Strangelets (11 page)

“Yes?”

“We’re already dead.”

“What?” Sophie said, startled. “No, really, we’re—”

“It does not matter. I will be the sentries. You sleep.”

Before Sophie could respond, Yosh slipped into the corridor and disappeared. Her words hung in the stillness, a presence that seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Shaken, Sophie dropped back against the pillow and gazed up at the ceiling. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t be sleeping at all.

The next day, Anat
scanned the forest warily as she followed the other four kids away from the infirmary. It was hard to tell if they’d even left the grounds of the facility yet; the surrounding woods were so thick, they could be steps away from a building and not see it. Funny, she wouldn’t have expected America to be this overgrown. And so green—it was like a jungle, all towering trees and dangling vines. She could easily have believed they were wending through the Amazon.

It was hot, too. She wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm. A different kind of heat than she was used to: the air so thick and humid it was suffocating. She thought longingly of Tel Aviv, where even on the hottest days a cool
breeze eased off the ocean. Even the training facility hadn’t felt this hot, though it was stuck in the middle of the desert. And she hadn’t had to worry about nasty blood-sucking insects there, either. She irritably smacked one dead on her arm.

“How much farther?” Sophie called out. The American was stumbling, feet crossing over each other. She appeared on the verge of collapse, even though they’d only gone a kilometer at most.

Nico said, “Maybe five miles. We’ll be in cell phone range sooner, hopefully.”

Sophie didn’t say anything, although a shadow swept across her features. Declan murmured something in her ear and tucked an arm around her waist. They lurched along again.

Anat repressed the urge to groan. Five miles would take an eternity with this group. They hadn’t even left the infirmary until late morning. She’d hovered impatiently as the others lingered over breakfast, chewing the canned food with what seemed to be deliberate slowness and an excessive amount of complaints. Anat wolfed down her chickpeas and peaches, barely tasting them. It was fuel, and would provide energy to reach their destination. That was all she cared about.

They’d wasted even more time arguing about whether to try and take a car. Declan claimed he could get one started, and pointed out they were unlikely to be prosecuted for auto theft. But it turned out to be a moot point. All the cars outside the infirmary rested on rims, no air in their tires. Plus, maneuvering one through the jagged, upheaved pavement to the street would be virtually impossible.

At Anat’s urging they’d spent another hour cobbling together a shabby assortment of weapons. Anat found a long iron rod. Nico and Declan had pried steel bedrails loose from their frames. Even Yosh was clutching a towel rack from one
of the bathrooms. Only Sophie remained unarmed, declaring herself too weak to manage.

Weak is right
, Anat couldn’t help but think. Granted, the girl had been ill; her exhaustion was understandable. Anat knew she should be more sympathetic, but it was hard to repress frustration. She didn’t want to spend the night in these woods. Agitated, she stripped off her long-sleeved shirt and tied it around her waist. She sensed Nico’s eyes trailing over her tank top and raised an eyebrow at him. He quickly turned away.

Since Nico knew the route to town, he stayed at the head of their column. Anat had volunteered to cover their rear flank, and was consequently forced to shuffle along with Sophie. Every time the girl stumbled, Anat gritted her teeth and helped her back up.

We should have left her
, she thought for the millionth time. Sophie had even offered to stay, claiming she’d rest up in the infirmary while waiting for them to send help. But Declan wouldn’t hear of it. After their encounter with the bear the night before, he was keen on keeping them together.

And he was right, Anat grudgingly acknowledged. Annoying as Sophie was, even Anat wouldn’t have felt right about abandoning her. They’d call Nico’s dad as soon as they were in mobile range, and he’d arrange for help. After that, they could all go their separate ways.

Unfortunately, no matter how far they trudged, the phones refused to cooperate.

Once again, Anat watched Nico dig his out and lift it toward the sky. He frowned and shook his head, then tucked it away. He and Declan had been checking every few minutes, but neither had gotten any signal bars yet. She’d left her iPhone back home, concerned about the potential for
tracking. Now she was wishing she’d taken the chance—she’d give anything to be able to call home. Or better yet, to be able to sneak a glance at her photos of Hazim.

Without warning, they emerged on a road. Two lanes separated by a faded yellow dividing line, in markedly better shape than the parking lots.

“Which way?” Declan asked.

Nico looked relieved as he pointed left. “West. This is Upton Road. It should lead us straight there.”

Despite having to skirt a few giant potholes, the road was much less challenging than picking their way through the forest. Anat sighed with relief as their pace picked up. Maybe they’d make it to town by lunchtime after all.

Cars were scattered about in odd clusters, as if the drivers had pulled up to each others’ windows for a chat. They appeared long abandoned: uniformly rusty, with flat tires and a thick film of dust coating the windows. Anat peered inside each as they passed. All empty: no bodies inside, which was a relief. There also wasn’t any evidence of a mass evacuation; the cars weren’t packed with suitcases and camping equipment. Just discarded food wrappers, a gym bag, a stuffed dog gazing forlornly out the rear window. But why had the cars been left here? In the aftermath of any natural disaster, clearing the roads was a priority.

Of course, this was America and not Israel; maybe emergency policies were different here. The American girl might know, and Anat had almost asked her a few times. But Sophie wore a tight, drawn look, as if just putting one foot in front of the other required enormous concentration. So Anat kept pace silently, puzzling it over as she fought a growing sense of apprehension. All of this was very wrong. The cars shouldn’t look so decrepit—they made the worst
junkyard salvage in Tel Aviv look like a Rolls-Royce, and that was saying something. Everything they encountered exuded an air of disuse and abandonment, from the buildings to the cars to the roads. Could a hurricane or earthquake do that? And so quickly?

Worse yet was the silence. They were on Long Island, close to the greatest concentration of population in the United States. Yet there wasn’t so much as the sound of a car radio in the distance, or far-off construction.

Declan touched her elbow, shaking her out of the reverie. “I’m going to check on something with Nico,” he said in a low voice. Indicating Sophie with a tilt of his head, he said, “Keep an eye on her?”

“Of course,” Anat said stiffly. “Tell Nico we need to pick up the pace.”

“Not sure that’s possible.” Declan glanced at Sophie, who was slumped against one of the cars, her head bowed, arms crossed in front of her chest. They’d found a thin pair of scrubs back at the infirmary, which she’d immediately changed into. She was still barefoot, though, and rested gingerly on the outsides of her feet. “I was actually going to ask about stopping for lunch. She’s really suffering over there.”

Anat grunted. “She’ll suffer less once we get there.”

“Says the girl all kitted out for this stroll,” he said, looking pointedly at her boots. “Sophie’s feet are shredded to hell, and she hasn’t walked in weeks. Have a little heart.”

“So we find her some shoes.”

“I’ve checked every car we’ve passed,” he said. “None yet.”

Anat scowled. “Fine.”

She marched to Sophie and perched on the car’s bumper. Bending over, she started untying her laces.

“What are you doing?” Sophie asked.

“Giving you my boots.”

“But—”

“They’ll be too large,” Anat said. “But they are better than nothing. I will keep the socks to protect my feet.”

“You’re sure?” Sophie asked dubiously.

“I have tough feet,” Anat said.

“Tough everything, more like,” Declan said, but he was grinning.

Sophie sat down beside her and pulled the boots on. Standing, she sighed heavily and said, “God, that’s so much better.”

“Now, please—move faster.”

“Yes, sir,” Declan said with a mock salute.

“And lose the attitude,” Anat said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I am not appreciating it.”

“Thank you, Anat.” Sophie smiled at her, then started walking again. Declan fell in step behind her. Anat followed, trying to ignore the pricks and jabs of rough gravel through her thick socks. She’d suffered worse before.

Nico and Yosh had stopped, but Anat waved for them to continue. They stretched out in a ragged line, weaving from one side of the road to the other to avoid obstacles. She frowned. They shouldn’t be so spread out, better to keep a tight formation in case a threat materialized. Her field commander would never have stood for such sloppiness. She had to bite her lip to keep from castigating them. After all, they were just a group of frightened kids; and they
were
moving, albeit slowly. Plus, so far they hadn’t seen any sign of bears or anything else.

Suddenly, Nico stopped and pointed. Anat trotted to catch up. Her heart skipped a beat when she followed his gaze.

It was a house, set back from the road. The grass in front was tall and overgrown, and weeds choked the driveway. Still, it was the first they’d come across. Maybe someone
would be home. Or if not, at least there might be a functioning telephone.

“No car in the driveway,” Declan noted. “Maybe no one’s there.”

“Let’s find out,” Anat said, marching toward the front door.

They followed her down a flagstone path. It was bumpier than it should have been, with rocks protruding at ankle-twisting angles, but still navigable.

Anat climbed the stairs to a wraparound veranda and knocked on the front door. The porch floorboards were weathered, long strips of gray paint peeling off like shedding skin. The house appeared just as forsaken as everything else.

“No answer,” Nico muttered.

She knocked again, more loudly. They waited another minute, then Declan said, “Step aside.”

“What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

“I’m getting us in.” Fumbling in his left pocket, he drew out a set of narrow metal tools and went down on one knee to examine the deadbolt. “Easy.”

“You’re going to pick the lock?” Sophie asked dubiously. “How the hell do you know how to do that?”

Declan didn’t answer. He’d already set to work, inserting the pins with his eyes half closed.

“But—” Sophie protested.

“We need to find a telephone,” Anat interrupted. “A landline. There might be one inside.”

They all watched in silence. Declan was impressively adept, a minute after he started there was a click. He rose to his feet and turned the knob with a flourish, opening the door.

Sophie frowned at him. The others offered muted congratulations.

“Don’t all thank me at once,” Declan said peevishly.

“Nice job,” Anat said, squeezing his arm as she walked past.

He gave her a curt nod.

Her nose wrinkled at the stale air inside. It had apparently been a long time since anyone cracked a window. The door opened onto a dark, narrow hallway, empty save for a coat rack and small table where a vase held fake flowers. There was a staircase on her left, and farther down the hall a wide entryway. She strode toward it, figuring that was a good place to start looking for a landline. The living room was crammed with chairs, end tables, lamps, and an upright piano.
An elderly person’s home
, Anat guessed; all the furniture was worn and dated, the wall-to-wall carpeting cheap but functional. She swallowed. Everything was covered in a thick film of dust, much like the insides of the cars they’d encountered.

There was a messy stack of old newspapers on the coffee table, the edges brown and curling. Framed photos lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace, many in black and white. Anat examined them: most were typical family photos where everyone posed self-consciously, special occasions like birthdays and holidays recorded for posterity. Seeing them gave her a pang—a similar array lined the windowsill at her parents’ house back in Tel Aviv.

“In here!” Nico called out. “Come see what we’ve found!”

Anat gathered herself, then returned to the hall. It dead-ended in a kitchen with a worn linoleum floor, a marred wooden table in the center. Nico was standing next to the sink holding a phone in his hand. Anat snorted at the sight of it. Definitely an old person’s home, the phone actually had a long cord dangling from the receiver. She hadn’t seen one like that since she was a kid.

“No dial tone,” he said, disheartened.

Sophie groaned and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

“No lights either,” Declan said, flicking the switch. “So we’d best not open the refrigerator.”

“The rest of the house is empty,” Yosh announced, entering the room.

“There are still dishes in the drying rack.” Sophie noted.

Declan opened the nearest cupboard and gave a crow of joy. “Have a look at this!”

The shelves were filled with boxes of food. Anat’s mouth watered at the sight of them. After two straight meals of room-temperature peaches, garbanzo beans, peas, and diced tomatoes, anything else seemed like gourmet cuisine.

“Crackers,” Declan said, taking down a box. “Canned tuna—the can looks good, it’s not dented … oh, and, biscuits. That’s just grand.”

As he went through the inventory, stacking things on the counter, they all pressed forward.

“Thank God. I’m starved,” Sophie said. “Let’s bring it all over to the table.”

Five minutes later, they were gorging themselves. Everything tasted stale, but edible. Anat had never cared for tuna fish; it always reminded her of cat food. But now she piled it on crackers, gobbling them down as quickly as she could shove them in her mouth. Everyone else did the same. Nico had crumbs on his cheek, and Declan was digging into a jar of pickles.