Sunrise

I was so angry I wondered if I would spontaneously combust. “How could you?” I yelled.

“How could I what?” Mom replied calmly.

“The watch! I trusted you!”

“What are you talking about?” Rebecca said, incipient panic lifting her voice at least an octave above normal. “The watches! The barn! The greenhouses—”

“Alex,” Uncle Paul said in a low, urgent voice, “take a deep breath. You’re scaring your sister.”

“You’re even freaking me out a little,” Ed said.

Darla took hold of my hand, her concern plain in her eyes. “What happened exactly?”

I swallowed back another yell, closed my eyes, and sucked in a lungful of cold air that tasted vaguely of smoke. I held the breath for maybe ten seconds and then let it whoosh out. I found I was calm enough to explain our situation. I finished my recap of the disastrous night with an overview of the food we had left: “The front quarter of one hog, about five pounds of kale plus any we can salvage from the greenhouses, some wheat we were saving for seed, about ten pounds of flour, and a bit of cornmeal. Maybe enough food for a week or ten days.”

“We’ve got kale seeds,” Uncle Paul said. “We can trade for more pork.”

“Not many people left in Warren willing to trade with us,” Darla said.

“Maybe I could talk Dr. McCarthy into being a straw man for us.”

“What?” Rebecca asked.

“Being a middleman,” Uncle Paul said.

“Good idea,” I said. “That might work.”

“We could dig more corn,” Darla said.

“It’s not that bad,” Mom said. “All we have to do is move to town, which is what we should have done weeks ago.” “This farm is not defensible,” Ben said. “We must combine forces with the town to survive over the long term.” “I don’t think they want us, Ben,” I said.

“I’m sure if you made a sincere apology, Mayor Petty would come around,” Mom said. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. He’d keep us safe.”

“I did apologize, Mom,” I said. “In front of everyone. And now most of Warren won’t even talk to me.”

Mom started to say something, but Darla spoke over her. “Moving is a good idea. But not to Warren. What about moving east of Warren where the wind turbines are?”

“You still have the defensibility problem,” Ben said. “I’ve been thinking about that,” Darla replied. “We could build a one-room structure—a big timbered hut. Have it back right up to a wind turbine. I could cut sniper ports into the turbine’s support column, build the greenhouses right next door, and we can use the same heating system to keep everything warm.”

“That could work,” Uncle Paul said thoughtfully.

“It would be like a Viking longhouse,” Ben said. “Exactly!” Darla cried. “Make the walls thick enough to withstand most gunfire, build gun ports on each side, and co

“What about water?” I asked.

“If we can find a drilling rig in decent shape,” Uncle Paul replied, “we might be able to drill a well inside the longhouse. The water table is high around here.”

“They used to dig wells by hand.” Darla shrugged. Mom stood up. “There’s plenty of water in Warren! All we have to do is move there! Why isn’t anyone listening to me?” she yelled.

“Mom,” I replied quietly, “I’m not going to Warren.” “This is about her, isn’t it?” Mom shot a hateful glare at Darla.

I rolled to my feet and stepped between them. “It’s not about her, Mom, or at least not in the way you think.” “You . . . you’d move out to some wasteland instead of following your mother?”

I nodded slowly.

“Come with me,” she whispered. “Let’s go to Warren— you, me, and Rebecca. Get a fresh start. Be a family again.” “No,” I replied as gently as I could. I was still angry at her, but I couldn’t see the point of further aggravating things.

My mother choked back a sob, spun, and fled up the stairs. I sat in silence for a few moments. Outside, the barn collapsed with a mighty crash, shaking the foundation of my new home.

Chapter 23

Darla made me strip down beside the fire to check my wounds. I thought she should have to strip down—she’d gone sliding off the roof of the house too—but she refused. “I’m not the one who nearly got run over by a panel van,” she said. I had a mess of nasty bruises all up and down my left side, and my head still hurt terribly, but otherwise I seemed to be okay. Darla helped me back into my clothes, and we trudged upstairs to bed.

The next morning Darla and I set out at first light to try to track our attackers. We took two rifles but pla

It took less than half the morning to answer that question. The tracks were clear: four pairs of boots coming in, the four tires of our panel van coming out. We followed the tire tracks until Warren came into view. Darla slammed on Bikezilla’s brakes, bringing us to a sliding halt on the snowy road.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“You’re just going to charge in there?”

“Yeah, get our truck back.”

“What if the whole town was in on it? We go charging in there, we might never come out.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I started to turn Bikezilla around. “Wait,” Darla said, “let’s go around Warren. Scout sites for the longhouse.”

We found a perfect site later that same afternoon about five miles east of Warren atop a low rise with a stand of large, dead trees lining the creek at the bottom of the hill.

It was almost fully dark by the time we got back to the farm. Rebecca met us in the foyer before I’d even had time to take off my boots. Her eyes were red and puffy. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Mom,” Rebecca replied. “She’s gone.”

Chapter 24

“What happened?” I asked Rebecca.

“After lunch she asked if I wanted to go to Warren with her. I didn’t know what to say. I asked if we could wait until you got home, and then I went to help Uncle Paul. She left sometime this afternoon. Her go-bag and some of her clothes are gone. . . .”

Rebecca’s mouth clamped shut, trying to hold in a tremor that rolled across her lower lip. I took her in my arms, remembering that she’d only turned fifteen a few months ago. In the old world, she’d have been a sophomore at Cedar Falls High, hanging out with her friends, complaining about homework—a normal kid. She buried her face against my chest, muffling sobs. “Shh,” I said, “it’s okay.”

“Why would she leave us?” Rebecca said through her sobs. “Why would she leave me?”

“I don’t know.”

“It has something to do with Dad, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe so. Maybe she blames me or Darla. Tomorrow Uncle Paul, Darla, and I will go to Warren to see if we can talk to her.”

“I want to go with you,” Rebecca said.

“The whole city of Warren might be up in arms. No—” “She’s my mother! I’ll keep quiet, keep my head down. You won’t even know I’m there.”

I thought about it. She was no age to be traveling with us into what might be an ambush. But I was only two years older. And we’d all spent hundreds of hours practicing with the rifles. “You can come—”

“Thank you!”

“Ifyou promise to do whatever Uncle Paul or I tell you to. Instantly. No questions or backtalk.”

“I will,” she promised.

The next morning Darla and I pedaled Bikezilla back down the road to Warren, with Rebecca and Uncle Paul riding in the load bed. We’d gotten the pickup truck unstuck using a makeshift winch and some levers, but we only had one spare tire for it. One of the goals of this trip was to acquire at least two new tires. With new tires, we hoped we would be able to use the truck to pull the big metal tank free of the snowbank.

We stopped about a mile from Warren and hid Bikezilla by dragging it over the embankment of snow that flanked the road. We approached Warren on foot, fighting our way through the deep snow covering the fields outside of town. Even with four of us breaking trail in turns, it took over an hour to reach the town.