What did Grandpa do, write a speech for Nana and memorize it before he got here?
He looks around like he’s lost, and he probably is. I get up, take his arm, and walk him to the back door. He’s kind of an intruder here. But Grandpa was a big part of Nana’s life. She loved him for decades, and he deserved a chance to say goodbye, but it’s time for him to go.
He knows it. He follows my lead to the door and looks back, wiping his face with his hand again, as though he’s wiping it with a big rag. “Goodbye, Bea. Night, everyone.”
I choke back a sob. As Phil and Silas walk Grandpa to the Mint, I realize it’s getting dark. I don’t know if we’ve been having this vigil for lots of hours or if it was later than Mom said when we got here. It doesn’t matter. I kind of want to go eat or pee or do anything, take Alma upstairs and make love to her even, to stop feeling so sad for a minute or two. But I’m not leaving Nana for one second. Not yet. Because before long, we’ll be without her forever.
Night falls and Phil lights some candles. Nana had a ton of candles, but they’re running low now. We don’t have enough beeswax to make candles for everyone, and those candles burn super fast. What we need is electricity.
And that’s when I know how I’m going to honor Nana. I’ll get us power someway somehow. Windmills? Solar panels? There’s got to be a way, and I will find it. That’s how Nana would want to be honored, by bringing more light to our world. She is full of light, my Nana, even now, while she’s breathing her last breaths.
I scoot over to lean against the wall. Alma leans there with me, resting her head on my shoulder while I run my hand over her hair.
Pretty soon I’m dozing off, though I’m mad at myself for doing it. Alma’s stretching her eyelids wide, trying to stay awake.
I may have been asleep for a couple minutes when Mom and Aunt Jeri gasp. Uncle Eddie lets out a cry.
Jack stands, leans over, and puts his ear to Nana’s chest. And he listens for like a whole minute. He raises up, trembling all over, and wags his head.
“She’s gone.” He crumples to the floor like a deflating balloon. I sit forward to cradle Jack in my arms while he moans and sobs and shakes all over. I moan and sob with him. Alma has a grip on my arm that’s comforting and also trembling.
This is it, what we’ve been dreading, and it’s worse than I thought it would be.
Mazie runs over and tugs on Nana’s arm, saying, “Nana, come back. Please come back. Don’t leave me here!” She screeches out soft little cries. Oh, man, we all want Nana back, and we feel like Mazie does, only we’re too grown-up to do what she’s doing.
Milo hugs Mazie tight until she has to let go of Nana and hug him back. They sit down on the floor and bawl. Jeri wails into Tom’s shirt. Mom looks lost and needs someone to hug her, so I motion her over to us. She sits down by Alma, and the only two women I truly love in this world now that Nana is gone, they clutch each other and cry.
Phil’s comforting Uncle Eddie, who’s crying so hard I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack. Phil’s afraid, too, from the look of him. He walks Eddie into the dining room and tries to give him water, but he won’t take it. Phil hugs Eddie hard, and they slide down to the floor, too.
Because hugging tight for a long time while you’re sobbing is easier on the floor. Because we’re all flattened now that Nana is gone.
And the world is so empty with Nana not in it that I can’t remember how to breathe.
CHAPTER 16
We’re burying my beautiful Nana on the day after she died, and I’m so sad I hardly know how I got here. I have a bad case of numb zombie brain.
Mom and Uncle Eddie stayed up all night making a burial shroud for Nana, washing her, and sewing her into the shroud. By the time I got up, they had washed all the bedding Nana died on and hung it to dry, including the pillows.
I swallowed some oatmeal and put on a wrinkled button-up shirt with a tie, but Alma made herself look extra beautiful in a dress with bright flowers on it—a dress of Nana’s.
It’s the winter solstice, biting cold and bleak, patches of snow still on the ground. Silas and others dug a grave for Nana on the hillock by the entrance to our subdivision. It’s next to Tasha, which only makes it sadder, except I’m glad that Nana and Tasha will be together.
Alma and I cling to each other, holding back sobs, and so many people are here. I haven’t seen the whole neighborhood gathered together since back when Nana told the neighbors about the Mint and her stockpiles of food.
I’m so freaking proud of Nana and the way she saved so many people, maybe for generations. To see the respect they have for her, how many of them cry. But all that makes the loss of Nana impossibly huge and the world unbearably hollow without her. She had a presence that changed us all. She was like a rock star, my Nana. The rock star who saved our little piece of the world.
Jack is standing all erect with his head held high, but he’s trembling, like constantly. Even his mustache is quivering, and tears are running through the wrinkles on his sad-as-fuck face.
Then there’s seeing my crying family. I don’t know how I’m staying alive in the middle of this.
Out here on this tiny hilltop, old Mr. Bellows is about to lead us in a prayer when I see Grandpa and Aunt Jeri coming up the hill. My brain’s so numb that I didn’t realize they weren’t here yet. Pretty rude to show up late for a funeral.
As they reach the top of the hill, I see that Grandpa is leaning on some sort of cane. No, that’s not a cane. It’s a machete. A machete at Nana’s funeral? Oh, hell no!
I tap Alma’s shoulder so she’ll look at me, and then I nod toward Grandpa and trot over to intercept him. I get up inches from his face and mutter at him.
“You can’t bring that murderous machete to Nana’s funeral. Nana was all about peace.”
“Leave him alone,” Aunt Jeri growls under her breath. “I’m sick of y’all picking on him.”
“No one’s picking on him. This is a rule of civilization, of respect.”
“Not very civilized anymore, is it?” my aunt says with an ugly-ass sneer.
“We have to try, don’t we?” I’m boiling inside. I stare at Jeri until she smirks at me. “Grandpa, give me that machete.”
“Like hell!”
I bend down so my eyes are level with his, the way he’s all hunched over, and I turn my palms out toward him. What did Nana call this? Placating. I’m placating the old cuss.
“Let’s lean the machete against this bush here,” I say, and Grandpa finally lets me take it.
Behind me, Mr. Bellows says, “Amen,” and the crowd repeats it. I look back to see Alma making her way to the front of the group so she can sing for Nana one last time.
“Mom robbed Dad of everything he had,” Aunt Jeri mumbles. “And now you won’t even let him have his machete for comfort.”
“For comfort?” I’m getting more pissed by the second, but I turn my back on my aunt and grandfather, lean the machete on the bush, and go back to the crowd.
Alma clears her throat. “This is a poem that Miss Bea wrote before her stroke. She showed it to me when I was caring for her, and I made a song out of it. It’s her way of telling you goodbye, I think.”
Oh my God. Nana is still surprising us from beyond the grave. And Alma flat-out astonishes me when she sings out in a clear but trembly voice that pierces me and heals me at the same time. The song is beautiful, and it’s mesmerizing, and I am overwhelmed.
I’m gone, but I’m near
I haven’t flown away
I’m gone, but I’m here
I’m with you every day
In your hearts and your minds
Where I’ve taught you all I know
I’ve nurtured the seeds
That inside you will grow
A shimmer in the air
A whisper on the wind
This is how you’ll know that
My love will never end
I’m gone, but I’m near
I haven’t flown away
I’m gone, but I’m here
I’m with you every day
CHAPTER 17
Even though we’re raw with grief, Milo and I take a shift patrolling the perimeter just before dusk. It’s hard not to sigh out loud or even cry, but we have to do this.
Nana’s song and Alma’s voice ring in my head. “I’m gone but I’m near…”
We walk quietly across the park, checking behind the swimming-pool building, following the path between the wheat field and the playground.
When we get to the woods, I say to Milo, “Want to wait here while I go in?”
“Shit, no,” he says.
I make noises in my throat, mocking his tone, and he knocks his hip into mine. We poke our rifle barrels into bushes and clumps of weeds as we pass them.
Halfway to the back side of the park, Milo looks to his right. “What’s that?” He points to something lumpy on the ground, ten or so feet away. I skulk up to where he pointed.
“It’s a sleeping bag.” I kick at it. “There’s two of them.”
Milo slinks past me and points to the ground. A burned-out campfire, with empty cans around it. He rolls them over with his foot. Two cans with sweet corn labels, two with ranch-style beans. And there’s a dirty cooking pot nestled in the dead coals. The smears of bean juice on it look pretty fresh.
“Whoever left this here probably plans to come back,” I mutter.
“Looks like it,” Milo says.
“Let’s take the sleeping bags and get out of here. Make it hard for them to stay again.”
We each grab a sleeping bag, wad it up, and trot for home.
“Bobby patrolled the perimeter this morning,” I say. “Why didn’t he see these guys? They wouldn’t have set up camp after daylight.”
“Yeah, and where are they now?” Milo asks.
“They could be anywhere. I hope they’re not hiding in one of our yards.”
“Or an empty house.”
At home, the whole family is having dinner together, plus Jack and Phil, Silas and Doris, and Pedro and Chris. Well, Grandpa and Aunt Jeri aren’t here, but Uncle Tom and Mazie are.
We show them the sleeping bags, and Mazie squeals, “Eww, cooties!”
“They could have lice,” Mom says.
And Jack says, “Cooties are lice.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Stick the bags on the patio,” Mom says, “and I’ll burn them after dinner.”
As much as it pains us to do this on the day when we buried Nana, as soon as we eat, all the men here plus Milo and I roust more neighbors, and we search every yard and empty house we’ve got.
We pass Bobby on patrol, and Eddie tells him what happened.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Didn’t you see this camp or these guys when you scoured the woods this morning?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you accusing me of something, Simms?”
“No! What’s…? No.”
“Good,” Bobby says. “I didn’t see a thing.”
I don’t believe him. The only way he could’ve missed them is if he didn’t look.
We don’t find any interlopers in our yards and empty houses, so why don’t I feel better?
On my way home, I suddenly notice that there’s no northern lights tonight. They’re just gone? Is some evil cosmic mastermind fucking with our heads? It’s getting to be like the damn X-Files around here.
Alma and I fall asleep listening to Rick. There’s something comforting about hearing him talk, and man, do we ever need comfort right now.
Some of us ham operators been buildin’ up a network to spread the news that people bring us. More folks have ways to power radios than you might think—one guy rides a bike on blocks to power his. Another guy has some kind of solar battery setup. Others, like me, have generators and still have gas for them, but that won’t last forever.
And I never knew this ’til lately, but there’s lots of emergency wind-up radios around for you guys to listen with. Some folks in Clifton tell me they listen every night.
Lately, most of the news is about militias poppin’ up all over the country. I don’t know what’s the point of that. I truly don’t. Some people just got to have their power trips. I wouldn’t mind if militias would protect us, but most of ’em turn out to be the things we need protection from.
Ah, me. I’m still prayin’ for the day when Jesus comes back. I wish He’d hurry up, but I ain’t supposed to say that. Like I would know better than Jesus does when He’s supposed to do what.
CHAPTER 18
For the next couple days, we stay in our rooms—crying, sighing, sleeping. We only come out to eat and prepare food, and we don’t do much of that. My heart feels too heavy to lift out of bed, and I imagine the rest of the family feels the same. I know Alma does.
This morning, I drag myself outside to chop firewood in the sun, trying to get warm. We’ve fallen behind on our work, and now we need to catch up. Mom and Alma are cleaning up breakfast. They’re chatting excitedly in there, but when I come inside, they stop, giving each other furtive looks.
“If I’m interrupting your secrets,” I say, flipping my eyes between them, “then I can leave.”
Mom purses her lips and scrubs at the counter. “I went to see Jack last night,” she says.
“How’s he doing?”
“Not good, but he’s trying. He told me that we need to get pecans today. Since they’ve been snowed on, they’re going to rot if we leave them on the ground. We may have lost some already. Poor Jack. He was apologizing for forgetting them, getting weepy about it. As if he was supposed to think about pecans in the middle of Mom dy—” A sob interrupts her, and I choke up, too.
“I forgot about the pecans,” I say. “I haven’t been thinking of them as ours.”
“I guess they belong to whoever gets to them first,” Mom says.
“I already know you don’t want me to go, Keno,” Alma says. “But I’m going.”
I widen my eyes at her. “Not a good idea, Alma.”
“We need the pecans,” Mom says, tossing down her dishrag. “For the protein and fat. Hell, we need them for the calories. We’re all getting too thin with the rice gone and the flour so low.”
“Eddie and Phil will harvest honey in the spring,” I say, as though that’s going to stop these determined women.
“You don’t want us getting malnourished,” Alma says. She’s got me there.
“Mazie says she’ll show us the way to the place,” Mom says.
“You’re taking Mazie?” I shake my head. “Y’all are nuts.”
“We’re nutty for pecans.” Mom snickers with a snort, which gets a laugh out of Alma, and even out of me. It’s surreal to laugh when your heart is like a ball of lead.
The pecan trees we went to last year with Nana are about a mile due south. At least they’re not in the direction of the camo-guy homestead, but there are plenty of other threats. And those camo guys aren’t exactly staying at home.
The trees are surrounded by rows of storage lockers. Anyone could be lurking there. Plus, they’re inside a tall chain-link fence, and I’m not letting Alma climb it when she’s pregnant.
“I’m going with you,” I say. “Give me fifteen minutes to check on Milo and the other teens cutting firewood. I told them I’d help, but they can start without me.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Keno,” Alma says, like she’s ten.
“I know that. I’m your armed guard.”
I think we’ll never make it to the pecan trees, the way Mazie is dragging along, scuffing her heels on the pavement like she’s hypnotized by them. Why doesn’t Mom coax Mazie out of this? We’re not out for som
e stroll. We need to knock this out and get home safe.
Finally, we get there, and I cut the chain-link fence with bolt cutters and then pull the wagon up under the tall trees while the women run ahead. They’re oohing at the abundance of nuts on the ground.
“I’m going over there to take a leak,” I say, pointing behind the storage lockers, but no one pays attention to me. They’re down on their knees, stuffing fistfuls of pecans into grocery bags.
“Thanks for the help, Keno,” I mutter.
Alma says, “What?”
“Goin’ over there to take a leak,” I shout a little hotly, and Alma waves.
I go to the back end of a row of lockers where I can see the front sides with their roll-up doors. I notice busted locks on the ground, and I walk down the row. Some of the doors are bashed in and broken to crap. We probably should’ve raided storage lockers, too. Doubt we’d have found any food, but I bet there was other useful stuff. These doors weren’t busted when we came here last year. Looters have been busy.
I get sidetracked looking into lockers, but I don’t see anything worth sorting through. What’s left is mostly dirty clothes tossed around, suitcases, and furniture that’s either junk or too heavy to easily move. I come back to the end of the locker row and empty my overfull bladder, happy for the relief.
Then I hear male voices, talking too loud. Shit!
My fly half-buttoned, I flip the rifle off my shoulder, pointing it in front of me as I run around the corner and stop still. Alma’s eyes are riveted to a guy in camo with dark hair who has a camo-covered sidekick behind him.
Camo guys only steps from Alma? Oh, fuck no!
“Alma! You know me. It’s Ray.” He’s got a grin like a gash, and he’s got his hands out, sweeping down the length of himself, wriggling his hips like a snake. “How’s your squealy little brother?” This scumbag is slimy with something black like motor oil down the front of his camo jacket, and he’s stepping closer to my wife.
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