "I'l be okay," I said. I've told bigger lies.

Alex took my hand. I could see his was bleeding.

"You cut yourself," I said to hide the fact that I was shaking from fear and excitement at the touch of a boy's hand.

131

"Just a scratch," he said, but he pul ed his hand from mine. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get blood on you."

I nodded. Alex began walking toward the smel and I fol owed him.

The body was in the kitchen. Once it had been human, sitting in the chair next to where we found it.

Or what remained of it, some torn clothing, a belt, some flesh and muscle, hair, bones, an eyebal . By its side was a shotgun, and lying a few feet away was a dead pit bul .

I screamed.

"Don't look," Alex said, but I couldn't avert my eyes. He walked around the corpse, took a red plaid vinyl tablecloth and flung it on top. Then he held me until I stopped shaking.

"I think we're in luck," he said. "The dog died recently, maybe even today. It's been eating its owner for a while now, but it final y starved to death.

There's probably dog food if we look."

"I don't know if Horton wil eat dog food," I said.

"Not for Horton," Alex said. "For us." He began searching through the kitchen cabinets. Sure enough, there were a couple of cans. Dinner, I thought, grateful that Alex hadn't suggested we eat the dog.

"Al right?" I asked, my voice sounding squeaky even to me. "Can we go now?"

"There's more," Alex said. "Can't you sense it? He was protecting more than two cans of dog food."

"But he's dead," I said. "Maybe he kil ed himself when he ran out of food."

"Maybe," Alex said. "But we should look around anyway. For toilet paper and diapers."

132

We both knew there weren't going to be any diapers, but I was just as happy to get out of the kitchen. We went through the house thoroughly, taking anything we could use, which wasn't very much. Alex even went down to the cel ar but came back empty-handed.

"I guess your hunch was wrong," I said.

"I stil feel it," he said. "He would have shot his dog first if he was going to kil himself. He loved that dog."

I knew Alex was right, because if it came to that for us, we would have kil ed Horton or at least let him loose. "There's a garage," I said. "Maybe there's something out there."

"Then he would have been sitting in the garage with his shotgun," Alex said. "It's in the house somewhere. We're overlooking something."

"It could be money," I said. "Or jewelry. Things he thought were valuable."

Alex shook his head. "The dog just died," he said for the third time, like he was Sherlock Holmes and I was the world's stupidest Dr. Watson. "He ate off the man for a few days and then went a few days without eating. This guy, whoever he is, died fairly recently. He knew what was valuable."

"Al right," I said. "Where, then? We've looked everywhere."

"Not in the attic," Alex said. "Wouldn't this house have an attic?"

"At least a crawlspace," I said. "But I didn't see a staircase. Maybe there's a trapdoor."

We went upstairs and looked through three closets before finding the trapdoor to the attic. Alex pul ed on the cord, and I climbed the stairs.

133

There were cartons everywhere. But cartons in an attic mean nothing. Even cartons that had the names of products mean nothing. Even cartons stil sealed mean nothing.

Alex fol owed me up. The roof was so low neither one of us could stand upright. There wasn't much space to walk anyway, but we could move around wel enough for him to pul out a penknife and cut open a Campbel 's Chicken Noodle Soup carton.

Inside it were twenty-four cans of Campbel 's Chicken Noodle Soup.

"He didn't starve to death," I said. "How could he with al this food?"

"He was a miser," Alex said. "You'd hear about guys like that, but I always thought they were folktales. People who stocked up when it first happened and then were so afraid of not having enough, they stopped eating what they had. You stay here. I'l be back up in a moment."

I had no idea why he was leaving but I didn't care. I looked at box after glorious box. Some of the food, I knew, had gone rotten. But there was stil so much.

Even with ten of us there was enough food for weeks.

When Alex came back up, he had the man's shotgun. "Just in case we need it," he said.

"How can we get al this back home?" I asked, hoping Alex knew how to handle a shotgun. "Maybe we should move here until the food runs out."

"The house is too smal ," Alex said. "Besides, a guy like that had to have some way of getting out.

He'l have a van in the garage, or a pickup, with a little gas in the tank. Enough to get the food back to your house. I bet he has some containers as wel .

He was prepared. Crazy but prepared."

"What if the garage is locked?" I asked.

134

"It probably is," Alex said. "But there was a key ring on the guy's belt."

I remembered what the man looked like and shuddered. Not a cute, little horror movie shiver, either.

"It's okay," Alex said. "It's a lot to take in. I'l get the key and check out the garage. You stay here. It'l be al right." He took the shotgun with him and climbed down the stairs.

I forced myself to read the cartons, to concentrate on the miracle of black beans and beef jerky. The sight of four 20-pound bags of rice thril ed me. But I was never more relieved than when I heard Alex enter the closet.

"It's a van," he said. "With a quarter tank of gas. I found a couple cans of gas, too." He shook his head. "He could have gone anywhere with two cans of gas," he said. "He and the dog both."

"Is it stick shift?" I asked. "I don't know how to drive stick shift."

"I know how," Alex said. "You learn things on the road. How to drive. How to hot-wire. How to defend yourself." He paused for a moment. "You'd be amazed how many cars there are with a little bit of gas left in them. You hot-wire a car and you can go twenty-five miles on fumes."

"That's how you got here?" I asked. "Dad and Lisa and Charlie, too? By car?"

"Some," Alex said. "Some we biked and some we walked. Julie and I got a lift partway to Tulsa in February. That was a big help. Then we left Tulsa to find Carlos in Texas. His Marine regiment is stationed there. By the time we located him, we knew everything we needed to survive."

I knew I'd ask about Tulsa later, but the important thing was getting al the food back home. "I had an idea,"

135

I said. "See that window? I could toss the cartons to the ground. They're cans and boxes, so nothing would break."

"Great idea," Alex said. "You stay here and do the tossing. I'l go down, and when you're through, we'l load the van."

At first I resented the idea that I'd do al the heavy lifting, but then I realized Alex would be outside with the shotgun. He and Julie knew how to defend themselves, but no one had bothered to teach me.

"Fair enough," I said.

We shattered open the window, and Alex watched as I threw a box down. "Good work," he said. He picked up one of the bags of rice and carried it down while I kept tossing the boxes out the window.

A couple of them flew open, but mostly they held.

It took a while for me to get them al down, and I was exhausted by the time I'd finished, but the job was only partly done. We stil had to get three bags of rice outside, and we couldn't toss them. Alex came back, and we each took one. I had no idea how heavy twenty pounds could be. Alex handed me the shotgun, then went to the attic and got the final bag.

The van looked real y old, and its windows had been whitewashed so you couldn't see in. But it held everything, except our bikes. Those Alex and I strapped to the top with rope he'd found.

The sound of the engine turning over was just amazing. The sensation of being in a van that actual y moved was beyond description.

"Do you know how to get back?" I asked. "Or should I direct?"

"I'l need your directions," Alex said. "I try to remember landmarks, but this country al looks the same to me."

136

So I told him where to turn. There were no other cars on the road, and no one came out at the sound of ours. I was relieved, since Alex had given me the shotgun and I was terrified I'd be expected to use it.

"Who was in Tulsa?" I asked. "Or did you just pass through there?" It was easier to ask Alex questions with us both facing forward with no danger of eye contact.

"We thought we'd find our aunt and uncle," Alex said. "They set out for there last June. We spent a few days looking but no luck."

"It's hard to picture cities," I said. "Cities with people."