Last Survivors 01 - Life as We Knew It

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  "She was walking home from church with her little sister and some guy grabbed her," the girl said. "That's what I heard."

  Three more kids got up and left the room.

  I don't know why I didn't go with them. I knew I wasn't going to go to high school. But it felt good to be sitting there with kids my own age, at least pretending to go to school. I was with people and not just Mom and Matt and Jonny and Mrs. Nesbitt.

  I wanted that feeling to last as long as it could. Because high school had turned into Springfield, just another stupid dream.

  "You'd think somebody would do something," one of the older girls said. "Call the police or the FBI or something."

  "There aren't any more police," I said.

  "I don't think there's any FBI, either," another girl said. "My mother knows someone who knows someone in Washington and he said the government isn't there anymore. The president and everybody went to Texas. Texas is supposed to have gas and electricity and plenty of food."

  "Maybe we should all move to Texas," I said.

  Another two or three kids got up and left.

  "So this is it?" the senior boy asked. "Are we all planning to go to the high school?"

  "I guess so," one of the other boys said.

  "I have to ask my parents," a girl said. "They didn't want me to go to the high school, but I don't think they're going to want me at home, either."

  "Does anybody else ever wonder what the point is?" a girl asked. "Why are we pretending there's a future? We all know there isn't."

  "We don't know that," another girl said. "We don't know anything."

  "I really think if we pray hard enough, God will protect us," one of the younger girls said.

  "Tell that to Michelle Schmidt," a boy said.

  Suddenly I felt like I was surrounded by death, the way I feel when Peter gives us a new thing to worry about. I really didn't need to know kids were missing.

  So I got up. I felt if I was going to die anyway, I'd rather do it with my family around.

  I walked to the office, where I saw a woman looking very frazzled and not at all happy.

  "You going to be homeschooled?" she asked. "High school textbooks are over there."

  I went to where she pointed. There were piles of textbooks scattered around in no order.

  I realized I should take textbooks for Jonny as well as myself. I started with his, because it made me feel like I was doing something positive and not just running away.

  Of course I didn't know exactly what Jonny was planning to study. At first I thought if I was stuck with French, he should be stuck with French. But then I decided he'd probably prefer Spanish. There are more Spanish-speaking baseball players.

  I took both. I took earth science and biology textbooks and two years' worth of math textbooks and world and American history and four different English textbooks, just for Jonny. I wouldn't have taken any textbooks home for myself except I knew I'd never get away with that. So I selected a French III book and math and chemistry and an English textbook. I threw in an economics textbook and a psychology textbook because at some point I'd thought maybe I'd take them.

  I piled the books up neatly and went back to the main office to see if I was supposed to sign for them or something. The frazzled-looking woman was gone.

  Then I did the strangest thing. I saw boxes of school supplies, pens and pencils and blue books and notepads, all just sitting there.

  I walked over making sure nobody could see me. I emptied my book bag and filled it with blue books and pads and pens and pencils.

  For all I know, I'm the only person in the world keeping a journal of what's been going on. The journal books I've been given over the years are all full, and I've been using Mom's typing paper. I haven't asked her permission and I'm not sure she'd give it to me if I did. At some point, she might want to start writing again.

  I can't remember the last time I was so excited. It felt like Christmas filling my book bag with supplies. Better than Christmas, though, because I knew I was stealing and that made it even more exciting. For all I know, taking a blue book is a hanging offense. Assuming there are any cops around to hang you.

  I kept wanting to take more. I ended up with another half dozen blue books tucked in under my belt. My clothes are too big for me anyway, so I figured the blue books would help me keep my pants on. I filled my pocketbook with pens and pencils.

  Then the frazzled woman came back in. I scurried away from the supply room and went back to my pile of textbooks.

  "I'm going to need help carrying these books out," I said. "I took for my brother and me."

  "What do you expect me to do about it?" the woman snapped.

  Actually I didn't expect her to do anything. I carried the books in four trips to the front door and waited until Matt showed up. We divvied the books between us and biked home.

  When we got there, I told Mom what had happened. She asked why I didn't want to go to the high school.

  "I think I'll do better at home," I said.

  If Mom disagreed, she didn't have the energy to put up a fight. "I expect you to work hard," she said. "School is school no matter where you go."

  I told her I knew that, and went up to my room. Sometimes I feel like my room is the only safe place left. I wonder if Megan feels that way, if that's why she doesn't leave hers.

  Life sucks.

  I wish I had some fudge.

  September 1

  I picked up my textbooks. Either textbooks are a lot heavier than they used to be, or I don't have as much strength as I did 3 months ago.

  September 2

  There didn't seem to be much point starting schoolwork on a Friday.

  September 5

  Labor Day. I'll look over my textbooks tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  September 6

  I told Mom I was doing history (she never would have believed me if I said math) and stayed in bed all morning.

  I finally got out around 11 and went downstairs to get something to eat. It was 23 degrees outside, but there was no heat on in the house and the woodstove wasn't going. I heated a can of soup and ate that. Then I went back to bed.

  That afternoon I heard Mom go up to her bedroom. She's been taking naps lately, which is something she never did. You'd think she'd be teaching Jonny or something, but I don't think she cares about his schoolwork any more than she cares about mine. Not that I blame her.

  So I'm in bed, wearing my flannel pajamas and my robe and two pairs of socks and there are three blankets and a quilt over me, and I'm trying to decide which is worse, being cold or being hungry. Part of me says the worst thing is being bored and if I did some schoolwork I'd be distracted, but I tell that part of me to shut up.

  I got out of bed and something made me go to the pantry. I've been choosing not to see how our supplies are holding out, because I don't want to know. I want to believe everything is just going to work out and food will magically appear. In some ways it already has, and I want to think it always will.

  Mom's let us know she'd prefer us not to go to the pantry. Whatever food is available for us to eat, she leaves in the kitchen cabinets. I guess she doesn't want us to worry.

  Matt and Jonny were outside, working on our wood supply. I told myself I should join them, I should go out to gather more kindling, but the truth is even the woods scare me these days.

  The pantry actually kind of reassured me. It looked to me like there were lots of cans of food and boxes of pasta and rice. Horton's supplies were in one corner, and there seemed to be plenty of canned and boxed food for him and bags of kitty litter. Mom's a stockpiler under the best of circumstances, so the pantry is always pretty full. She probably had a near-full pantry back in May.

  Seeing all those cans and boxes and bags of food made me mad, like why are we starving ourselves when we still have food? When the food runs out, we'll probably die, so what difference does it make if that's November or January or March? Why not eat while we can?

 
That's when I saw the bag of chocolate chips. I'd forgotten all about them, how I'd thrown them into my shopping cart on Crazy Shopping Day.

  I went a little crazy. There was food in the pantry that Mom wasn't letting us eat and there was chocolate, real chocolate, in the house and Mom was hoarding it because it has no nutritional value and if we're only eating a little bit every day, we're better off with spinach.

  And they were MY damn chocolate chips.

  I ripped open the bag and I poured chocolate chips down my throat. I could hardly taste them, I was swallowing them so fast. I must have devoured a third of the bag before I could calm down enough to savor the taste. Chocolate. It tasted just the way I'd remembered only better. I couldn't stop eating them. I knew I was making myself sick. My stomach was already protesting but I kept flinging chocolate chips into my mouth. I didn't want to share the chocolate with anybody. It was mine.

  "Miranda!"

  It's funny. Somehow I knew I'd get caught. Maybe because I was prepared, I made the moment as dramatic as possible. I swallowed another mouthful of chips and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I must have seen that in a movie somewhere.

  It worked. Mom started screaming. I'm not even sure she was coherent.

  I was, though. I screamed right back at her. She was hoarding food. We didn't have to starve. Why wasn't she letting us eat three meals a day? What difference did any of it make? I still had the bag of chocolate chips in my hand, and I made some kind of wild gesture because the chips went flying all over the pantry floor.

  Mom froze. That was a lot scarier than her hysterics.

  I froze too for a moment. Then I started picking the chocolate chips off the floor. I got a handful of them and didn't know whether I should put them back in the bag. I stood there like an idiot waiting for Mom to become human again.

  "Eat them," she said.

  "What?"

  "Eat them. You wanted them. Eat them. Pick them up and eat them. They're yours. Eat them all. I don't want to see a single chocolate chip on the floor."

  I bent down and started picking up all the chocolate chips from the floor. As I gathered them, I put them in my mouth. Whenever I missed one, Mom pointed it out to me. She actually kicked a couple of them toward me and told me to eat them.

  I really felt sick by then.

  Finally I got all the chocolate chips off the floor. There was still about a quarter of a bag left.

  "Eat them," Mom said.

  "Mom, I don't think I can," I said.

  "Eat them," she said.

  I thought I'd throw up. But Mom terrified me. I don't know why. She wasn't even yelling at that point. It was like talking to an icicle. She stood there absolutely still and watched me eat each and every last chocolate chip. I thought, This isn't my mom. This is some strange creature that's taken over her body.

  Then I thought it would serve her right if I threw up all over her, but I managed not to.

  "Give me the bag," she said when I'd finally gotten the last chocolate chip down.

  I did as she told me.

  "Fine," she said. "That was your food for today and tomorrow. You can join us for supper on Thursday."

  "Mom!" I yelled. "It was just some chocolate chips."

  "I was saving them for Matt's birthday," she said. "I'm not going to tell him why he isn't getting any dessert on his birthday. I don't expect you to tell him, either. But you've eaten enough for four people, so you're going to skip your next four meals. Maybe then you'll understand how important food really is."

  "I'm sorry," I said. I hadn't been thinking about Matt. His birthday is in a couple of weeks, but what are birthdays nowadays? "Can't you make him something else for his birthday?"

  "What you did was wrong," Mom said. She sounded more Momlike by then, or at least the Mom I've gotten to know over the past few months. "I can't have you or your brothers walking in here and eating whatever you feel like. This food has to last all of us for as long a time as possible. Why can't you understand that? What if you stroll in here and help yourself to a can of peaches? Or string beans? I know you're hungry. I'm hungry, too. But the only chance we have is if we're very, very careful. Maybe things will get better in a couple of months. Maybe it'll take longer. If we don't look toward the future, we have nothing to live for and I won't have that."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll never do it again. I promise."

  Mom nodded. "I know you're not a bad girl, Miranda," she said. "I know it was just thoughtlessness on your part. And punishing you doesn't make me feel any better. But I meant it about the meals. You can eat again Thursday night. It won't kill you to go without food that long. You have enough calories in you right now to last for a week. Now just go to your room. I really don't want to deal with you anymore."

  My stomach aches like it used to when I'd pig out on Halloween candy. Only worse, because then I'd have a full stomach. And I wouldn't hate myself so much.

  I hurt Mom. Without even knowing it, I hurt Matt. Jonny, too, since he would have loved a dessert. Mrs. Nesbitt. Maybe even Peter.

  I'm a selfish, selfish pig. I don't deserve to live.

  September 7

  Jonny came into my room this morning.

  "Mom said you ate something from the pantry yesterday," he told me. "And you're not allowed to eat again until tomorrow night. And if she ever finds out that Matt or I did that we'll get the exact same punishment."

  For some reason that made me feel better. I get it into my head sometimes that Mom loves me less than Matt or Jonny.

  "That's pretty much what happened," I said.

  Jonny looked kind of excited. "What did you eat?" he asked. "A can of string beans," I said.

  "Is that all?" he asked. "You can't eat today because of a can of string beans?"

  I told him to get the hell out of my room and stay out. And that was the only conversation I had all day.

  September 8

  Mom fried two potatoes from the garden. She also heated up a can of string beans. For dessert we had a can of fruit salad. The prodigal son would have been jealous.

  September 12

  Monday.

  I should be doing schoolwork.

  September 14

  Matt's birthday. He's 19.

  For supper we had artichoke hearts, almost like a salad, and then linguini with white clam sauce. Mrs. Nesbitt brought her home-baked oatmeal raisin cookies, which Matt likes but not nearly as much as he likes chocolate. Thinking about that made me feel sick all over again. I ate one cookie (I knew Mom would be furious if I didn't), but it tasted like dust.

  Megan's right about my being a sinner. But she's wrong about hell. You don't have to wait until you're dead to get there.

  September 16

  Matt went to the post office today and brought home two letters from Dad.

  The first was from a day or two after he left. It said how wonderful it was to see all of us and how he was so proud of us and he knew we'd be okay and we'd see each other again soon.

  The second letter was dated August 16. He and Lisa had made it to the Kansas border, but Kansas wasn't letting anyone in unless they could prove they had parents or children who owned property there. Which of course he and Lisa don't. The border guards didn't care that all they wanted to do was drive through Kansas to get to Colorado. He said that they had some options. There were rumors of officials who could be persuaded to look the other way.

  "What does that mean?" Jonny asked.

  "Bribed," Matt explained. "Give them what they want and they let you in."

  The problem with that was first you had to find the official, Dad went on, and then you had to have something he wanted. In addition, there were restrictions against letting pregnant women in, and Lisa's pregnancy was showing.

  They could try to get in by a back road, but there were reports of vigilantes keeping strangers out.

  They could drive down to Oklahoma and get to Colorado that way. They didn't have enough gas, and rumors were things were as bad or wors
e in Oklahoma, but they were still thinking about it. Lisa was determined to get to her parents.

  The temperature was about 40 and he and Lisa were staying at a refugee camp. No heat, no food, limited plumbing. They were only allowed one more day there and then they had to get back on the road. If they had to, they could go back to Missouri. Because of the earthquakes there, the state was pretty much unpoliced.

  That was pretty much how the letter ended and it scared all of us. Dad never wants us to worry. Three years ago when he lost his job, he made it sound like it was his life's dream to be out of work. Life is full of unexpected opportunities. When a window closes a door opens.

  And of course for him the door did open. He got the job in Springfield, met Lisa, and the next thing we all knew he was married with a baby on the way.

  Only now Dad wasn't talking about windows and doors and unexpected opportunities.

  It was the first report we've had in a long time about what's going on outside of Pennsylvania. Travel restrictions. Vigilantes. Refugee camps. And that's in the part of the country where things are supposed to be better.

  "I'm sure we'll get another letter from him soon," Mom said. "Saying he and Lisa have made it to her parents and that everything is all right."

  We all knew she was saying that because she had to.

  If we never hear from Dad again, we'll never know what became of him. It's possible he and Lisa will make it to Colorado, and things there aren't horrible, and they'll be okay and the baby will be okay and we'll never know.

  At least that's what I'm telling myself. Because I don't want to tell myself anything else.

  September 17

  I went out to get kindling (I've been such a baby afraid of the big bad forest) and when I came back, I found Mom sobbing at the kitchen table.

  I dropped the bags of kindling and went over and hugged her. Then I asked what had happened.

  "Nothing," she said. "I was thinking about that man. The one the day we bought the groceries, with the baby on the way. The baby should be born by now, and I started thinking about if it is okay, if he and his wife and their other child are okay, and I don't know. It just got to me."