anything I don't already know," Matt said.
"I'm sorry," I said, even though I wasn't.
Sometimes I think Mom and Matt make al the decisions and don't care what I think.
23
With the four of us cooped up in the same room together day and night, I don't know when Mom and Matt have the time to whisper conspiratorial y about my future, but I guess they stil do. They probably talk about Jon's future in algebra while they're at it.
"I don't know if I agree with Mom," Matt said, which I knew was his way of apologizing. "But if we do decide to move, we're better off waiting until summer."
Summer used to be a time of blue and yel ow and green. Now I guess it'l be less gray. It's like no broken bones. You keep your expectations low, and
"horrible" is down to "merely rotten."
"Where would we go?" I asked. "Have you and Mom talked about that?"
"Pittsburgh," Matt said. "At least for a start. That seems to be the closest place we know is stil functioning."
"Do you think there are places where things are actual y okay?" I asked. "I know it's gray everywhere and cold, but maybe there are places with food for everyone. Running water and electricity. Furnaces.
Schools and hospitals."
"And twenty-four-hour pizza delivery," Matt said.
"Think big."
"I bet there are places like that," I said. "Towns set up for politicians and rich people and celebrities."
"If there are, we don't qualify," Matt said. "But we know there are people living in Pittsburgh. If we have to, we'l resettle there."
Mom gets the Pittsburgh radio station almost every night, so we hear more about it than anyplace else. Mostly they read the lists of the dead, but they also talk about food handouts and curfews and martial law.
24
And I know it's dumb, but we look awful. We're thin and no matter how often we wash, our faces, our hands, our clothes are gray. A whole city of people looking like us sounds like a horror movie.
"Do we have enough food now?" I asked. "If we can't get any more, and we have to move, say tomorrow, do we have enough food to get there?
Pittsburgh's got to be two hundred miles away."
"Three hundred," Matt said. "But we won't have much of a choice."
Suddenly al my dreams of living someplace civilized evaporated. "I don't want us to go," I said.
"We're okay where we are. At least for now. The longer we give the world time to recover, the better off things wil be when we do have to go."
Matt laughed. I couldn't tel if that meant he thought it was funny I kept changing my mind or if he thought it was funny the world would ever recover.
The road cleared up pretty good after that, and we got back on our bikes and rode the rest of the way into town. We didn't see anyone, but I was prepared for that. Most people in Howel had either left early on or died during the winter.
The City Hal door was unlocked, and when we walked in, we found Mr. Danworth. I was so relieved to see him, I almost burst out crying.
"We came to see about the food," Matt said. I could tel from his shaky voice he was near tears himself. "Is there any?"
Mr. Danworth nodded. "We're not delivering anymore," he said. "You can take your regular amount home with you today."
25
"Do other people know?" I asked. "Or didn't you tel anybody?"
Mr. Danworth looked uncomfortable. "We were instructed not to tel ," he said. "Just stop the deliveries and whoever shows up gets food."
"What about the people who can't come in?" I asked. "What if they're too weak to or it's too far away?"
"It wasn't my decision," Mr. Danworth said. "And a few folks have come in. We're keeping City Hal open al week for anyone who makes the trip.
Starting next week we'l only be open on Mondays."
"How much longer wil you be getting food in?"
Matt asked. "Did they tel you?"
"I'l tel you what I know," Mr. Danworth replied. "A lot of the big cities--New York, Philadelphia, even Washington--they've been shut down. New York, I know, was hit hard by the waves. I guess the other cities weren't safe, either. But
"I'm sorry," I said, even though I wasn't.
Sometimes I think Mom and Matt make al the decisions and don't care what I think.
23
With the four of us cooped up in the same room together day and night, I don't know when Mom and Matt have the time to whisper conspiratorial y about my future, but I guess they stil do. They probably talk about Jon's future in algebra while they're at it.
"I don't know if I agree with Mom," Matt said, which I knew was his way of apologizing. "But if we do decide to move, we're better off waiting until summer."
Summer used to be a time of blue and yel ow and green. Now I guess it'l be less gray. It's like no broken bones. You keep your expectations low, and
"horrible" is down to "merely rotten."
"Where would we go?" I asked. "Have you and Mom talked about that?"
"Pittsburgh," Matt said. "At least for a start. That seems to be the closest place we know is stil functioning."
"Do you think there are places where things are actual y okay?" I asked. "I know it's gray everywhere and cold, but maybe there are places with food for everyone. Running water and electricity. Furnaces.
Schools and hospitals."
"And twenty-four-hour pizza delivery," Matt said.
"Think big."
"I bet there are places like that," I said. "Towns set up for politicians and rich people and celebrities."
"If there are, we don't qualify," Matt said. "But we know there are people living in Pittsburgh. If we have to, we'l resettle there."
Mom gets the Pittsburgh radio station almost every night, so we hear more about it than anyplace else. Mostly they read the lists of the dead, but they also talk about food handouts and curfews and martial law.
24
And I know it's dumb, but we look awful. We're thin and no matter how often we wash, our faces, our hands, our clothes are gray. A whole city of people looking like us sounds like a horror movie.
"Do we have enough food now?" I asked. "If we can't get any more, and we have to move, say tomorrow, do we have enough food to get there?
Pittsburgh's got to be two hundred miles away."
"Three hundred," Matt said. "But we won't have much of a choice."
Suddenly al my dreams of living someplace civilized evaporated. "I don't want us to go," I said.
"We're okay where we are. At least for now. The longer we give the world time to recover, the better off things wil be when we do have to go."
Matt laughed. I couldn't tel if that meant he thought it was funny I kept changing my mind or if he thought it was funny the world would ever recover.
The road cleared up pretty good after that, and we got back on our bikes and rode the rest of the way into town. We didn't see anyone, but I was prepared for that. Most people in Howel had either left early on or died during the winter.
The City Hal door was unlocked, and when we walked in, we found Mr. Danworth. I was so relieved to see him, I almost burst out crying.
"We came to see about the food," Matt said. I could tel from his shaky voice he was near tears himself. "Is there any?"
Mr. Danworth nodded. "We're not delivering anymore," he said. "You can take your regular amount home with you today."
25
"Do other people know?" I asked. "Or didn't you tel anybody?"
Mr. Danworth looked uncomfortable. "We were instructed not to tel ," he said. "Just stop the deliveries and whoever shows up gets food."
"What about the people who can't come in?" I asked. "What if they're too weak to or it's too far away?"
"It wasn't my decision," Mr. Danworth said. "And a few folks have come in. We're keeping City Hal open al week for anyone who makes the trip.
Starting next week we'l only be open on Mondays."
"How much longer wil you be getting food in?"
Matt asked. "Did they tel you?"
"I'l tel you what I know," Mr. Danworth replied. "A lot of the big cities--New York, Philadelphia, even Washington--they've been shut down. New York, I know, was hit hard by the waves. I guess the other cities weren't safe, either. But
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