Bug would tell Caine about the electricity at the store. That would earn him some brownie points. Caine would get Jack to find a way to cut it off.
The fact that the power was still on meant that the automatic door also still worked. Bug had to be careful to follow someone else in.
The store was an eerie place. The produce section, which was the first thing he saw, was empty. Most of the rotting produce had been shoveled out, but they had not done a thorough job. A big squash was so rotted, it had been reduced to a liquid smear. There were corn-on-the-cob leaves scattered, onion skins, and on the floors a sticky gray goo that was the residue of the cleanup effort.
The meat section stank, but it was empty nonetheless.
Shelves were acres of emptiness. All the remaining food was gathered into a single aisle in the middle of the store.
Careful to avoid brushing against any of the half dozen or so workers, Bug walked along the aisle.
Jars of gravy. Packets of powdered chili mix. Jars of pimentos and pickled onions. Artificial sweetener. Clam juice. Canned sauerkraut. Wax beans.
In a separate section with its own guard was a slightly more inviting shelf. A sign read, “Day Care Only.” Here, there were cylinders of oatmeal, cans of condensed milk, boiled potatoes, and cans of V8 juice, though not many.
Things were bad in Perdido Beach, Bug reflected. The days of candy and chips were definitely gone. Not even a cracker to be seen, let alone a cookie. He’d been really lucky to score that handful of Junior Mints on his spy mission to the power plant.
That was luck. And now, Bug had some more luck. It was purely by chance that he discovered the secret of Ralph’s. He had dodged aside to avoid a couple of kids and ended up cowering in front of the swinging doors that led to the storeroom area. A swing of the door had revealed two kids manhandling a plastic tub filled with ice.
Bug couldn’t enter the storeroom without pushing the door and risking discovery. But he figured it might be worth it: anything someone else wanted to hide was something Bug wanted to find out about.
He took a deep breath, ready to run for it if necessary. He pushed the swinging door open and slid through. The kids with the bin were gone. But he heard movement around the corner, behind a wall of cartons marked “plastic cups.”
There was the work area that had once belonged to the butchers. Now four kids, in rubber aprons that dragged to the floor, were wielding knives.
They were cutting up fish.
Bug stood and stared, not believing what he was seeing. Some of the fish were big—maybe three feet long—silver and gray, with white and pink insides. Other fish were smaller, brown, flat. One of the fish looked so ugly, Bug figured it must be deformed. And two of the fish didn’t look like fish at all, but rather like soggy, featherless blue birds, or maybe like bats.
The aproned kids were chatting happily—like people who were eating well, Bug thought bitterly—as they sliced open the fish and, with many cries of, “Ewww, this is so gross,” sluiced the fish guts into big, white plastic tubs.
Others then took the cleaned fish, cut off their heads and tails, and scraped the scales from them under running water.
Bug hated fish. Really, really hated it. But he would have given anything, done anything, to have a plate full of fried fish. Ketchup would have helped, but even without it, even knowing that ketchup might never be seen again, the idea of a big plate of hot anything seemed wonderful.
It made Bug want to swoon. Fish! Fried, steamed, microwaved, he didn’t care.
Bug considered his options. He could grab a fish and run. But although people couldn’t see him easily, they’d sure be able to see a fish flying through the store and out the door. And those kids at the door and on the roof probably weren’t good shots, but they didn’t have to be when they were firing machine guns.
He could try to conceal a fish down his pants or under his shirt. But that assumed the kids with the gutting knives were slow to react.
A kid Bug recognized came in: Quinn. One of Sam’s friends, although at one point, he’d been with Caine.
“Hey, guys,” Quinn said. “How’s it going?”
“We’re almost done,” one answered.
“We had a good day, huh?” Quinn said. There was obvious pride in his tone. “Did you guys all get some to eat?”
“It was, like, the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life,” a girl said fervently. She almost choked up with emotion. “I never even used to like fish.”
Quinn patted her on the shoulder. “Amazing what tastes good when you get hungry enough.”
“Can I take some home for my little brother?”
Quinn looked pained. “Albert says no. I know this looks like a lot of fish, but it wouldn’t even be a mouthful per person in the FAYZ. We want to wait till we have some more frozen. And . . .”
“And what?”
Quinn shrugged. “Nothing. Albert just has a little project he’s working on. When he’s ready, we’ll tell everyone that we have a little fish available.”
“You’ll catch more, though, right?”
“I’m not counting on anything. Listen, though, guys, you know you have to keep this to yourselves, right? Albert says anyone tells about this, they lose their job.”
All four nodded vigorously. The price of disobedience was losing access to a fried-fish meal. That would be enough to scare most kids into behaving.
One of the guys looked around, like he was suspicious. He looked right at Bug, though his eyes slid right over him. Like he sensed something but couldn’t put his finger on it.
The fact that the power was still on meant that the automatic door also still worked. Bug had to be careful to follow someone else in.
The store was an eerie place. The produce section, which was the first thing he saw, was empty. Most of the rotting produce had been shoveled out, but they had not done a thorough job. A big squash was so rotted, it had been reduced to a liquid smear. There were corn-on-the-cob leaves scattered, onion skins, and on the floors a sticky gray goo that was the residue of the cleanup effort.
The meat section stank, but it was empty nonetheless.
Shelves were acres of emptiness. All the remaining food was gathered into a single aisle in the middle of the store.
Careful to avoid brushing against any of the half dozen or so workers, Bug walked along the aisle.
Jars of gravy. Packets of powdered chili mix. Jars of pimentos and pickled onions. Artificial sweetener. Clam juice. Canned sauerkraut. Wax beans.
In a separate section with its own guard was a slightly more inviting shelf. A sign read, “Day Care Only.” Here, there were cylinders of oatmeal, cans of condensed milk, boiled potatoes, and cans of V8 juice, though not many.
Things were bad in Perdido Beach, Bug reflected. The days of candy and chips were definitely gone. Not even a cracker to be seen, let alone a cookie. He’d been really lucky to score that handful of Junior Mints on his spy mission to the power plant.
That was luck. And now, Bug had some more luck. It was purely by chance that he discovered the secret of Ralph’s. He had dodged aside to avoid a couple of kids and ended up cowering in front of the swinging doors that led to the storeroom area. A swing of the door had revealed two kids manhandling a plastic tub filled with ice.
Bug couldn’t enter the storeroom without pushing the door and risking discovery. But he figured it might be worth it: anything someone else wanted to hide was something Bug wanted to find out about.
He took a deep breath, ready to run for it if necessary. He pushed the swinging door open and slid through. The kids with the bin were gone. But he heard movement around the corner, behind a wall of cartons marked “plastic cups.”
There was the work area that had once belonged to the butchers. Now four kids, in rubber aprons that dragged to the floor, were wielding knives.
They were cutting up fish.
Bug stood and stared, not believing what he was seeing. Some of the fish were big—maybe three feet long—silver and gray, with white and pink insides. Other fish were smaller, brown, flat. One of the fish looked so ugly, Bug figured it must be deformed. And two of the fish didn’t look like fish at all, but rather like soggy, featherless blue birds, or maybe like bats.
The aproned kids were chatting happily—like people who were eating well, Bug thought bitterly—as they sliced open the fish and, with many cries of, “Ewww, this is so gross,” sluiced the fish guts into big, white plastic tubs.
Others then took the cleaned fish, cut off their heads and tails, and scraped the scales from them under running water.
Bug hated fish. Really, really hated it. But he would have given anything, done anything, to have a plate full of fried fish. Ketchup would have helped, but even without it, even knowing that ketchup might never be seen again, the idea of a big plate of hot anything seemed wonderful.
It made Bug want to swoon. Fish! Fried, steamed, microwaved, he didn’t care.
Bug considered his options. He could grab a fish and run. But although people couldn’t see him easily, they’d sure be able to see a fish flying through the store and out the door. And those kids at the door and on the roof probably weren’t good shots, but they didn’t have to be when they were firing machine guns.
He could try to conceal a fish down his pants or under his shirt. But that assumed the kids with the gutting knives were slow to react.
A kid Bug recognized came in: Quinn. One of Sam’s friends, although at one point, he’d been with Caine.
“Hey, guys,” Quinn said. “How’s it going?”
“We’re almost done,” one answered.
“We had a good day, huh?” Quinn said. There was obvious pride in his tone. “Did you guys all get some to eat?”
“It was, like, the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in my entire life,” a girl said fervently. She almost choked up with emotion. “I never even used to like fish.”
Quinn patted her on the shoulder. “Amazing what tastes good when you get hungry enough.”
“Can I take some home for my little brother?”
Quinn looked pained. “Albert says no. I know this looks like a lot of fish, but it wouldn’t even be a mouthful per person in the FAYZ. We want to wait till we have some more frozen. And . . .”
“And what?”
Quinn shrugged. “Nothing. Albert just has a little project he’s working on. When he’s ready, we’ll tell everyone that we have a little fish available.”
“You’ll catch more, though, right?”
“I’m not counting on anything. Listen, though, guys, you know you have to keep this to yourselves, right? Albert says anyone tells about this, they lose their job.”
All four nodded vigorously. The price of disobedience was losing access to a fried-fish meal. That would be enough to scare most kids into behaving.
One of the guys looked around, like he was suspicious. He looked right at Bug, though his eyes slid right over him. Like he sensed something but couldn’t put his finger on it.
