They took a lot from the meat and dairy shelves. Mom is worried that it’s all spoiled, but other women here are saying the weather has been cold enough to keep it safe. The hams, for instance, still feel frozen solid. I’m not sure if it’s from carting them back in the cold or whether they were frozen yet in the store.
Richard was sporting an extra coat and new heavy-duty boots and thicker gloves. He needed them to make that walk in the freezing cold. And he had four canisters of powdered baby formula, two new bottles and nipples and lots of evaporated milk. It’s a generic brand, not what Jesse usually gets, but Mom said anything is better than nothing.
He brought winter little kid clothes for Jesse too, and I can’t believe it, but he brought me something that I would have been way too embarrassed to ask for. I hadn’t even thought about it since it’s not my time of the month, but he brought me pads. And he didn’t hang around to wait for me to say anything or to embarrass me, either. He just dropped them on my chair and turned back to giving Mom the other stuff.
I have no idea what I would have done without them when the time came, which is supposed to be in about a week. I have to say, it feels like a miracle. (I know it’s stolen, but I think God understands.)
Thirst is a problem. No more water is coming from the sinks or the water fountain. One of the men grabbed a sled and loaded it with gallons and gallons of water, but they have to ration them since there are so many of us. Water is heavy and they had to haul it back that whole mile in the cold, so I understand. But it’s no fun being thirsty. I remembered the gum in my handbag and I’m using it in tiny pieces because it helps my mouth feel less dry.
Those girls who went with the men brought back dumb stuff like lacy scarves and hair bands and jewelry. One of them was showing off her stuff to her mother and our eyes met for a moment. I could tell she saw my disapproval, but she just looked angry and then ignored me. But really—here we are practically starving and these girls brought back beauty supplies? I like my makeup as much as any girl, but what they took wasn’t stealing out of necessity; it’s just plain stealing. And stupid.
Anyway, Richard filled as many plastic bags from the registers as he could carry, and loaded it all on a plastic sled. Other men did that too, using all the sleds the store carried. Right now, a big ham is cooking over the fireplace. Someone thought up an ingenious method –a homemade “spit.” It doesn’t turn, but by manually turning the meat, it will heat on all sides. Mr. Aronoff directed the handing out of paper plates, plastic utensils, cole slaw and potato salad. It’s like a backyard barbecue indoors.
I noticed the Powells sitting off by themselves, not eating. I went over to them.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
The family looked up at me. Mr. Powell had a determined look on his face. “We still have some rations from the apartment,” he said.
“But there’s so much here,” I said. “Why not save your stuff?”
Mrs. Powell gave me a slow smile. “We don’t feel right eating stolen food.” She’d spoken very softly, and there wasn’t an ounce of condemnation in what she’d said, but I suddenly felt a stab of guilt. I faltered.
“Oh, honey, you go right ahead and eat that stuff,” she said. “We’re not saying it’s wrong for you to eat it.”
“But then why won’t you eat it?” I asked.
They hesitated. Mr. Powell said, “We’re not starving. If we get to the point of starvation, we’ll eat anything that’s available. But until that happens, I have to know that I haven’t put my hand to anything that isn’t mine.”
I looked down at my food, wondering if I was a complete sinner for eating. Mrs. Powell spoke up again. “Please, go on and eat,” she said. “We firmly believe that what we’re doing is what WE need to do. It’s not what you should feel bound to. God gives grace.”
“As a matter of fact, the only time any sin seems to be okay according to the Bible,” Mr. Powell added, “is when a person steals to eat. You see, God understands desperation. We just don’t feel desperate, yet. But we’re not an example you need to follow.”
Richard was motioning to me, so I said a clumsy goodbye and wished them luck.
I wish I could say I lost my appetite for the Wal-Mart food after that but I didn’t. I saw a big tray of deli meat near Richard when I went over and was ready to help myself.
“That’s why I called you,” Richard said. “Don’t eat any lunch meats or anything else from the refrigerated department of the store. If it was frozen, it’s okay, otherwise steer clear.”
“Everyone else is eating it,” I said, taking a few pieces from the tray. It looked perfectly good, with salami and turkey and cheese slices. My mouth watered just looking at it. I was about to put the first piece of turkey in my mouth when Richard stopped me, taking my elbow.
“Deli meats carry a high risk of bacteria,” he said. “Listeriosis. It’s been days without power. Don’t eat it.”
“It’s been freezing cold,” I returned. “Wouldn’t that keep it safe?”
He grimaced and his mouth formed a determined line. He forced my arm down and shook my fork over my plate until the meat fell off. He looked at me again.
“Don’t eat it, Sarah.”
Richard is such a pest. “Fine!” I was angry and not sure I believed him, but I didn’t eat any. I saw those seniors eating it, though. They ate a lot. I’m going to watch them and when they’re just fine, I’ll tell Richard he was wrong! I can’t wait. He thinks he knows everything.
Elizabeth Wasserman came over to me today with an armful of drawing books and a package of markers and crayons. She lives in my building and is in eighth grade. She used to ask to sit with me on the bus but I never let her because I wanted to save the spot next to me for my good friends. Now I feel sorry that I never let her. Our eyes met a few times since we got here and I nodded at her. So I wasn’t too surprised when she approached me.
We’re using these books she found on the shelves to practice drawing. She ripped out blank pages from the back of the books—something that would have horrified me before all this—for drawing paper. She’s practicing manga, and I’m doing trees and landscapes. I’ve never been into the manga thing. Besides, drawing trees is strangely calming. I’m making them all green and full and lush—the exact opposite of the world outside right now. It’s only January—what? 15th? I’m already losing track of the days without school or a routine. But anyway, it’s a long time ‘til spring, that’s for sure.
“I need more paper,” Elizabeth said. She reached out an arm and grabbed a couple of random books from the shelf beside us.
“These aren’t glossy like the pages from the children’s section, but I’m too lazy to go over there and get some.”
“Want me to get some?”
She looked up. “It’s right near the restrooms.”
I decided not to get some. Thankfully, the odor from that area hadn’t yet reached us in our little alcove. I knew it was just a matter of time, though.
I watched her tear out new blank pages carefully, to make sure they didn’t have ragged edges. It reassured me that even if I filled up my journal, I could always find pages like she had, that there’d still be a source of paper to write on. I’m not eloquent or super great with words, but I think I’d feel crazy if I couldn’t write down what’s going on.
EVENING
Richard fell asleep as soon as he finished eating. He looked so tired. It must have been hard, doing all that walking in the cold and snow and especially coming back hauling a big sled of stuff. What he didn’t tell us earlier is that they’d had to fend off people who approached them begging. I could tell it bothered him. He said some of them were older; they could have been friends or neighbors; they looked like good, ordinary people, but they were begging for food.
“Please, I couldn’t get to a store when this happened,” one woman said. “I have two grandchildren at home.” Mr. Aronoff was like a drill sergeant, barking out things like, “Don’t stop! Don’t talk! Keep mov
ing!” He repeated that every time anyone approached them.
I thought about how hard it must have been to see people so needy and do nothing for them. Richard can be a big pain in the butt. But I have to admit he’s been great since this happened. I don’t know what we’d have done without him.
It’s snowing again. Even with just a sliver of moon I can see flakes falling silently out there. As I sit here watching, I feel the weight of this snow. In the past I loved to watch it fall. It used to be pretty. Not so, now. It is a weight on my heart. It means winter continues, that we will struggle to stay warm, and that we can’t return to the apartment.
I hear men talking. One has a radio back at the building and he’s planning on getting it tomorrow. The others are going back to Wal-Mart. One man said, “Hey, we should only take what we absolutely need to survive.”
Another said, “We weren’t the first ones to help ourselves, you saw that. And we won’t be the last. If we don’t take the stuff, someone else will; and we don’t know how long we’ll need to survive like this. I say we get as much as we can.” A round of approval went up. I glanced at Richard to see if he’d wake up from the noise but he slept on.
Mom is sleeping on the floor with the baby snuggled up against her. It struck me that they were often like that now, entwined like Siamese twins. She has one of the blankets we brought and a few fabric baby books, the soft kind, which Richard found in the children’s section, for a pillow. I have Richard’s blanket. He says he can sleep without one.
We don’t talk about Dad. I catch Mom crying from time to time and I’m pretty sure it’s about him.
If I think about him being stranded at work, I’ll cry too—so I don’t.
I pray God is keeping him alive and will bring him back to us safely.
I don’t expect to sleep much tonight—not after last night and that awful man. So far the Powells aren’t singing. It would help if they did. I wish I had a flashlight so I could read. We’re rationing the use of candles—Mr. Aronoff is afraid of a fire. If Richard goes back to Wal-Mart I’m going to ask him to get a flashlight and batteries.
SARAH
JANUARY 16
DAY SIX
Today Mom asked Richard if he’d go and look for Dad. He said, “Mom, I have NO IDEA where to do that.”
“Go to his work,” she said. “Maybe he’s still there. Lots of people probably got stranded there.”
I said, “We need Richard here.” She just looked at me, so I added, “What if that guy comes back? That creep? And what if we run out of food? Richard can get more.” She said nothing, just fell silent, and soon afterwards I saw she was crying. I went over and put my arms around her. She took a few deep breaths. To Richard she said, “If you go back today, get diapers and wipes, and bring as much formula as you can.”
“And water!” I added. I didn’t mean to shout but the words came out louder than I meant them to and when I turned around, other people were looking at me. But some of them nodded, because they’re thirsty too. In addition to the rationed water, there’s a kettle they’re using to boil snow, but it takes a long time to boil water for everyone. So far, we’ve gotten barely enough to quench our thirst. Richard did bring some juice boxes and I’ve had a few—but they’re so sweet they make me even thirstier.
As the men were leaving for the trek to Wal-Mart, someone shouted, “Bring another can opener!” A little girl said to her mother, “There’s no ‘tricity, mama.”
“A different kind of can opener,” her mother replied.
A different kind of opener—the words rang in my head for some reason. Because that’s what life is, now. A different life. A different kind of living and thinking. I don’t care about much of anything right now except whether my dad is alive and what we’ll eat or drink. I also think about getting fresh clothes from the apartment--which I won’t do without Richard—and taking a bath would be heaven! Everything I used to think or worry about seems meaningless.
It just occurred to me that a lot of people are missing. “Where is everyone?” I asked Elizabeth, when she came over.
She looked at me with big eyes. “Don’t go near the restroom. It’s super gross. People are sick. My mom said it could be food poisoning.”
Even Richard admitted that listeriosis doesn’t show up right away, so if they’re sick it must be from something else they ate. Maybe the potato salad. Richard wouldn’t let me have any of that either.
EVENING
Now I know we’ve sunken into chaos! The world, I mean. Richard came back from Wal-Mart with a nicked arm—from a bullet! And Mr. Wendell—a father and family man from our building—might die! He took a shot directly to the chest.
When they went around to the back entrance of Wal-Mart like yesterday, there were other people already there, and they didn’t want to let our guys in. They had mostly knives and bats, but one man had a gun. He even boasted that he’d just taken it, along with ammunition, from the store.
The two groups argued and things escalated. Finally that man used his gun and that’s when Richard’s arm got nicked, and Mr. Wendell got shot.
It horrifies me that Richard could have been the one to take that shot. He thinks the guy was aiming at him but missed. I actually started feeling faint when Mom was applying a bandage to his arm. The thought that we could have lost him! He said, “It’s okay, sis, I just got grazed a little. No big deal.”
But it is a big deal. Mrs. Wendell is sobbing in the next room. Then I heard shouting. Angry voices. Had Mr. Wendell died? I hoped not.
Elizabeth came by and explained. Mrs. Wendell and her daughter had asked if someone would find a doctor. They wanted to stay with Mr. Wendell while someone else got help. But not one person volunteered. Then, after the shouting, someone did. “Mr. Powell,” she said. I nodded. He would do that.
Suddenly Elizabeth started hugging me—I guess her mother isn’t very affectionate. I felt awkward, but nobody seemed to pay us any attention, and her body was shaking. I hugged her back.
My mom took the baby and went to a corner of the room. I can’t see her from where I am but I know where she is; she’s gone there before. I guess it’s her way to try and be “alone” in this place. She had tears on her face again and I know she’s thinking of Dad and how she could have lost Richard, too.
On top of everything, we didn’t even get any new provisions today. Richard said it was hard enough just carrying back the injured guy. Otherwise they might have tried a few smaller stores they passed. Some of the men are very angry about what happened, and talking revenge. Including Richard. The atmosphere is tense. I hate it. I want to go home, even if it is cold there.
Mr. Aronoff just walked over and told me to put out the candle. He’s enforcing a curfew. Who does he think he is? The Gestapo?
I’ll just write this one other thing that I almost forgot after what happened at Wal-Mart. A new family came today. Mr. Aronoff let them in because the father has a hand-crank radio. They’ve been trying since he got here to pick up another signal, but so far there’s nothing. All we hear is static. It’s sad to hear only static when you know there should be radio stations everywhere. It feels like the country has died.
SARAH
JANUARY 17
DAY SEVEN
Mr. Wendell is still with us.
“They brought a doctor last night, and he got the bullet out,” Richard said. But he gave me an ominous look. “He’s hanging on, but he’s lost a lot of blood. And the doctor won’t come back. He was on his way home, walking through town when they found him. He’s been walking since it started, holing up wherever he can at night.” He gave me a strange look. “He’s had to trade drugs for shelter. But he’s running out. He wouldn’t even leave painkillers or antibiotics for when Wendell wakes up. Said he still has twenty miles to go before he makes it to his house and he needs something to barter with or he’ll freeze to death on the way.”
I felt hopeful when I heard this. “You see? People can make it home if they try long en
ough. Maybe Dad is getting close to us, only we don’t know it!”
Richard grimaced. “Dad’s not exactly a doctor, Sarah. He doesn’t have drugs to trade or anything else that I know of.”
“Still—there are decent people who could have offered him shelter. Ohio is full of nice people!”
“Oh, yeah?” He held up his arm, showing me the bandaged site where the bullet had nicked him. “This nice?” He looked around, taking in the whole area within our sight, and motioned out with his arm. “You see all these people? Not a single one offered to help find a doctor for that lady.”
“Mr. Powell went for the doctor,” I said.
“Yeah, after Mrs. Wendell threw a hissy fit.”
“But he went.”
Richard paused, slumping back against the chair, his legs pushing out, as he tried to get more comfortable. “If I wasn’t so exhausted I would have. But most of these people could have gone. They didn’t come to Wal-Mart; they weren’t worn out like we were. It just shows you, people revert to animal instincts when they’re threatened. And there’s never help when you need it.”
I gave him a stony stare. “Sometimes there is help when you need it.” He just stared back, shaking his head.
Maybe Richard’s right. There is no help. And we need it.
Mom is begging Richard not to go back to the store again. But Richard says he has to. He says it’s his duty.
LATER
We now have armed guards at the library. I’m not sure I like it. Two of our men went back to the building and returned with guns. They said if they’d brought them to Wal-Mart maybe Mr. Wendell wouldn’t have been shot. They could have defended our group. They’d only left them at the building because of their rush to get out safely during the fire.
So they’re our self-appointed policemen.
Every day people try to join us here. I’ve watched from the window when a group of four young adults tried to come in but weren’t allowed. There was shouting and cursing and carrying on but in the end they went away.
The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set Page 15