“I worked at a day care center for low-income families,” Sandy said.
“Attorney—don’t hold it against me.” Zack raised his hands in self-defense. A glossy-red star-shaped scar marred the inside of his left wrist. A burn maybe? “I worked for legal aid if that mitigates it,” he said.
“Changes everything,” she said with a grin. The three of them had tried to make the world a better place—as had billions of other people, whose lives had been cut tragically short.
“What about you?” Zack asked.
“Veterinary assistant. I would have started veterinary school in the fall. I did mobile dog grooming on the side. I had my own business. Waggin’ Wheels, I called it.”
“You like animals.”
“A lot.” She nodded.
“When we met, you said you were wandering.”
“Passing through. Checking out the towns. Making my way to the Springfield area.” She’d had a vague notion of checking out the town of Big Creek on the outskirts of Springfield. Her mom had had a childhood friend who’d moved there. Nestled in the Mark Twain National Forest, the town was supposed to be picturesque and quaint. There was no real reason to go there, except it provided a destination, a goal to focus on besides the ever-present threat and the bleakness ofthe future.What if the Progg intend to colonize Earth?She shuddered.
“You want some lunch?” Sandy asked. “We don’t have enough chili and Vienna sausages to share, but you can help yourself to whatever’s in the pantry.”
Out of necessity, that’s what she’d been doing. If she’d waited for an invitation to raid the pantry, she wouldn’t have eaten in three days.
“Thanks. I saw some microwave mac ’n cheese,” she said.
“Caleb ate it.” Sandy gestured to two empty, orange-smeared paper bowls on the counter.
Of course, he did,she thought, and then mentally smacked herself for being irritated.“I’ll find something else.”
She rifled through the shelves. Everything packaged and processed was gone. No soup. No tuna. No cereal. No mac ’n cheese. She could have plain pasta, plain rice, or dried beans. She could have cooked something with the beans, but dried ones would take too long if they weren’t soaked overnight.
“I know it’s not much.” Sandy said. “We need to replenish—sorry.”
Only flour, sugar, and cake mix remained—besides the dog food.Not ready to eat dog food yet.
Sandy and Zack could have saved the Vienna sausages and just eaten chili. They could also have added pasta with the chili and had chili mac, stretching it so there would be enough for everyone.
They didn’t think about it.
Frustrated, she pushed aside an empty box of pancake mix and found a can of red beans and one of diced tomatoes. “Score!”
“Did you find something good?” Zack’s voice.
“Good enough.” Clutching her bounty, she exited the pantry. The family had a whole drawer of spices. She could fix red beans and rice or a close facsimile.
Sandy eyed her items. “That’s all you found? Sorry.”
“It will work. After I eat, I’ll run to the grocery store where we met and pick up some stuff.” She’d load up a cart and wheel it home. Her contribution. They still hadn’t said if she could stay. “Could you hand me a couple of saucepans, please?”
“Big? Small?”
“Medium.” She guesstimated how far she could stretch a single can of beans with the rice. She’d make enough to feed all of them. Another bribe to show her worth.
“Here you go.” Sandy held out a lidded pot.
“Thank—you.” She riveted on the red starlike scar on the woman’s inner left wrist. Sandy passed her another saucepan. “These are perfect. Interesting scar you got there.” Same shape, same place as Zack’s, appearing about the same age.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Sandy dropped her arm. “Scratched myself.”
Zack’s hands were clasped behind his back, so she couldn’t take another peek at his wrist.
