by Tracy Deebs
“Get some money,” I tell Eli, who reaches into the glove compartment before following me over to the stand.
“I’m so glad you’re still open,” I say to the woman sitting in back of a large bin of oranges. “We’re starving.”
“You poor thing,” she tells me, reaching over and patting my hand. She’s at least seventy, and in her denim overalls and wide-brimmed hat, she looks a lot like those shrunken-apple-faced dolls Emily’s mom used to collect. Only with a nicer smile. “What would you like?”
I glance at Eli, who shrugs. But then he hasn’t been the least bit bothered by the three family-size bags of Cool Ranch Doritos we’ve managed to inhale today.
“How much are the oranges?” I ask.
“What do you have to trade?” Her husband speaks up for the first time, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Oh no. We don’t need to trade. I mean, we have money.” I point to the forty dollars Eli has in his hand.
The old man snorts. “What are we going to do with your money? There’s almost nothing to buy out there. Besides, the economy’s collapsing and money’s going to be useless in a couple of days, anyway. Don’t you listen to the radio?”
I want to shrug his words off as the ramblings of a paranoid old guy, but I remember what Theo said after the trip to Walmart, about how I have no idea what goods are going to be in high demand in the near future. This must be what he meant.
“What do you need?” I ask, not sure how to choose stuff to barter from our stockpile. Not sure what we need to keep and what Theo bought for just this purpose. I want to tell Eli to wake Theo up, but they’re even more pissed at each other than usual, and the last thing I need is for Eli to know that I trust Theo’s judgment more than I do his.
“Henry, these children are hungry!” the woman snaps. “I’m going to feed them.”
“And we’re going to be hungry soon enough,” he answers.
“It’s okay, ma’am. We have things to trade. Honest,” I tell her.
“You got any batteries?” Henry asks.
“Actually, we do.” Eli grins at him. “What kind do you need?”
“Double A. Some Cs and Ds if you have them.”
“Sure. No problem.” Eli walks to the back of the van, opens the trunk and starts rummaging inside.
“How much will batteries buy us?” I ask.
“As much as you want, darlin’.” There’s steel in the woman’s voice, and in the look she gives her husband, as she pats my hand. I smile at the sight of her hot-pink nails. They look nice, happy, even with the loose paper-thin skin of her hands. “Without refrigeration, a lot of this food is going to go to waste in a couple of days if we don’t trade it.”
Henry nods, looking much more relaxed now. “Ginny’s right. Help yourself to whatever you like.”
I don’t want to be greedy—I don’t know how many batteries Eli’s planning on parting with—so I grab only a few of the paper bags they have on the side. I fill one with plump ripe strawberries, another with peaches, and a third with big bright oranges that make my mouth water just from looking at them. All can be washed without much water, and none of them have to be served with utensils or bowls.
At the end of the table, I grab three bags of pecans (for the protein), a jar of honey, and a couple of thick wedges of cheese that are resting in a barrel of melting ice. It will make the box of crackers in the car much easier to choke down.
Eli comes back with two handfuls of batteries—enough to power three or four flashlights. Henry nods happily, but I feel bad. They aren’t enough, not for all the food I got. I know what I want to give them, so I carry a couple of the bags to the trunk, leaving the others for Eli. Once there, I pull out one of the three packs of walkie-talkies Theo bought. They’re bright pink and decorated by Barbie, but they’ll get the job done.
I add two 9-volt batteries and carry them back to Henry and Ginny. Ginny squeals like a young girl when she sees them, and presses more food on us. Raspberries and plums, grapefruits and figs.
We thank them, wish them luck, then head back to the van. Eli climbs into the driver’s seat, and I sit in the passenger seat, peeling an orange. We split it after Eli pulls back onto the road, and then eat a second and a third, laughing and talking about music and movies and school—pretending that it’s just a normal day. Pretending that we didn’t just step back a thousand years in time, to when bartering for goods was the norm and not the exception.
Theo wakes up about a half hour later, as I’m holding a plum out the window and pouring water over it to wash off the dirt. “Where’d you get the fruit?” he asks, his voice still husky with sleep.
I tell him the story as I pass him a peach, and preen a little under the look of approval in his eyes. I’d worried that he’d be upset about the loss of the walkie-talkies, but I should have known better. He’s proved to me over and over again just how generous he is.
Our good moods dissolve around the outskirts of Albuquerque. We’re in a fairly nice area of town, judging by the store names at the mall, but you wouldn’t know it. As we drive by strip mall after strip mall each one reflects back at us the same experience of human desperation—broken shop windows, shattered bottles and unusable goods strewn over the parking lot. Blood glistening on the sidewalk as our headlights sweep past. The looting’s getting worse.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see this—it’s too unsettling, too reminiscent of scenes from the news that I never thought could happen here. This is one of the biggest, most bustling cities in New Mexico, and in about forty-eight hours, it’s been turned into a ghost town. I wonder where the looters are. Have they moved on to another area of town, or are they, too, all tucked up inside, terrified of the coming apocalypse?
Theo’s arm brushes against me, and I open my eyes in time to see him switch on the radio to AM, scanning until he finds a station. The time for burying our heads in the sand is over.
A man’s voice comes over the radio, and Theo pulls his hand away, leaves it on this station. The news is even worse than we imagined—yet reflective of what we’re seeing. “All over America, the scene is the same. Looting, pillaging, deserted streets whose isolation is broken up only by episodes of brief and intense violence. Communications have not been restored, will not be restored, according to a source from the largest telecommunications provider in the country. The network has been decimated, and even if electricity is restored tomorrow—something that is impossible considering the state of the electric grids—it will take months to rebuild things, as they will have to start from the ground up.
“Authorities in all areas are baffled. The Pandora worm has caused catastrophic damage. Irreparable damage. Again, just to clarify the state of emergency we are now in, understand that even if the worm self-destructs tomorrow—and there are no indications that such a thing is even possible—we are months, maybe years, away from getting our infrastructure back where it was two days ago.”
“What’s the point of playing the stupid game, then?” Eli demands, slamming his hands against the steering wheel in frustration. “If everything’s screwed, why are we even bothering? There’s nothing left to save.”
I put the peach I’m holding back in the bag. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m not anything, really. Not afraid, not hopeful. Even the disbelief has worn away, until there’s just this incredible numbness filling up every part of me.
Is this acceptance, then? Or just submission? I don’t know. I just know that I’m tired, that there’s no more fight in me. I rest my head against the desert-warmed window and wonder if I’m ever going to see my mother again.
“You guys,” Theo starts, and I wait for him to tell us it’s going to be okay. That we’ll find a way to fix this, to beat this. I expect him to outline the next step of the endless plan he has in his head. But he doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say anything, and after a minute I turn to look at him.
His head is down, his forehead resting on the heels of his hands, and I can tell this
is it. He’s tapped out, finished. He’s got nothing left to give himself, let alone us.
Looking at him like this burns through my numbness, bringing panic in its wake. I glance at Eli, realize he’s feeling pretty much like I am. We’ve all contributed on this trip, all pulled our weight, but from the beginning, we’ve both known that Theo is the leader. The man with the plan.
Now that he doesn’t have one, everything seems even worse, even more terrifying. My heart speeds up, and I feel like there’s a huge weight on my chest, crushing me. I fumble for the door handle, not caring that the van is in motion. Not caring about anything but getting out.
We’re not moving fast, so even as I tumble out of the van, I’m not in any danger. Not that I would notice if I was.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I claw at my tank top, convinced the neckline is strangling me. But it’s nowhere near my throat.
Theo’s out of the van after me before Eli has even pulled to a stop. He grabs my arms right above my elbows, turns me to face him. “Pandora.”
Again, I wait for him to tell me that everything is going to be okay.
Again the reassurance doesn’t come.
And in the midst of the panic, the hysteria, a stray thought flits through my mind.
I know what Ayn Rand is talking about now. In Atlas Shrugged. I read it last month for AP English and only got a B on my project because I hadn’t understood what she was getting at.
But here, now, watching Theo give up, I realize this is it. This is what it feels like when Atlas tires of holding the world on his shoulders, when he gets as confused and lost as the rest of us. He shrugs, and our world, the one we always thought was so safe with him, goes spinning out of control.
Suddenly, Eli’s there, forcing me to bend over, to give the blood a chance to rush back to my head. He rubs my shoulders in soothing circles, and as the panic attack, or whatever the hell it was, recedes, I’m embarrassed. Nothing like being the weak link, right? The one everyone else has to worry about and pander to.
I flush with shame as I remember my words to Theo at the gas station. So much for me being able to handle things. What a joke.
When I can breathe again, I straighten slowly. Eli’s standing next to me, his mouth curved down in a worried frown, his usually humor-filled eyes watchful in the shadows cast by the headlights. “You okay, now?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine. Sorry for freaking out.”
“No big deal. We’re all entitled to a little panic occasionally.”
“I think I’m over my quota.”
He grins. “Nah, I got you covered.”
Reaching for me, he pulls me into his arms and just hugs me for the longest time. Then he skims his mouth over my hair, drops a tender kiss on my temple.
I hug him tightly, then pull back, look for Theo. He’s standing about twenty feet away, hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders slumped as he stares into an empty parking lot that looks like a war was fought in it.
I can’t leave him like that. Can’t leave any of us like this.
“We need to find a hotel room.” I pitch my voice louder than usual, so that he’ll hear me. “It’s late and we’re all tired, hungry. Let’s find someplace to sleep that does not involve four wheels. We’ll take showers and then we’ll figure out what we need to do tomorrow. Where we can start looking.”
Theo doesn’t move, doesn’t by so much as a flicker let on that he’s heard me. I glance at Eli, realize he’s as lost as I am about how to deal with Theo. Not knowing what else to do, I walk over to Theo, reach for his hand.
“Come on, let’s get in the van.”
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“Tough. You’re outvoted. I know that’s a novel experience for you, but just go with it. No one likes a sore loser.”
He smiles, just a little, but allows me to tug him toward the van. We’re about to climb into the back when he speaks again. “I thought I could fix this.” His voice is low, so that only I can hear.
“Dude, no one can fix this. It’s not a reflection on you.”
“Yeah, but what’s the end point? If you can’t fix things, if you can’t win, why bother trying?”
Poor little Harvard-bound boy. He’s probably never done anything in his life without a plan and a clear understanding of how to get whatever it is he’s going after. No wonder this nightmare has thrown him for such a loop.
“ ‘Brick by brick, my citizens,’ ” I tell him. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll figure it out.”
He doesn’t answer for a long time, and when he does, it’s not what I expect. “Julius Caesar ended up getting knifed in the back by his best friend.”
“True,” I acknowledge. “But since he wasn’t the one who said the thing about the bricks anyway, why do you care?”
Theo looks at me. “Are you sure? I thought he was.”
“Nope. Hadrian said it.”
“You don’t have to look so smug.”
“Are you kidding me? For the first time ever, I know something you don’t. Let me wallow for a minute or ten.”
When Theo throws back his head and laughs, I know he’s going to be okay.
Now it’s just the rest of the world I have to worry about.
24
We find a cheap, and somewhat questionable, motel on the outskirts of town and Eli pulls into the registration area. We could afford better, for a little while anyway, but the last thing we need is to raise questions in a more family-oriented place. I grab my purse—and some of the guys’ cash—and go inside before either of them has a chance to say a thing. This is something I can do, and there’s been enough on this trip that I can’t, that I’m determined to take charge here.
I get the room without too much hassle—I’m thrilled that the guy behind the counter is still willing to take cash, though at a much-inflated rate—and we drive around to the back, where the motel map points us.
We all crawl out the front (Theo is completely paranoid about not letting anyone see our supplies) and pile upstairs, loaded down with our backpacks and a couple of bags of food and water. I open the door and reach to switch on the lights. They don’t go on, of course, but old habits die hard.
I turn to tell Theo that we need one of the lanterns, but he’s already got one in his hand. Eli’s carrying the other, so I guess that makes me the only stupid person. Big surprise.
“I get the shower first,” I say, trying not to look around the room too closely. The lantern doesn’t show much, but what I can see doesn’t inspire confidence.
“No problem. I want to bring up a few more things from the car, anyway.” Theo empties his backpack on the bed, and it’s nice to see him focused again. Back to normal.
I grab some clean clothes from the Walmart bag Theo brought up with him and head into the bathroom with one of the lanterns. The water is lukewarm, but it’s still the best shower I’ve ever had. I wash my hair twice with the hotel shampoo and conditioner, thrilled when the funky dye smell finally comes out, and then just stand under the spray and enjoy the feeling of being clean.
It’s only been three days, but I swear, it feels like forever. The only thing that gets me out from under the spray is the knowledge that Eli and Theo must want a shower just as badly.
When I’m done, I wash the clothes I wore today and wring them out before getting dressed in the gray yoga pants and the purple tank top Theo and Eli got me.
It’s then that I get the first real glimpse of myself in the mirror, without the cap, since I dyed my hair.
I barely recognize myself.
I reach a hand up, touch the dark brown locks that have fallen into my face. Honestly, it’s not bad looking, just different, but right now I’m not sure how much more different I can take. It’s hard to imagine that a couple of days ago my biggest problem was my mother forgetting my birthday. Now, I’ve unleashed cyber-Armageddon, fled federal custody, faced down men with guns, nearl
y been caught by attack dogs, and am currently staying in a seedy motel with two guys I barely knew a few days ago, wearing a shirt that is way too skimpy for my taste.
Is it any wonder I’m having problems? I don’t think there’s much of the old Pandora left to recognize.
Eli knocks on the door. “Hey, Pandora, you okay in there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming out.” I gather my clothes so I can hang them in the closet to dry and then open the door.
Eli’s leaning against the doorjamb and he smiles when he sees me. “I knew you’d look good in that shirt.” My heart beats a little faster at the look in his eyes, and I can feel a blush creeping up my cheeks.
I don’t know what to say. How to act. I’ve only had one boyfriend before, and he never made me feel anything like the nervousness that comes over me when Eli traces a finger along one of my spaghetti straps.
I take a shaky breath, try to figure out what I want to do. Stand here and flirt with him or make a joke to diffuse the tension? It’s not like we don’t have other things to worry about right now, and this whole thing, whatever it is, seems like it has the potential to be a huge complication.
“Hey, Pandora,” Theo calls from his spot at the table near the door. “Where are those pictures your dad sent you?”
It’s the excuse I was looking for, and I cling to it like it’s a life raft and I’m drowning. “Here they are,” I say, ducking around Eli. I pull the photos out of the front pocket of my backpack and try to hand them to Theo. I don’t think I’m up for looking at them right now, though I know we need to if we want to figure out where we’re supposed to go now that we’re in Albuquerque. Theo doesn’t take them, and when I drop them in front of him, he slides them back over to me. At first, I think he’s just not getting it, but the way he looks at me, kind of soft but also determined, tells me that he does. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s not going to budge.
“Which is the fourth one? From the site.”
