Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“Dinner. We’ll take anything you can spare.”
“What else?” he demanded.
“Fresh water now and to take with us.”
“Hmm.”
Tuck interjected, “Sir, that’s all—”
“And a place to stay tonight.”
I heard Tuck let out a low hiss of air as though I’d gone a step too far, and I braced, waiting for the man to tell us to get lost.
“Dinner’d be whatever’s at risk of spoiling and needs to be eaten or thrown away. You can sleep in my barn, but I can’t allow you to stay in the house while my family’s sleeping. I’m sure you can understand.”
“That’s great. Yes, we accept. Thank you,” I said, the words flowing out on one long breath of relief. Oh my God. Dinner. A chair to sit in and a fork. I wanted to weep with gratitude.
I gave Tuck a giddy look over my shoulder and we followed the farmer as he led us through his front yard and into his house.
thirty-one
Tuck
I had to hand it to Emily. She’d come through on the fly. Why hadn’t I considered bargaining with information? It was just about the only commodity we had, and she’d thought of it, and suggested the trade with a charming smile, even with a shotgun pointed squarely at her midsection. Once again, she deserved my respect and my gratitude. She’d earned it in this case because here we were, sitting in the comfortable living room of a farmhouse, the soft cushions of a couch beneath my ass. Damn, it felt good.
“My name’s Tom Pritchard and this is my wife, Jane,” the farmer said, extending his hand toward the woman who’d joined him on the couch across from where I sat. She was about the same age as Tom, fortyish I’d guess with long blond hair pulled back into a bun and kind blue eyes.
“Emily, right?” Tom asked, looking at Emily, who’d sat down in an easy chair to my left.
“Yes, Emily Swanson.”
“And Tuck?”
I nodded.
“Oh, forgive my manners. Can I offer you a glass of water?” Jane asked.
“That’d be great,” Emily said.
“Thanks,” I added as Jane stood and left the room.
“We’re from California,” I told Tom. “Our plane crashed in the wilderness in Illinois. Like Emily said, we eventually made it to a small town named Silver Creek n Missouri, and then walked or caught rides from there to here. We’ve mostly taken back roads, traveling during the day and camping at night.”
Jane came back into the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and three glasses and set it on the coffee table.
“Their plane went down, Jane.”
She’d started pouring but now paused and looked up at us. “Oh my. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“They’ve been walking and camping since then,” he told her before looking back at us. “This isn’t the best time of year for camping.”
“No, it’s not, especially with very limited supplies. But we have to get back home, and as you’ve probably noticed, the only vehicles that are running seem to be pre-1980 models.”
“Sure did. If the power doesn’t come back on soon, those are going to become real valuable.”
“They already are valuable, and probably getting stolen left and right. We’ve hitched a ride a couple of times, but everyone is being very cautious, which is understandable.”
He gave a nod, his craggy features troubled. Jane handed a glass of water to each of us, and we all drank. The preteen who’d held us at gunpoint wandered in with a boy who looked to be just a couple of years older and they stood by the stairs. “Kyler, Luca, you go on. This is an adult conversation.”
The boys’ faces dropped, but they turned to leave the room. “Actually, sir,” I said, “they’re your boys, but if I can be blunt, you’re going to need all hands on deck for what’s heading your way.”
Tom Pritchard glanced back at his sons, who had stopped and were looking at their father eagerly. He sighed and gestured that they should stay in the room. “Call Uriah too.”
The older of the two boys leaned toward the stairs and called their brother, and a minute later, footsteps sounded and a boy who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen descended into the room.
I told him the short version of what had happened to us so far and included what I’d talked to Sheriff Goodfellow about.
Tom and Jane exchanged looks, their expressions registering the same stark disbelief that mine had when I’d been told about the outage extending all the way to Pennsylvania, and possibly beyond, and about the fires and the likely exodus, that so far seemed to be a trickle but would pick up as food and water disappeared. “My God,” Tom murmured, running his hand over his sparse hair. “Okay. What else?”
I gave them a brief description of what Isaac had told us about his experience, and then what we’d learned from Hosea, leaving out that 90 percent statistic that I still couldn’t believe was accurate. There was no reason to terrify people unnecessarily. “The grid won’t be back up for a long time, potentially years. People are going to be coming from the cities and eventually, some of the towns,” I said. “We’ve seen foot traffic pick up quite a bit. Right now, it seems like folks heading specific places—namely to family—but I’d imagine that soon it will simply be people escaping hopeless situations. Like Emily said, the stores are emptied out by now. In a few weeks, most pantries will be dry. I don’t know about everywhere, but in these parts, farms will eventually be in possession of the last of the food. And that eventuality is fast approaching if it’s not here already.”