Mary grabbed the Ben & Jerry’s, and now she was beginning to cry again as she put it into the microwave and softened it for twenty seconds. She wanted it runny, she wanted it to be like cold chocolate soup. She wanted to slurp it down.
The microwave dinged.
She grabbed a spoon, a big one, a soup spoon. She pried the lid from the ice cream and half spooned, half poured the pint of rich chocolate down her throat, barely tasting it in her eagerness.
She was weeping and eating, licking her hands, shaking the spoon.
She licked the lid.
Enough, she told herself.
She pulled out two large plastic garbage bags, the big black ones. Systematically she filled one with anything she could feed to the children: saltines, peanut butter, honey, Rice Chex, Nutri-Grain bars, cashews.
The second bag she carried upstairs. She piled in pillowcases and sheets, toilet paper, towels—especially towels because they could be substituted for diapers.
She found the bottle of Prozac. She opened it and tipped it into her hand. The pills were green and orange, oblong. She popped one and swallowed it by cupping water from the faucet with her hand.
There were only two pills left.
She dragged the two bags to the front door.
Then she went back upstairs to her bathroom. She carefully locked the door behind her.
She knelt in front of the toilet, raised the lid, and stuck her finger down her throat until the gag reflex forced the food from her stomach.
When she was done she brushed her teeth. She went back downstairs. Took hold of the bags and began dragging them to the day care.
“I’m guessing Little Pete can’t balance on bike handlebars,” Sam said to Astrid.
“No, he can’t,” Astrid confirmed.
“Okay, then, we’ll be on foot. It’s what, like, four o’clock? Maybe we better stay here the night, start out in the morning.” Self-conscious about Quinn’s earlier complaints, Sam said, “What do you think, Quinn? Stay or go for it?”
Quinn shrugged. “I’m beat. Besides, they have a candy machine.”
The plant manager’s office had a couch, which Astrid could share with Little Pete. She offered a still-stiff Edilio the back cushions.
Sam and Quinn searched the facility until they happened upon the infirmary. There were gurneys there, hospital beds on wheels.
Quinn laughed. “Surf’s up, brah.”
Sam hesitated. But then Quinn took off running, got the gurney up to speed, jumped aboard, and even managed to stand up before slamming into a wall.
“Okay,” Sam said. “I can do that.”
They had a few minutes of gurney surfing through the abandoned hallways. And Sam discovered he could still laugh. It seemed like a million years since Sam had surfed with Quinn. A million years.
Sam and Quinn parked their gurneys in the control room. None of them really understood any of the controls, but it felt like the place to be.
They found that Edilio had rounded up five radiation suits, almost like space suits, each with a hood, a gas mask, and a small oxygen bottle.
“Nice, Edilio,” Quinn said. “Just in case?”
Edilio looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, just in case.”
When Quinn smirked, Edilio said, “You don’t think all that has happened is because of this place? Look at that map, man. Red bull’s-eye that just happens to go right where the barrier goes? Maybe that Howard guy had it right, you know? Fallout Alley Youth Zone? It’s a pretty big coincidence.”
Astrid, weary, said, “Radiation doesn’t cause barriers to appear or people to disappear.”
“It’s deadly stuff, right?” Edilio pressed.
Quinn sighed and pushed his gurney toward a dark corner, bored by the discussion. Sam waited to hear Astrid’s answer.
“Radiation can kill you,” Astrid agreed. “It can kill you quickly, it can kill you slowly, it can give you cancer, it can just make you sick, or it can do nothing. And it can cause mutations.”
“Mutation like a seagull that suddenly has a hawk’s talons?” Edilio asked pointedly.
“Yes, but only over a long, long time. Not overnight.” She stood up and took Little Pete’s hand. “I have to get him to bed.” Over her shoulder she said, “Don’t worry, you won’t mutate in the night, Edilio.”
Sam stretched out on his gurney. The control room had muted lighting that went almost but not quite to dark once Astrid found the switches. The computer monitors and the LCD readouts glowed.
Sam might have chosen to leave more of the lights on. He doubted he would be able to sleep.
He lay remembering the last time he’d gone surfing with Quinn. Day after Halloween. It had only been early November sun, but in memory it was very bright, every rock and pebble and sand crab outlined in gold. In his memory the waves were wondrous, almost living things, blue and green and white, calling to him, challenging him to leave his worries behind and come out and play.
Then the scene shifted and his mother was at the top of the cliff, smiling and waving down to him. He remembered that day. She was almost always asleep during the morning hours when he surfed. But this day she came to watch.
She’d been wearing her blue and white flowery wraparound skirt and a white blouse. Her hair, much lighter than his own, blew in the stiff breeze, and she seemed frail and vulnerable up there. He wanted to yell to her to step back from the edge.
But she couldn’t hear him.
He yelled up to her, but she couldn’t hear him.
He woke suddenly from the memory that had become a dream. There were no windows, no way to see if it was day or night outside. But no one else was awake.
The microwave dinged.
She grabbed a spoon, a big one, a soup spoon. She pried the lid from the ice cream and half spooned, half poured the pint of rich chocolate down her throat, barely tasting it in her eagerness.
She was weeping and eating, licking her hands, shaking the spoon.
She licked the lid.
Enough, she told herself.
She pulled out two large plastic garbage bags, the big black ones. Systematically she filled one with anything she could feed to the children: saltines, peanut butter, honey, Rice Chex, Nutri-Grain bars, cashews.
The second bag she carried upstairs. She piled in pillowcases and sheets, toilet paper, towels—especially towels because they could be substituted for diapers.
She found the bottle of Prozac. She opened it and tipped it into her hand. The pills were green and orange, oblong. She popped one and swallowed it by cupping water from the faucet with her hand.
There were only two pills left.
She dragged the two bags to the front door.
Then she went back upstairs to her bathroom. She carefully locked the door behind her.
She knelt in front of the toilet, raised the lid, and stuck her finger down her throat until the gag reflex forced the food from her stomach.
When she was done she brushed her teeth. She went back downstairs. Took hold of the bags and began dragging them to the day care.
“I’m guessing Little Pete can’t balance on bike handlebars,” Sam said to Astrid.
“No, he can’t,” Astrid confirmed.
“Okay, then, we’ll be on foot. It’s what, like, four o’clock? Maybe we better stay here the night, start out in the morning.” Self-conscious about Quinn’s earlier complaints, Sam said, “What do you think, Quinn? Stay or go for it?”
Quinn shrugged. “I’m beat. Besides, they have a candy machine.”
The plant manager’s office had a couch, which Astrid could share with Little Pete. She offered a still-stiff Edilio the back cushions.
Sam and Quinn searched the facility until they happened upon the infirmary. There were gurneys there, hospital beds on wheels.
Quinn laughed. “Surf’s up, brah.”
Sam hesitated. But then Quinn took off running, got the gurney up to speed, jumped aboard, and even managed to stand up before slamming into a wall.
“Okay,” Sam said. “I can do that.”
They had a few minutes of gurney surfing through the abandoned hallways. And Sam discovered he could still laugh. It seemed like a million years since Sam had surfed with Quinn. A million years.
Sam and Quinn parked their gurneys in the control room. None of them really understood any of the controls, but it felt like the place to be.
They found that Edilio had rounded up five radiation suits, almost like space suits, each with a hood, a gas mask, and a small oxygen bottle.
“Nice, Edilio,” Quinn said. “Just in case?”
Edilio looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, just in case.”
When Quinn smirked, Edilio said, “You don’t think all that has happened is because of this place? Look at that map, man. Red bull’s-eye that just happens to go right where the barrier goes? Maybe that Howard guy had it right, you know? Fallout Alley Youth Zone? It’s a pretty big coincidence.”
Astrid, weary, said, “Radiation doesn’t cause barriers to appear or people to disappear.”
“It’s deadly stuff, right?” Edilio pressed.
Quinn sighed and pushed his gurney toward a dark corner, bored by the discussion. Sam waited to hear Astrid’s answer.
“Radiation can kill you,” Astrid agreed. “It can kill you quickly, it can kill you slowly, it can give you cancer, it can just make you sick, or it can do nothing. And it can cause mutations.”
“Mutation like a seagull that suddenly has a hawk’s talons?” Edilio asked pointedly.
“Yes, but only over a long, long time. Not overnight.” She stood up and took Little Pete’s hand. “I have to get him to bed.” Over her shoulder she said, “Don’t worry, you won’t mutate in the night, Edilio.”
Sam stretched out on his gurney. The control room had muted lighting that went almost but not quite to dark once Astrid found the switches. The computer monitors and the LCD readouts glowed.
Sam might have chosen to leave more of the lights on. He doubted he would be able to sleep.
He lay remembering the last time he’d gone surfing with Quinn. Day after Halloween. It had only been early November sun, but in memory it was very bright, every rock and pebble and sand crab outlined in gold. In his memory the waves were wondrous, almost living things, blue and green and white, calling to him, challenging him to leave his worries behind and come out and play.
Then the scene shifted and his mother was at the top of the cliff, smiling and waving down to him. He remembered that day. She was almost always asleep during the morning hours when he surfed. But this day she came to watch.
She’d been wearing her blue and white flowery wraparound skirt and a white blouse. Her hair, much lighter than his own, blew in the stiff breeze, and she seemed frail and vulnerable up there. He wanted to yell to her to step back from the edge.
But she couldn’t hear him.
He yelled up to her, but she couldn’t hear him.
He woke suddenly from the memory that had become a dream. There were no windows, no way to see if it was day or night outside. But no one else was awake.
