Life as We Knew It (35 page)

So many empty pages.

March 8

Electricity again. This time for 16 minutes around 3 this afternoon.

I don't know what that means.

March 12

Mom fainted this afternoon. I don't think she's eaten in 3 days.

I made some soup and forced her to eat it. I'm not ready for her to die yet.

I did another inventory of the pantry. There's so little in there, it didn't take much time for me to check.

There's maybe 2 weeks worth of food if only Jon and Matt eat. With Mom and me eating occasionally, we'll run out of food in 10 days. If after we die Matt stops eating, then Jon gets another few days, which could give him enough time and strength to get out of here. Matt can tell him who to go to so he can barter any leftover firewood for food.

I wonder what Jon will do with Horton.

March 13

The four of us shared a can of tomato soup for lunch. Then Mom insisted Matt and Jon share the last can of mixed vegetables.

It might be easier for Mom and me if we stopped eating altogether. We only had a couple of sips of soup anyway, just enough to remind me what food tastes like.

My birthday's next week. If I'm still alive, I hope Mom will be, too.

March 14

Nearly an hour of electricity this morning.

I stupidly looked at myself in a mirror when the lights were on.

For a moment, I actually didn't recognize myself. Then I remembered what I look like.

Not that it matters. Who cares what a corpse looks like.

March 16

I dreamed last night that I went into a pizza parlor. Sitting there were Dad, Lisa, and a little girl who I knew right away was Rachel.

I slid into the booth. The smells—tomato sauce, garlic, cheeses—were overwhelming.

"Is this Heaven?" I asked.

"No," Dad said. "It's a pizza parlor."

I think the dream gave me an idea. But it's hard to tell what's an idea and what's nonsense when you can't even tell the difference between Heaven and a pizza parlor.

Chapter Twenty-One

March 17

By the time I fell asleep last night, I knew what I was going to have to do today. The only question was would I have the strength.

But when I woke up, I saw Mom struggle to get off her mattress, as though she needed to be up and around to do things for us. And that made up my mind for me.

After Matt and Jon rose and we all pretended like today was just another day, no harder than any we've been through, I made my announcement.

"I'm going into town," I said.

They stared at me like I was truly crazy. They were probably right.

"I'm going to the post office," I said. "I want to see if there's any word from Dad."

"What difference does it make?" Jon asked. "You think he sent us food?"

"I want to know if Lisa had her baby," I said. "I need to know that. I need to know that life is continuing. I'm going to town and find out."

"Miranda, can we talk?" Matt asked. I nodded, since I knew someone was going to question me about this and it might as well be him. We left the others in the sunroom and went to the living room to talk privately.

"Do you really think you have the strength to make to town and back?" he asked.

I wanted to say, No, of course I don't and we both know it and that's one reason why I'm going. I wanted to say, Stop me, because if I'm going to die, I want to die at home. I wanted to say, How could you have let this happen to me? as though it was Matt's fault and he could have saved us somehow. None of which I said.

"I know it's crazy," I said instead. "But I really need to know if Lisa had the baby. I feel like it's okay for me to die if she did. And maybe the post office is open and maybe there is a letter. How much longer can I last anyway? A week? Two? I'm willing to lose a few days for peace of mind. You understand that, don't you?"

"But if you can, you will come back," he said after a long pause.

"I hope I can," I said. "I'd rather be here. But if I can't, that's okay, too."

"What about Mom?" he asked.

"I've thought about that," I said. "I think this is actually better for her. If I don't come back, she can always have hope that I'm okay. I don't want her to see me die and I don't know that I can outlive her. This is really best, Matt. I thought about it a lot, and this is the best."

Matt looked away. "I'm sorry," he said. "But what about the skis? Jon's going to need them after we're gone."

Well, that was it, wasn't it? I was leaving home to give Jonny just a little better chance. We were starving ourselves to give

Jonny just a little better chance. If I really wanted him to have that chance, then I'd better accept that this casual stroll to town was meant to kill me. In which case, I didn't need the skis.

"I'll leave them behind," I said. "Tell Jon they'll be behind the oak tree and he should get them right after I leave. But don't tell Mom unless she asks. Let her think I'm coming back, okay?"

"You don't have to do this," Matt said.

"I know," I said, and kissed him good-bye. "And I love you and Jonny and Mom more than I ever knew.

Now let me go in and say good-bye while I still have the nerve."

So I did. Mom was so weak I don't think she really understood what was going on. She just told me to get back before dark, and I said I would.

Jon looked like he had a thousand questions but Matt wouldn't let him start. I kissed him and Mom and told them to leave a light on for me, like that had any meaning. I rammed a pen and one of the blue books into my coat pocket. Then I went to the front door, picked up Dad's shoes, skis and poles, and walked to the road. When I got to the oak tree, I carefully placed everything where no one from the road could see them.

Then I started the walk to town.

I wanted desperately to turn around, see the house, say good-bye, but I didn't let myself. I was scared that if I allowed myself that moment of weakness, I would race back in, and what good would that do any of us?

Did I really need to be alive on my birthday? Did I even want to be, if Mom died between now and then?

So I kept my eyes straight ahead and began the journey. For the first mile footing wasn't too bad, since Jon and I had skied there and compacted the snow. Sure I fell a few times, where the snow was icelike, but I managed. I told myself the rest of the trip wouldn't be too bad, and there was hope I could get to town, maybe even find a letter from Dad, and get home again.

I liked telling myself that.

But the next 2 miles were brutal. I don't think anyone had walked on it since Christmas. I found I couldn't walk after a while, so I sat on the snow and pushed myself forward, half rowing, half sledding. It took all my strength to go a few feet, and the harder I worked, the more I yearned to give up and let myself die then and there.

But I pictured the pizza parlor and Dad telling me they weren't in Heaven. If there was a letter, I wanted to know. Death could wait a few more hours.

I felt a lot better when I got to a spot where I could walk upright again. I was soaking wet by that point, and freezing cold, but being on my own two feet gave me a sense of dignity and purpose. It made me feel human again and that gave me some strength back.

One of the scariest things was seeing how very few houses had smoke coming out of their chimneys. It wasn't like I could go to any of them and say, Rescue me, feed me, feed my family, because all they'd do was throw me out. We would have done the same if anyone came to our door.

But to see so many houses with no signs of life. Some people I knew had simply left while that was still possible. But others must have died from the flu or the cold or the hunger.

We were all still alive, Mom and Matt and Jonny and me. And I'd left a record. People would know I had lived. That counted for a lot.

The closer I got to town, the easier it was to walk. But the closer I got to town, the fewer signs of life I saw. It made sense. The people there lived closer together, so they shoveled their snow at least in the beginning.

But they were also less likely to have woodstoves and more likely to have frozen to death. The closer they lived, the faster the flu would have spread. Our isolation had saved us, given us weeks, maybe even months more life.

By the time I got near enough to see the post office, I was starting to feel like I could make it back home. I knew that was madness, that the road was uphill and I had no strength left for that part where I wouldn't be able to walk. It's one thing to push yourself downhill, but pushing yourself uphill would be impossible. My heart would give out and I'd die a couple of miles from home.

But I didn't care. I'd made it to town and that was all I planned for. I'd go to the post office and find word from Dad that he and Lisa and baby Rachel were alive and well. Then it wouldn't matter where I died or how. Jonny would live and so would Rachel and that was what counted.

It was eerie standing on the main street of town, seeing no one, hearing no one, smelling nothing but the stench of death. I saw the carcasses of dogs and cats, pets people had left behind that couldn't survive in the cold without food. I bent down and clawed at one to see if there was any meat left, but what little clung to the skeleton was too frozen to pry off. I threw it back down onto the snow-covered street, and felt relieved I didn't see any human bodies.

Then I got to the post office and saw it was dead, too.

I felt such despair. It was probable the post office had never reopened since that last day Matt had worked there. Any fantasy I'd had that the reason I'd left the sunroom was to find a letter from Dad floated out of me.

I'd gone to town to die. There was no point going home, forcing the others to watch that happen.

I sank onto the ground. What was the point? Why should I even try to get back to the house? The kindest thing I could do would be to stay where I was and let the coldness kill me. Mrs. Nesbitt had known how to die. Couldn't I learn that from her?

But then I saw a glimpse of yellow. My world has been nothing but shades of gray for so long that the yellow almost hurt my eyes.

But something was yellow. I remembered yellow as the color of sun. I'd seen the sun last July. It hurt to look straight at it, and it hurt to look at this new burst of yellow.

It wasn't the sun. I laughed at myself for thinking it might be. It was a sheet of paper dancing in the crosswinds down the street.

But it was yellow. I had to have it.

I forced myself to stand up and chase the sheet of paper. It taunted me with its dance, but I outwitted it and with all my remaining strength, put my foot over it and pinned it to the sidewalk. I bent down and felt the world swirling around me as I picked it up and stood straight. Just holding it made me excited. There were words. This was a message. Someone sometime had said something and now I would know what it was.

CITY HALL OPEN FRIDAYS 2-4 PM

There was no date, no way of knowing when it had been posted or why. But the words told me where to go. I had nothing to lose. Any dreams I might have had died with the post office. If City Hall were closed, also, it made no difference.

So I began the walk to City Hall. It was only a couple of blocks away from the post office. I looked at my watch and saw I had half an hour before it would close, assuming it was even open.

But when I got there, the door was unlocked and I could hear voices.

"Hello?" I said, proud of myself that I remembered the word.

"Come on in," a man said. He opened an office door and waved me in.

"Hi," I said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. "I'm Miranda Evans. I live on Howell Bridge Road."

"Sure," he said. "Come in. I'm Mayor Ford and this is Tom Danworth. Pleased to meet you."

"You too," I said, trying to believe that this wasn't a dream.

"Come here to sign up for your food?" Mayor Ford asked.

"Food?" I said. "I can get food?" It had to be a dream.

"See?" Mr. Danworth said. "That's why we're not getting many takers. Nobody knows."

"Lot of death up Howell Bridge way," Mayor Ford said. "No reason to go out there. How many in your family, Miranda?"

"Four," I said. "My mom and brothers had the flu but they all lived. Can I get food for them, too?"

"We'll need a witness they're still alive," the mayor said. "But everyone's entitled to one bag of food a week.

That's what we've been told and that's what we're doing."

"Program's been going on for four weeks now," Mr. Danworth said. "So this young lady is entitled to at least four bags."

If it was a dream, I didn't want to wake up.

"Tell you what," the mayor said. "Wait until four when we officially close and Tom here will take you home on the snowmobile. You and your four bags, that is. And he'll check out your story and if what you say is true, then next Monday we'll send someone out to your home with food for the rest of your folk. Monday's delivery day. How does that sound?"

"I don't believe it," I said. "Real food?"

The mayor laughed. "Well, not gourmet," he said. "Not like we used to get at McDonald's. But canned goods and some boxed stuff. Nobody's been complaining."

I didn't know what to say. I just walked over to him and hugged him.

"Skin and bones," he said to Mr. Danworth. "Guess she got here Just in time."

We waited around for the next 15 minutes but no one showed up. Finally the mayor told Mr. Danworth to get the 4 bags from the storage room and take them to the snowmobile.

I longed to go through the bags, see what kind of wonders were inside them, but I knew that would only slow things down. Besides, what did it matter? It was food. 4 bags of food. For a whole week, we wouldn't be hungry.

What had taken me 3 hours was a 20-minute trip in the snowmobile. It felt like flying watching the houses whiz by.

Mr. Danworth drove the snowmobile right to the sun-room door. The noise had obviously startled everybody, because they were all standing by the door when I knocked.

"Well, I guess you were telling the truth," Mr. Danworth said. "I definitely see three people here and they all look mighty hungry."