Susan Pfeffer - Life As We Knew It

I realized I’d forgotten the cartons for the bottom of the wagon. There was nothing I could do about that, except put as many cans on the bottom as I could and hope for the best.

Except for the total terror I was feeling in the pit of my stomach, it was kind of fun, like those game shows where someone wins five minutes at the supermarket except there were dozens of other winners and we were all there at the same time.

I didn’t have much time to look around, but it seemed like most of the people were buying meats and produce, and there weren’t that many people fighting over the canned carrots. I even lucked out with the soups: Campbell was a lot more popular than Progresso, which made my life easier.

When I filled the cart as full as I could possibly manage, I wheeled it to the checkout lines only to discover people were simply throwing cash at the poor terrified cashiers. I took two $50s out, tossed them in the same general direction, and then since nobody seemed to be bagging, I pushed the cart out of the store and made my way back to the car.

It was actually raining harder, and the storm seemed to be closer. Not as bad as it had been this morning, but bad enough. I was relieved to see Mrs. Nesbitt standing by the car, waiting for me.

We threw all the cans into the car, and put the jars in a little more carefully.

Mrs. Nesbitt grinned at me. “All my life I’ve been well behaved,” she said. “It’s about time I got to push people around and not apologize.”

“Mrs. Nesbitt, you little devil,” I said.

“Ready for round two?” she asked. I said I was, and we made our way back to the store.

Except that some guy tried to steal the cart from Mrs. Nesbitt. “I need it!” he yelled. “Give it to me.”

“Get your own!” she yelled right back at him. “This is war, man.”

I was afraid the man thought that was exactly what it was. I didn’t know what else to do, so I rammed my wagon into his back and caught him by surprise. That gave Mrs. Nesbitt just enough time to pull away from him. I raced away, also, and didn’t look back.

Compared to battles in the parking lot, the store almost seemed comfy. I went to health and beauty aids and found it fairly empty. I guess the rest of the world hadn’t realized they were going to need vitamin D.

The great thing about ransacking painkillers was I knew I was getting more than $100 worth of stuff. I filled the cart to overflowing, stopped one more time at canned goods, and then over to baked goods, where I put boxes and boxes of cookies on the cart’s bottom shelf. I even remembered Fig Newtons, since Matt likes them.

This time I found Mom unloading her stuff in the car. She’d bought enough tuna fish and salmon and sardines to last us for two lifetimes.

The back of the van was as much a madhouse as the store, since there weren’t bags for anything. Mom was trying to unload as best she could, but things kept falling out, and I spent as much time grabbing stuff from the pavement as Mom did unloading.

A man came over to us. He had a wagon, but he looked desperate. “Please,” he said. “Please help me.”

“You have a wagon,” Mom said.

“I need you to come in with me,” he said. “My wife is seven months pregnant, and we have a two-year-old and I need diapers and baby food and I don’t know what else. Please come in with me so I can use your cart. I beg you, for my wife and my babies.”

Mom and I both looked at him. He looked like he was in his late twenties and he seemed sincere.

“Miranda, go back into the store and just use your best judgment,” Mom said. “I’m going with this man.”

We finished ramming stuff into the van, and then the three of us went back in.

I felt better catching a glimpse of Mrs. Nesbitt as we walked in. She was at gourmet foods. I guess she figured she might as well go in style.

I also found Jonny finishing up at the water section. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

I went over to juices and selected juices that were in cans or cartons. In a million years, I never thought we’d be drinking canned juice, but bottles were just too hard to deal with. I also got some of that lastforever milk.

By that point, a lot of the shelves were nearly empty, and people were starting to fight over single boxes of things. There were broken eggs on the floor, and spilled liquids, so just walking around was getting tricky.

There was still some room in my cart, so I went over to snacks and got a couple of boxes of pretzels. I spotted canned nuts, and threw lots of those in. Baked goods seemed pretty empty, so I filled the wagon with cartons of salt and bags of sugar and, just for the hell of it, a bag of chocolate chips.

I threw my $50s to the cashier and made my way to the van. The parking lot was getting nastier, and the rain was still falling hard. Jonny was there, but as soon as Mom showed up she told both of us to go back in and ransack the shelves for anything we could find. There really wasn’t much left in the store, but I managed to fill the cart with lima beans and brussels sprouts and other end-of-the-world delicacies.

When we finally all got into the van, Mom wouldn’t let any of us talk until she maneuvered her way out of the lot. By that point we were too exhausted to make conversation anyway.

Mom started driving home. The roads were even worse than they had been. At one point Jonny and I had to get out of the van and clear a big branch off the road. A couple of other people showed up and helped us, but I was scared until we got back into the van and Mom started driving again.

We were halfway home when Mrs. Nesbitt said, “Stop at that strip mall.”

“You think?” Mom said, but she pulled into the parking lot. It was practically empty.

“Jonny, you go to the pet supply store,” Mrs. Nesbitt said. “I’m going to the gift shop. Laura, you go to the nursery.”

“Good idea,” Mom said. “I’ll buy vegetable flats. We’ll have fresh produce all summer.”

That didn’t leave much for me, so I went to the antiques store. I don’t know why, but then again, I didn’t know why Mrs. Nesbitt was so insistent on going to the gift shop. It wasn’t like Hallmark put out Happy End of the World Day cards.

The great thing about the antiques store was I was the only customer. There still wasn’t any electricity, and the lightning flashes were still a little too close for comfort, but it was the only place I’d been to in hours that didn’t seem like a madhouse. The woman behind the counter even said, “Can I help you?”

I didn’t want to give away our secret, that we were stocking up for the end of the world, just in case it gave her any ideas. So I said no, thanks, and kept looking.

I still had $200 in my envelope so I knew I could buy pretty much anything we needed, if I could only figure out what we might need. Then I saw three oil lamps. I grabbed them and went up front.

“We have scented oil to go with them if you’re interested,” the woman said.

“I’ll take all of them,” I told her.

“We should be getting electricity back soon,” the woman said. “At least that’s what I heard on the radio.”

“My mom is worried,” I said. “This’ll just make her feel better.”

The store had an old-fashioned cash register, so she was able to ring up my purchases. I handed over two $50s and actually got change.

I was the first person at the car. I stood there, getting even wetter, until Jonny showed up. “Horton’s never going to go hungry,” he said.

There was hardly room for all the stuff he’d bought, but we rearranged everything we could. Then Mrs. Nesbitt came out, carrying bags and bags.

“I bought every candle in the store,” she said. “Gift shops always have candles.”