Susan Pfeffer - The Dead And The Gone

"That can't be," Alex said. "Christ would never let that happen."

"Oh good," Kevin said. "I feel all comforted now."

"If you believe that," Alex said, "that we're all going to die anyway, why are you here? I mean right here, right now, standing on line for food you're not even going to eat?"

"Just racking up the brownie points for heaven," Kevin replied. "I figure being nice to you is my last best shot."

"If this is a joke, I'll kill you," Alex said. "You may think this is funny, but I have sisters I have to watch out for."

"Yeah, I know," Kevin said. "They're your ticket to heaven. And no, I'm not kidding. Ask father Mulrooney. Ask anybody. You're the only person who doesn't seem to know." He turned to the woman standing on line behind him. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said. "But my friend doesn't believe volcanoes are erupting and throwing ash into our sky. Have you heard anything about that?"

The woman nodded. "It's been all over the news," she said. "They've been blowing up in the west. Lots of people died out there. I guess the worst one was in Yellowstone Park. The ash is so hot it starts fires, so people die that way, too. Fire and smoke and lava. We're lucky to be so far away, but I did hear the sky's that funny color because of it. I didn't know we were going to get cold, though, but now that you mention it, it has been chilly for July the past few days. And it was so hot up until now. The hottest summer I can remember, but I just figured that was a coincidence. I mean why would the moon make things hot?"

Alex tried to convince himself that this was a massive practical joke, that the woman who wouldn't shut up was Kevin's mother or his nanny or someone he hired for the sole purpose of scaring him.

"Not just the city," he said.

"No," Kevin said. "All over the world."

"And no more sunlight for months, maybe years?"

"Maybe ever," Kevin said.

Julie was right. Dammit, she was right. The sun had died, and with it, humanity died, also.

"No!" he said sharply. "I won't believe that."

"Okay," Kevin said, humoring him. "Maybe not ever."

"No, I mean that we're all going to die," Alex said. "All over the world there are Einsteins and Galileos. They're figuring things out." He paused as he remembered how certain he'd been that those great minds were figuring out how to get the moon back in place. Now they had volcanic ash to deal with.

"That's what I say!" the woman chimed in. "They're working on it right now. Sure, all those people out west died, and it's very sad and all that, but we've suffered, too, with the tidal waves and the cholera. The scientists are doing everything they can to make things better. We may not understand how —I mean, I flunked physics—but lots of people are solving all these problems. It's just a matter of time before things get back to normal."

Alex wasn't sure he knew what normal was anymore. But as long as he knew there was food enough for his sisters and himself, he wouldn't lose any sleep over volcanoes.

Tuesday, July 19

"I'm going to check the mail," Alex told Julie after school. The mailboxes were on the first floor, and for weeks Alex had avoided theirs, figuring the only mail they could possibly get was bills he didn't know how to pay. But since the sister had told him they'd be sending a schedule for phone calls to the convent, Alex had checked the mailbox daily, always finding it empty.

But today there were two postcards. "What?" Julie demanded. "What do they say?"

"This one's from Carlos!" Alex said. "No date. It just says, 'I'm all right. We're on our way to Texas.' He turned it over and saw a June 14 postmark. Over a month ago.

"Let me see," Julie demanded, and he handed her the postcard. "Do you think he's there: Is the other postcard from him?"

But it wasn't. It was from the convent, and it said, "Family members may call Briana Morales on Thursday, July 14, at 4:00 pm."

"Great," Alex said. "We were supposed to call Bri last week."

"But the postcard only got here today," Julie said.

"Yeah, I noticed," he snapped. "Let's go home and see if we can reach her now."

They went down the stairwell and entered the apartment. It was cold in there, not bone-chilling cold, but dank and lifeless. The sunlight had been faint for over a week, and Julie worried about her vegetables.

Alex walked over to the phone and was pleased to hear a dial tone. It might not be Thursday, July 14, but at least it was close to 4:00 pm. He dialed the number for the convent.

"Notburga Farms."

"Yes, this is Alex Morales," he said. "My sister Briana is staying there. I just got in the mail today a postcard saying I could call her last Thursday. I'd like to speak to her now."

"I'm sorry," the woman on the other end said. "If your appointment was to call her last Thursday, you needed to call her then. We'll send you another postcard to tell you the next time you can talk with your sister."

"No," Alex said sharply. "That's unacceptable. You're the ones who sent the postcard and you must have known how unreliable the mail is. I insist on speaking with my sister."

"The girls are all doing chores right now," the woman said. "Most likely Briana is in the stables. That's why we sent out appointment cards."

"I don't care if Briana is cleaning the stables for the birth of baby Jesus," Alex said. "Get her."

To his astonishment, he heard the woman say, "Find Briana Morales, and bring her here. Her brother's on the line."

"Thank you," Alex said. "I'll hold."

Still clutching Carlos's postcard, Julie stared at Alex. "Is she coming?" she asked.

Alex nodded.

Julie hugged him. "Let me speak to her," she said. "Please."

"Of course," Alex said. "But we probably won't have much time, so make it fast."

"I want to tell her about my garden," she said.

"Tell her you have one," he said. "Don't go into details."

It took close to five minutes before he heard anything, but when he did, it was worth the wait. "Hello?"

"Bri? It's Alex."

"Alex? Is it Mami? Is she home? Or Papi?"

"No," Alex said. "It's just us, me and Julie. We haven't spoken to you for so long, and we wanted to wish you a happy birthday and find out how you're doing."

"I'm fine," she said. "I just thought… I mean Sister Marie made it sound like it was an emergency, and I've been praying so hard for Mami and Papi to come home so I could, too; I guess I got carried away."

"Why?" Alex asked. "Aren't you happy where you are? Are they treating you okay?"

"Oh no, Alex, they're really nice to all of us," Bri said. "I love the farm. I love taking care of the goats and the sheep. We eat three meals a day. I even have a nickname. The girls call me Brush, because I came with so many toothbrushes. But I miss home anyway. It's like I never stop aching. How's Julie?"

"She's right here," Alex said. "Ask her yourself."

"Bri!" Julie shrieked. "Bri, is that really you? I miss you so much. I think about you always. Alex says I can't talk too long, but I want you to know I'm working in this big garden in Central Park. All of us at Holy Angels are, and I wish you were here working with me. Yeah. Really? Goats? Do they kick? And sheep? And breakfast? We don't eat breakfast anymore, but Alex gets us food every week and we eat lunch at school, so it isn't too bad. But sometimes I just hurt because you're not here. I know that's selfish and I pray for forgiveness, because you're happy and there are the goats and all that, but I still wish you were here. Yeah. Well, Alex is gonna kill me if I keep talking. No, we're getting along pretty well, actually. He lets me beat him in chess sometimes. Okay, here he is."

"You're doing all right?" he asked. "You're not hungry or overworked or anything?"

"I'm fine," Bri said. "How's everyone else? How're Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Lorraine? Have you heard from Carlos?"