by Mic Roland
“WGIR will now go off the air until ten to the hour, in an effort to maximize the station’s generator fuel. Our reporters will continue to gather news while we’re off the air. We hope to have an update for you on that ongoing protest at the Willow Street Walmart when we return. Thank you for making WGIR-FM Manchester your news station.”
Martin tried to locate another station, but could only find stations too weak to be intelligible. “Sounds like a mess at the border, and in the cities too.”
Margaret nodded toward Susan in the back seat. “She mentioned angry crowds around gas stations and stores when you were walking. Think Nutfiled might be like that? Lots of gas stations. We could take the side roads and skip the town center. It’s a longer route, but maybe faster?”
“Definitely,” said Martin. “The center of Nutfield can be a quagmire on good days.”
While on the side streets, they could see vans and station wagons in driveways being packed up with boxes of clothes, bedding and toys. The parents looked somber. The children seemed to enjoy the adventure.
As they crossed over 93, they could see the southbound side was filled with cars, all inching along. The radio guy said the border was closed. I wonder how many of them will run out of gas down there? Martin wondered.
They arrived at Market Basket at 8:00, but the line was already hundreds of people long. “We’re an hour early and already there’s nowhere to park,” Margaret said. “How about I drop you off? You get in line and we’ll join you after I park…somewhere.”
“Sounds good.” Martin popped open the passenger door and stepped out. Susan stepped out of the back seat. Margaret did a double-take. She clearly did not intend for Martin and Susan to be waiting in line — together,— without her, yet she had no options. The car behind her honked.
Martin could tell that Susan was still uncomfortable with Margaret. He could see the conundrums for both of them.
“I’ll get a place in line,” he told Margaret, carefully avoiding the word ‘we’. “Get back as quick as you can.” The car honked again, so she drove off looking worried.
“I guess I shouldn’t have gotten out, huh?” said Susan. “She did not look very happy.”
“Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best idea,” said Martin.
“I wasn’t trying to make her angry with me, though I probably did. I just didn’t relish the idea of riding around with her and figured we’d end up parking far away and having to walk…I really wasn’t looking forward to a long walk with her, either.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t read too much into things,” said Martin. “She’s only known you for less than a day. Besides, what’s not to like?”
Susan gave him a skeptical look with one raised eyebrow. “I can tell she’s not happy I’m here.”
“Well, she wasn’t expecting a house guest. It takes some getting used to. Just go easy around her for awhile. We’ve all got a lot to adjust to these days. Oh hey, there she is already,” said Martin. He waved to get Margaret’s attention. “Maybe don’t stand so close, by the way,” he said quietly out of the side of his mouth. Susan took a step sideways.
“Somebody pulled out in the third row,” Margaret said as she walked up. “So I got a good spot.” She looked from Martin to Susan and back, as if mentally measuring the distance between them. “The line has been moving pretty well, I see. You were near the corner when I dropped you off.”
“Yes, we should be inside the doors pretty soon.”
When they got inside the store, a large sign announced a fifty dollar limit per person. The aisles were Black Friday crowded and with that semi-frantic river of humanity typical of Black Fridays. Battery-powered work lights were perched on stacks of boxes so as to flood some light down each aisle. Nonetheless, the light was too feeble for the large space. It was still dark. Dressed in bulky coats and hats, the majority of the shoppers were little more than dark, lumpy shapes shuffling about. Their puffs of breath glowed, backlit from distant lanterns and waving flashlights.
“This is why I thought we should bring flashlights,” Martin said to Margaret.
“Okay, yes, it’s dark. Let’s split up,” Margaret said, with a glance at Susan. “What’s on our lists are in different aisles anyhow. It’ll be quicker that way.”
“Good idea,” said Martin. “Let’s meet up at the cart rack just outside of the doors when we’re done.”
Margaret clicked on her flashlight. Knowing the layout of the store, she quickly disappeared among the dark swirl of shoppers. Martin glanced at his list. He knew roughly where the canned meats would be and was about to dive in, but hesitated when he saw Susan’s lost look.
He looked at her list. “Dry beans, canned fruits or veggies. Alternates: soups, gravy: canned or mixes. Those will be down there, past that column.” He pointed into the dark void. She looked apprehensive. To lighten her mood a bit, he added, “And we’re not totally desperate yet. So, don’t go knocking people out for a box of Minute Rice, or anything.”
“Oh stop it.” She smacked his shoulder. The sparkle in her eye was better than her worried look. Susan turned on her flashlight and set off toward the center of the store.
Food n’ Fuel
Martin took one of the plastic shopping baskets. His list said: Any kind of meat. Fresh? Canned meats. Cheeses. Alternates: powdered or canned milk. He pushed through the crowds toward the back of the store. The shelves were half empty and the store had only opened a half hour ago. This won’t last long, he thought.
The volume of shoppers was like a Black Friday, but the faces of the shoppers, occasionally illuminated in a flashlight beam, showed no holiday cheer. Worried looks, frustrated, confused: a few even looked fearful. People were grabbing things off of shelves without looking to see what they grabbed. Maybe they’re realizing this could be the last of it, Martin thought. Fifty dollars worth is not a winter’s supply of food.
The canned tuna was gone, except for two dented cans on the back of the shelf. He took those. A third can on the floor had no label. He took that too. It was probably tuna. There were some cans of Spam left. He started placing some in his basket. A young mother with a baby in a backpack was trying to take cans faster than he was. It was a competition. There was an animal fear in her eyes.
Martin paused. This was the second time he had seen that look. The young mother paused too and looked at him as if suspicious of some trick. He handed her a can, but she kept her cautious stare at him. He extended his arm a bit more to repeat his offer. He felt like he was coaxing a stray cat to take some food. She slowly took the can. When he handed her another, he saw a trace of a smile. Martin shook his head. He was such a softie.
He sighed when exploring another shelf. His flashlight beam revealed there were still several rows of Vienna sausages. Nonetheless, he raked in a dozen cans. Once he started taking some, others followed suit.
The fresh meats case was empty. No bacon, no ham, no frozen chickens. The deli case was empty too. No sliced anything. A crowd swarmed around the dairy cases. Martin pushed his way in to see what remained. Not much. People were scrambling for the yogurts in particular. In the random swipe of a flashlight beam, he spotted some packaged cheese bricks which had fallen into the bottom of the case. He reached between two jostling women and grabbed them. Two bricks of cheddar. Score!
After a bit of mental math to calculate his haul thus far, Martin guessed he could get a few more cans of Vienna sausages to round out his fifty dollars. When he returned to that aisle, however, the shelves were empty.
He looked up and down the crowded aisles, trying to spot either Margaret or Susan. He thought that he could take any over-quota items they might have to round out his fifty bucks worth. While in the pet food aisle, he saw that canned cat food had not been hit too hard. Pudge used to like the “tuna” flavor. Wonder if there’s actually any real tuna in there. There were several cans of “Tuna” cat food. The label said it conta
ined “seafood products” — whatever that was. Could mean tuna. It seemed meat-ish enough, perhaps as the last resort, but protein nonetheless. Several cans went into the basket.
The checkout line was the bottleneck, even with all fifteen lanes open. Everything had to be done by hand. He saw Susan in lane seven, so deliberately chose a different one. He could see Margaret outside by the carts, looking in. The cashier had a three-ring notebook of the inventory, a handheld calculator and an open cash tray. Martin saw at least three assistant managers walking up and down the cashier stations with holsters on their hips. Maybe they expected trouble with open cash drawers. Maybe I should have brought mine too. Still, Margaret was right. Market Basket did not turn into the O.K. Corral.
Martin’s basket came in over the fifty dollar limit. He happily gave back a few cans of the cat food. $49.76. Close enough.
Martin saw that he and Susan were done at the same time. He exited by the other set of doors to avoid being seen walking out with her. Perhaps he was reading more into subtle looks than was there, but he thought Margaret looked relieved to see him and Susan arrive from different directions.
“How did you do?” Martin asked. “Not a lot of choices in there, but this was the most I’ve seen on store shelves since this whole thing started. At least I maxed out my limit.”
“There wasn’t much left for fresh fruits or veggies,” said Margaret. “Still, I got some. Got these big bags of rice too. Nobody was bothering the spice rack aisle, so I got lots of salt, another pepper, garlic powder and the like. I was over my limit, so had to put some of it back. Spices can be expensive.”
They turned to look at Susan. “There wasn’t much to choose from in the canned goods aisles,” she said. “Most of it was gone. People were pushing and grabbing just everything. It was crazy. I could only get these three cans: apricots, okra and hominy. I think that’s a vegetable. There were several bags of beans left, and some lentils. So, I got them too. I figured I still had money left, so I got these.” She opened her bag to reveal two big cans of shortening.
“What?” said Margaret with a scolding tone. “That wasn’t on your list.”
Susan looked contrite. “No, but everything else on my list was gone, even the alternates. I figured it was better to get something than nothing, and that lady Pat was talking about cooking oils so I…”
“You did good,” Martin said. Margaret shot him a disapproving frown for negating her scold. “Even if we don’t need the shortening,” he said to Margaret, “We might trade it for something we do need. Okay, which way to the car?”
Margaret subtly made a point of walking between Martin and Susan on the way to the car, but no one said anything. Martin peered over the many car roofs. The line to get into the store was longer than when they arrived.
“We got inside the store during the first hour and things were half gone. I’m afraid those people in line won’t even find an orphan can of Vienna sausages by the time they get in.”
Margaret dropped Martin off at his truck. The bus station parking lot was nearly empty. Martin urged Susan to sit in the front seat. She declined with a hint of don’t-make-me-go-in-there in her eyes. Martin insisted. He knew she certainly could not ride home with him and Margaret would not like playing chauffeur.
“I’ve got a couple stops I want to make on the way home,” he said. To Susan he said, “Help Margaret with the groceries, but let her put them away. She knows where everything goes.” Margaret nodded a little ‘darn right’ nod. Margaret’s Focus drove away with Susan looking back like a dog being taken to the pound. Martin shook his head and sighed. I sure hope this gets better soon.
On the way home, Martin stopped at the Tractor Supply store. He remembered Red’s scolding about the half-empty feeder. While he had a fair amount of feed on hand, there would be no more factory-made chicken feed for a long time too. He did not want to cull his flock to fit their food supply any sooner than he had to. Eggs were a recurring protein source.
There were so few vehicles in the parking lot, that he wondered if the store was open. Flashlights wavered inside, so he decided it must be. He peered through the glass door, into the darkened space. When he saw movement, he knocked and waved. The manager came up, cautiously. Martin recognized him, though did not know his name. From the the way the man’s face relaxed, Martin could see that he recognized Martin too.
“Hey,” said Martin. “Are you guys open?”
“I guess,” said the man. “Cash only, of course.”
“Of course. Um. What’s with the guns?” Martin pointed to the pistol tucked in the manager’s waistband. The woman further inside, perhaps his wife, had a deer rifle draped over her forearm. He questioned his assumption that carrying was unnecessary. Others clearly thought it was prudent.
“Oh, there was a bunch of kids came by yesterday saying they wanted to buy some guns. I told them we don’t sell guns, but they didn’t believe me. Said I sold gun safes, so I must sell guns too. Even if I did sell guns, I sure as heck wouldn’t sell any to punks like them. I told them to get lost. They said they’d be back.”
“Yipes. Well, I didn’t see any punk types when I drove up,” said Martin.
“Good. What do you need?”
“Layer pellets,” Martin said. “Got any bags left?”
“Not many. Lucy, take this guy back to Poultry?” The woman nodded and picked up a flashlight. She did not put down the rifle.
“Hmm. Only three left,” said Martin. “No more Crumble. Guess these will have to do.” He hefted the bags onto the flat metal cart. The shelf that usually held bags of scratch grains was empty. “No more Scratch?” The woman shook her head.
Martin’s flashlight shone on a pair of 50 lb. bags of feed corn on a pallet beneath the shelf. “Guess I could take these and make my own Scratch, eh?” The woman shrugged.
After paying the manager, Martin loaded the heavy bags into the back of his truck. Through his windshield, he could see several youths in hooded sweatshirts run from the corner of the auto parts store to behind the coffee shop. He pretended not to notice them as he hefted up the last bag and closed the tailgate. The youths peeked around the corner of the coffee shop, then scurried behind a parked van.
Martin rolled the cart back up to the store. The manager pushed open the door for him. “Just a heads up,” Martin said softly. “I saw four kids in hoodies sneaking up this way. They’re behind that green van over there. I couldn’t tell if they had anything with them.”
The manager glanced toward the van. “Thanks.” The manager pulled in the heavy cart, then tipped it up to make a barricade behind the door. He took out his pistol and racked the slide. His wife crouched down, propping her rifle on the counter. She racked the bolt. The manager gave a little wave as Martin turned back to his truck.
Martin drove out the other exit to the parking lot to avoid the youths hiding behind the van. That isn’t going to go well, he thought. He regretted leaving home without one of his pistols, but was not sure what he would have done with it in this situation. Stay and defend another man’s store? No. Maybe if the youths had attacked him. Better to just be gone than risk a fight. Carrying had never seemed important before. Very little ever happened in New Hampshire. He made a mental note make sure his guns were ready and magazines full, in case groups of hoodies became more common.
Once back on the road home, he passed several gas stations. Two had hastily spray-painted cardboard signs that said ‘No Power. No Gas’ or simply ‘No Gas’. The Shell station had two long lines of cars waiting. Martin could hear a good-sized generator running. The owners had rigged up something. Shell appeared to be the only gas in town and swamped with would-be customers. Wonder how long will that last?
His truck still had over a half a tank, so he did not feel like joining the blocks-long lines. If Market Basket was any model, the people at the end of the line may find the underground tanks dry before they get their turn. That would be a lot of waiting for nothing. He did not like waiting.
He pulled in behind a landscaper’s truck and shut off his engine. He joined the ring of spectators watching some people working on one of the pumps. Martin stood beside a large man in insulated coveralls. The logo on his back matched that on the door of the landscaper’s truck.