PODs Read Free Page B

on a shopping spree. “Eva, you need a new wardrobe. You’ll be down there a year, maybe more. You’ll need clothes that will last.”
    “Somehow, I don’t think we’ll be having fashion shows down there, Mom. You don’t need to buy me anything.” Besides, going to the mall—or to any public place—was disturbing. Many people wore white surgical masks and latex gloves, and everyone avoided getting to close to other people. Not that there were many people to get close to—the place was nearly deserted, and several of the mall stores had their metal barriers down, their interiors dark. We still hadn’t had any reported cases around Sandy Shores, but we knew it was only a matter of time.
    “You never know,” she said with a flick of her hand. “Stranger things have happened.”
    “Yeah? Name one,” I said.
    “I married your dad, didn’t I?”
    I burst out laughing.

    “How about this?” My mom held up a purple hoodie with a cute design on the front. I loved it, but the logo told me that it was way out of our price range, especially for a hoodie.
    “No, Mom, that’s too much.”
    “Eva, it might be cold down there. You’ll need some warm clothes.”
    “But it’s too expensive—”
    “I want you to have it. Humor me, okay?”
    By the time I was done humoring my mother, she had bought out the mall. Jeans, t-shirts, sweat pants, hoodies, underclothes, shoes… was there anything left? She’d bought me over two dozen outfits, including clothing for both warm and cool weather. So, no matter what the temperature, I had something to wear. I wasn’t sure I could fit everything in the two-suitcase limit.
    When we got home my dad met us at the door. “Here, Eva, take these with you.” He thrust two flashlights into my hands, with two large bags of batteries. “I hope there are enough batteries to last you the year. I got you one of these, too.” He held up a metal case with a lock. It was big enough to fit my batteries, and whatever else I wanted to protect. “Hard telling what type of people you’ll be around.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” I said, tears clogging my throat—again.
    I’m crying over flippin’ batteries. Probably the last packages of batteries my dad will ever buy me .
    Memories of Christmas mornings and birthday parties flashed through my mind. My dad was always on battery patrol, making sure anything that needed them had batteries. Now a flashlight would be the end. The realization that there’d be no new memories to share made the tears fall faster and an ache form deep in my chest.

    That night the news showed the first wave of raffle winners leaving for their quarantine period. The newscaster babbled on and on about what was happening and what the raffle winners could expect when they arrived at the quarantine facility.
    “I wonder if they’re scared,” I whispered.
    My dad squeezed my shoulder. “I suppose they are.”
    “I’m not.”
    “No?” He angled his body on the couch to look at me.
    “No. I’m sad. I’m just sad. Maybe I’ll be scared when I have to leave.”
    I jumped when the newscast was interrupted. A man ran into the newsroom screaming, “The government did it! They caused Armageddon! It’s their fault! AIDS, Ebola, and now the virus. They made them all.”
    “Security!” a man off-camera yelled. “Get him outta here.”
    Dressed in tattered, dirt-smeared clothing, the man ran to the camera, his unshaven face dirty and his thinning gray hair hanging in greasy strings. Grabbing the camera with both hands, he shook it back and forth. “The raffle was fixed. It was fixed! We didn’t have a chance. Only the young ones. Only the young ones!” he screamed as security pulled him out of the room. “Save the books!” he yelled as the door closed.
    “Well,” the newscaster said, shuffling his papers. “I wonder what drug he was on,” he joked. No one thought it was funny. We were too busy watching the little box over the reporter’s right shoulder. It still