Susan Pfeffer - The Dead And The Gone

With the flashlight glowing onto his watch, he could tell it was just after five o'clock. No point going back to sleep. Instead, shaking with the cold, he dressed, then knelt in front of the crucifix they'd taken from home and prayed for the strength he and his sisters would need in the days to come.

Friday, December 2

There was hardly anyone on the food line, but that didn't make things move any faster. Julie stuck by Alex's side, the way she did now when they went to school and church. Kevin told her jokes and really seemed to listen to her. Alex could see how much she liked that.

Every night, when Alex said his prayers, he thanked Christ for the gift of Kevin's friendship. He would have told Kevin that, but he didn't think Kevin would want to know.

"How are you doing?" he asked Kevin instead, at lunch. "How's your family?"

"Fine," Kevin said. "Or as fine as we can be under the circumstances."

"Good," Alex said. "Are you warm enough?"

"Right now, this very minute, no," Kevin said.

Alex laughed. "I mean at home," he said. "Does your building still have heat?"

"Yeah, sure," Kevin said. "They moved us to a DRU before Thanksgiving, so we're okay. Mom complains because they keep the thermostat at sixty-five. But no one ever froze to death at sixty-five."

"What's a DRU?" Alex asked.

Kevin looked uncomfortable. "Designated Residential Unit," he said. "They're for the families of essential personnel, to make things bearable until we get out."

"I guess you have to be a level six for something like that," Alex said.

Kevin laughed. "A level six:" he said. "That just means you can walk up six flights of stairs without risking a heart attack. Where'd you pick that up?"

"I heard it somewhere," Alex said. "I guess I misunderstood." "I guess so," Kevin said. "You okay? Do you still have heat?"

"Oh yeah, we're fine," Alex said. "I was just wondering how your mother is doing."

"She misses our old apartment," Kevin said. "When she's sober enough to remember."

"What do you miss?" Alex said. "What's the one thing you miss the most?"

Kevin shrugged. "TV maybe," he said. "Decent food. The Internet. I don't miss the sun that much. At least I'm not freckling anymore. What about you?"

Alex tried to come up with an answer that was short yet honest. "Family," he finally said.

"Stupid of me to ask," Kevin replied. "I miss knowing I'm smart. That used to compensate for a lot in my life."

"Mine, too," Alex said.

"You ever think this is just a nightmare and someday you'll wake up and things'll be the way they were before?" Kevin asked.

Alex shook his head.

"Me neither," Kevin said. "My mother does, though. That's why she stays drunk. When she's sober, she has to remember all this is real. Harvey'd better not run out of booze anytime soon. I think Mom'll kill herself if she has to stay sober."

"I'm sorry," Alex said. "That must be really hard."

"It's okay," Kevin replied. "I'd be drunk all the time too if I didn't have to look out for her."

The line began to move. A woman standing a few feet ahead of them fainted. Alex and Kevin stepped around her.

Kevin handed his bag to Alex when they finally got them. "Not much this time," he said.

Alex looked. Each bag had a box of rice, a can of red beans, a can of mixed vegetables, and two cans of tomato soup.

"Maybe Harvey'll have some stuff," he said. "Are we still on for Monday morning?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Kevin said. "Seven o'clock, in front of your building."

"Good," Alex said. "Well, I'd better go home. See you at school."

"Sure thing," Kevin said.

"Oh, and Kevin," Alex said.

Kevin paused.

"Nothing," Alex said. "Just thanks for doing this with me."

"Any time," Kevin said. "See you in school."

Saturday, December 3

"What's that sound?" Bri asked that morning. "It sounds like broken glass is falling from the sky."

"Great," Alex said. "That's just what we need."

Bri giggled. "You sound like Julie," she said.

"What's wrong with that?" Julie asked. "Alex, can we look out the window and see what's happening?"

Alex could think of two good reasons why they shouldn't. The first was it would involve pulling nails out of a wall so they could fold back a section of the blanket that covered the window. The second reason was because he knew he didn't want to see what was happening. Ostriches definitely have the right idea, he thought, as he freed himself from the blankets he'd wrapped around his body and went to the kitchen to get a hammer. He could see his breath. Nine more days, he reminded himself. We only have to survive here for nine more days.

Julie and Bri crowded around the window as Alex lifted the blanket.

Bri gasped. "Everything's white."

"More like gray," Julie said. "I never saw gray snow before."

Alex knew it was a mistake to look. West Eighty-eighth Street was covered with snow. It was hard to estimate how much had fallen, but he guessed at least six inches, maybe more. And now it was sleeting, the snow already glistening with ice.

"It must have started after we got home from school," Julie said. "Do you think school will be open on Monday?"

"I don't see why not," Alex said, quickly calculating how much food they had in the house and how long it could last if he and Julie didn't eat lunch at school. "It's not like we take a bus to get there."

"I used to love snow," Bri said. "I guess now it just makes things harder."

Bri's right, Alex thought, staring down the street. It was going to be hard enough to get Bri to Port Authority by foot. But now there was snow and ice on the streets, and no one would plow this far uptown.

He looked at Bri, or more accurately, at Bri's eves, since the rest of her face and body was covered. How much could she weigh? He'd foolishly weighed himself the week before and found he was down to 112. Bri probably weighed about ninety pounds. He'd never be able to carry her over two miles.

What if he rigged up some kind of stretcher and he and Julie lifted together. He looked at his baby sister, who was staring out the window, transfixed by the sight of snow. He doubted she weighed eighty pounds. She seemed healthy enough and she had less trouble climbing stairs than he did lately. But it was dangerous to assume she'd be able to share the burden for such a long distance.

Could they drag Bri on a mattress? Even if they could, the mattress would get wet, and it wouldn't be good for Bri to be lying on a wet mattress in below-freezing weather for the three hours or more it might take. Besides, as the mattress took on moisture, it would get heavier and harder to pull.

How could God do this to them? What had they done that deserved such punishment?

"I don't care if it is gray," Bri said. "It's still beautiful. And look how it covers the corpses."

"Great," Julie said. "Now the rats'll be pissed off."

"Don't use language like that," Alex said automatically, and in spite of himself, he laughed.

Humility, he reminded himself. God wasn't singling him out. If he placed his faith in Christ and used whatever brain cells he had left, the solution would come to him. Because somewhere there was a solution. There had to be. There had to.

Sunday, December 4

"Come on," Bri said, going into the living room and shaking Alex awake. "It's Sunday. We don't want to miss Mass."

"Go back to bed," Alex said. "You'll freeze standing there."

"I'm not so cold," Bri said. "Besides, there's heat at St. Margaret's. Please, Alex. Get ready, and then I'll wake Julie."

Alex reluctantly climbed out of the sleeping bag and walked to the window. He pulled the blanket away and gestured for Bri to join him.

"Look out there," he said. "There's snow and sleet and snow on top of the sleet. How the hell do you think we're going to get to church?"