This World We Live In (The Last Survivors, Book 3) (3 page)

Mom thought about it and then nodded. "Go for it,"

she said.

Jon and I got two hammers and we pul ed the nails out, and we have windows again. With the fire going, the rain in the background, and the smel of clean clothes and clean sheets, it's positively cozy.

Usual y when there's electricity, Mom turns a radio on

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so she can listen to the news without using up batteries (we're running low on them, too). But today she went upstairs, came down with a CD player, and put on some Simon Garfunkel.

"I've missed music," she said.

I can't say I've missed Simon Garfunkel, but it was nice to hear "Bridge Over Troubled Water" again.

We sang it in middle school chorus about a mil ion years ago.

When it rains, you can forget the sky is gray al the time. If you're cold, wel , that's perfectly normal on a damp, dreary day. Bad weathe r - good mood.

Bad weather and electricity, that is.

May 5

"I've been thinking," Matt said at lunch. "About a couple of things."

I'd been thinking, too, about nail polish. But I knew better than to mention it. "What?" I asked instead.

"First of al , if we're going to stay here, Jon and I should start chopping firewood again."

"I hate the idea of the two of you out there al day, hungry, doing al that work," Mom said.

"It has to be done," Matt said. "But I think before we start on it, Jon and I should try something else."

"What?" Jon asked.

"We know we have food for a while," Matt said.

"But we could certainly use more. And I can't remember the last time we had protein. The rain got me thinking. The shad run the Delaware River in spring."

"They start in April," Jon said.

"This year they might be a little late," Matt said.

"But it's safe to bet the river ice has melted. I don't know if

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there'l be a lot of fish, but it's worth going and catching what we can."

"Could we go tomorrow?" Jon asked. "How long wil we be gone?"

"Wait a second," I said. "How come I can't go, too?"

"Wait two seconds," Mom said. "I haven't agreed to any of this yet."

Matt gave Mom a look. We've been together so much the past few months, we don't have to talk anymore. We know each other's looks to perfection.

"How long would you be gone?" Mom asked.

"A week," Matt said. "Maybe less. We're about fifteen miles from the Delaware, so Jon and I should plan on a day's travel there and back. Then it would depend on how the fish are running, how long we would stay. We'l camp out, or if there are houses we can use, we'l sleep in them. Deserted motels.

We'l take some food with us, but if we're lucky, we'l catch some shad first thing, and eat that until we get home."

"You'l need rods," I said. "And flies. And I stil don't see why I can't go."

"You hate fishing," Jon said.

"You don't like it, either," I pointed out.

"Yeah," Jon said. "But it'l be something to do."

"We have one fishing rod in the attic," Matt said.

"And Mr. Nesbitt used to fish. There's a pretty good chance I can find his rod. If not, we'l look for one in other houses around here. It shouldn't take too long to find everything we need. When people scavenged this fal , they were looking for food, not wading boots. We have sleeping bags, so that's no problem. Nobody'l mistake us for professionals, but there probably won't be much competition, either. If 30

we can bring back a trash bag or two of shad, we could salt them and eat off them for weeks, maybe even months."

"There's so much I don't like about this," Mom said. "Including breaking into people's houses and stealing things."

"We're not stealing from anyone who's stil here,"

Matt said. "Mom, let's say we leave at some point.

Would you object if someone came in and took our firewood?"

Mom sighed. Matt grinned. Jon looked positively giddy.

"I stil don't see why I can't go," I said. "I can bike fifteen miles, same as you."

"Mom shouldn't be left alone," Matt said. "And it would be easier for me to go with Jon."

I knew I wasn't going to win, and sulking and pouting would only make everybody mad at me.

Which was a shame, because I used to be real y good at sulking and pouting.

"I want to break into people's houses, too," I said.

"I bet I could find lots of stuff we can use."

"Like what?" Jon asked in his best "I chop firewood; I bring home fish" voice.

"Stuff you're not civilized enough to care about," I said. "Toothpaste. Deodorant. Shampoo."

"You're right," Matt said. "We should al look around the houses nearby and see what we can find."

"You can't go before Tuesday," Mom said.

"Monday you and Jon can go into town to get our food. That'l give both of you a sense of what it's like to travel together. What's today, anyway?"

We al counted back to Tuesday, the last day in our lives that had meaning.

"Friday," I said, counting the fastest.

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"Al right," Mom said. "That wil give you the weekend to look for everything you need. Rods and flies and wading boots. How are we on trash bags?

"

"We stil have a few," Matt said. "We haven't been throwing out much garbage lately."

"Horton wil be happy," I said. "The house wil stink offish."

"We'l solve that problem when we have to," Mom said. "Along with any others that come along."

May 6

I love breaking into houses. I mean, I real y love it.

We each took a neighborhood. Matt started at Mrs. Nesbitt's and worked his way down Howel Bridge Road. Jon biked over to the Pine Tree section, and I went to Shirley Court.

It's easy enough to tel if a house is vacant. No smoke from the chimney, nobody home. But I knocked on doors first, pretty comfortable that no one was watching. Shirley Court has a much more suburban feeling than Howel Bridge Road, but you could tel the whole neighborhood was deserted.

When we left the house after breakfast, Matt, Jon, and I discussed the best ways of breaking in. A lot of the houses, we figured, would be unlocked, because after the house was first left empty, the scavengers would have broken in, taken al they wanted, and not bothered locking up. But if we couldn't find enough in the houses like that, we should break a window and let ourselves in.

This is the kind of discussion you have outside, where Mom can't hear you.

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We each took a trash bag, which seemed

optimistic to me. Then again, I expected to find some half-ful detergent containers, and they're pretty bulky.

We told Mom we'd be back by 4:00, but we didn't explain to her that we'd be going separately. You can never tel what's going to set Mom off. She might have thought we'd be safer together, but then again, together we might run into a guy with a semiautomatic who'd take us al out--although my guess is the guys with the semiautomatics left a long time ago.

It's hard to say what my favorite part of breaking and entering is. I love the adrenaline rush. Wil there be someone in the house? Wil I get caught? I never used to shoplift, but now I understand why some kids did it. When everything else is boring, there's something to be said for risk.

But exciting as that is, it's nothing compared to finding treasures. Bottles of shampoo, one of them almost completely ful . Partly used bars of soap.

Lots of detergent--so much I ended up pouring it al into an almost empty 150-ounce container. Fabric softener sheets, a luxury I'd forgotten existed.

And the toothpaste! A half-used tube here, a quarter-used tube there. Two completely untouched containers of fluoride rinse. One linen closet I ransacked had a half dozen brand-new

toothbrushes. We might starve to death, but at least we'l have good teeth.

Of course I checked the kitchen cabinets first, but I only found one thing there: a box of rice pilaf that had been lodged in a corner and gone

undiscovered until me.

Most of my time I spent upstairs, going through bedrooms and bathrooms. It took me four houses before I remembered cosmetic bags, but once I began searching for

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them, I found lots of things. Travel-sized containers of shampoo and toothpaste. Hotel bars of soap, mostly untouched. Tissue packets.

I would have loved to find six-packs of toilet paper, but no such luck. Stil , every house I broke into had a partly used rol in each bathroom, and I took al of them. I pul ed out al the tissues from their boxes and shoved them into one of the empty cosmetic bags.

One house had a shelf fil ed with paperback mysteries. Another had an unused book of crossword puzzles.

Hidden in the back of one linen closet was a twelve-pack of batteries. A bottle of aspirin sat waiting for me in a medicine cabinet. There were two cans of shaving cream I took for Matt.

So much stuff. It's amazing how much stuff people used to have.

After you've looted strangers' medicine cabinets, you don't feel much guilt when you go through their chests of drawers. I only took socks. I could have taken underwear, but the idea of wearing someone else's disgusted me. Socks, though, were a whole other matter. If nothing else, Matt and Jon were going to need a lot of them.

The Shirley Court people didn't seem to be too outdoorsy. No rods or reels or wading boots. I found a couple of ski masks, though, so I threw them in for Matt and Jon to use if they slept outdoors.

Every house I went into had a bucket, and I took a couple of them and put one on each handlebar. I fil ed them with the smal er things, figuring after we emptied them, we could use them to hold rainwater.

I know I found more stuff, but it's hard to remember. Every thing was a treasure waiting to be remember. Every thing was a treasure waiting to be discovered.

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There is nothing more beautiful than half a rol of toilet paper.

The best thing about my brand-new career as a burglar was being alone. For eight glorious hours I spoke to no one. I bumped into no one. I looked at no one. And no one spoke to me or bumped into me or looked at me.

I couldn't wait to show everybody al my loot. It was like trick-or-treating only a thousand times better.

Even so, there was a part of me that was sad at the thought of giving up the quiet, unshared space.

But after eight hours I was cold, hungry, and tired. I made sure everything was securely in place and began the bike ride home.

Matt, Jon, and I had agreed to meet by the mailbox so Mom would think we'd stayed together.

Matt was already there when I got back, and Jon showed up a couple of minutes later. Al our bikes were loaded.

Mom tried to look disapproving, but I could see her eyes light up as we brought in our loot. After a while she got into the whole Christmasy feel.

"My brand of shampoo," she said. "Oh, and look at this. I haven't had a crossword puzzle to do in months!"

Of course we oohed and aahed over the rods and reels and flies and nets and wading boots and salt containers. Matt had also found an unopened bag of cat food for Horton and a cordless power saw that stil had some power to it.

Neither one of them had thought to take the toilet paper or soap or any of the useful stuff I'd located.

But I can always go back to the houses they went through.

As far as I was concerned, though, Jon found the absolute best thing. He was positively giddy when he handed a

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box to me. "I tried two of them," he said. "They both worked, so I bet they al do."

It wasn't a big box, but I was so excited about what I'd find, my hands shook as I opened it. In the box were twenty-four flashlight pens, al neatly inscribed

"Walter's Realty Your Home Is Our Business."

I flicked one on and sure enough it worked.

"Now you can write in your journal without using a flashlight," Jon said.

I could have kissed him. In fact, I'm writing this entry after everyone else has gone to sleep, thanks to Walter's Realty. If I ever buy a house, I'l give them my business.

May 6

Mom wouldn't let us go through any more houses.

"You've found enough," she said. "Stealing isn't a game."

"We're not stealing," Matt said.

"Taking things without permission," Mom said. "It's as good as stealing."

But I didn't notice her hesitating to do one of the crossword puzzles.

May 7

Matt and Jon went to town to pick up our food, and I was too jumpy to stay in the house.

"I'm going to Mrs. Nesbitt's," I said, and I was pleased Mom didn't make a fuss about stealing.

The first thing I located was a manual can opener, for Matt and Jon. None of us had thought to pick one up on Saturday. I never thought of Mrs. Nesbitt as one to travel, but sure enough, she had a cosmetic bag hidden away, with

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a tissue packet, a little bar of soap, and three packets of hand sanitizer. She'd left a quarter rol of toilet paper as wel .

But the most interesting thing I found was a smal electric heater. By the time she'd died, electricity was a thing of the past, so no one had bothered taking it.

But now, at least sometimes, we have electricity. I lugged the heater back to the house, along with whatever else I could find.

"We can use it in the kitchen," I told Mom. "Or turn it on anyplace whenever we have power."

"That's a good idea," Mom said. "We could put it in the sunroom and cut down on the firewood."

Of course when you want electricity is exactly when you don't get it. We haven't had any since those fabulous four hours a few days ago.

Mom and I then had a lengthy discussion about the causes of World War One so she could feel like we got something done. It seems like a pretty dumb war to me, but most wars seem pretty dumb to me, given how things worked out.

She had just finished tel ing me how the Russian royal family had al been murdered but some people thought Anastasia had survived, when Matt and Jon returned. They brought the same four bags, but there was more food in each. I knew I should feel bad about that, but I couldn't make myself.