early on in the Crisis, when she could see which way the wind was blowing even if nobody else could.
But as time had gone on she’d run out of that food, and she and Adam
(don’t think about Adam)
had been forced to scavenge in abandoned houses or shops. Red didn’t have a ton of survival skills—she could light a fire without matches and she knew how to find running water and things like that, but she couldn’t hunt or fish and even if she could kill something she wasn’t sure how to clean the carcass and make it safe to eat.
And the way she figured it was that there was plenty of packaged food in the world—there was probably more packaged food than everyone in America could eat even before the Crisis decimated the population. One grocery store that she and Adam happened upon had been hardly touched at all, the shelves lined with every kind of good imaginable—except for milk and bottled water. When there was a panic people always came for milk and bottled water.
Most of the bread had been injected with preservatives so it was still good to eat, and she smiled at the memory of the two of them delightedly toasting slices of bread over a fire and spreading them with peanut butter. The peanut butter had been in Adam’s bag
(don’t think about Adam, don’t think about him unless you want to work yourself up again)
and Red thought that if she found another grocery store she would grab some more of it because even without bread, peanut butter was one of life’s greatest joys and she could eat it straight from the jar with a spoon.
Thinking about peanut butter wouldn’t solve the problem at hand, though. She was going to have to use her hammock, and that meant a cold exposed night. There was no point in walking any more when she could see the thickness of the trees far ahead of her on either side of the path. And it would not be fun to try to attach the hammock in the dark.
She turned off the path, looking for trees that were set the correct distance apart. After ten or fifteen minutes of searching she found what she wanted and got her hammock in place.
There wasn’t really a good place to build a fire, and anyhow she was still fairly close to the trail because she didn’t want to lose track of it and have to waste time getting back. Ever since she woke up in the cold that morning she’d felt a low-level anxiety building up about her pace, even though she’d told herself to accept the fact that she was going as fast as she could. Trouble was, going as fast as she could still felt too damned slow.
She thought she wouldn’t sleep that well in her hammock, especially after the coziness of the cabin. In the hammock she didn’t even have the psychological comfort of her tent fly. But she dropped off almost immediately. It was a good thing, too, because she woke a couple of hours before dawn when the snow started to fall.
CHAPTER 7
The Grief That Does Not Speak
Before
Adam and Red walked in silence for a while. Red didn’t know about Adam but she couldn’t get past the grief in her throat to say anything. Every time she felt her voice rising up it would meet that clump of tears stuck behind her tongue and whatever she was about to say would just fade back into her lungs.
There was no sound except the clomp of their boots in the dirt, the wind in the branches, the chatter of birds in the trees.
The birds didn’t know that Dad and Mama were dead. The birds didn’t care that everyone was dying and those who weren’t dying had gone crazy. The birds just went about their bird business, finding worms and building nests and shouting at other birds that came and perched on branches in trees they’d staked as their own.
Adam abruptly came to a stop, peeling off the trail and sitting down on one of the boulders scattered all over the woods. Red knew that these were the fragmented remains of glacier deposits but as a child she’d