“Yes,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because it’s cheaper,” I explain.
“So there are groceries inside?”
“Yes.”
“Perishable groceries?” she asks. “Like milk and eggs?
“Yeah, but also couches and chairs and lawn mowers and stuff.”
“Really?” She frowns. “That’s so strange.”
Rosabelle, I’ve learned, likes to do a lot of recon.
She likes to make lists and maps in her head. She solves for contingencies constantly. I don’t analyze things as much as she does before I barge into a new place, and it’s been fascinating to watch her brain work.
She’s literally always thinking.
“Is there anything flammable or explosive inside?” she asks.
“Definitely. There’s a full kitchen in there.”
“They sell kitchens?”
“No, they sell pizza,” I say, then hesitate. “Well, actually, they also sell kitchens.”
Now she turns to look at me, her eyes wide and gleaming in the starlight. “What?”
“And hot dogs. And ice cream. You can also visit an eye doctor and get a pair of glasses.”
Her shock dissolves almost at once into frustration. She rolls her eyes at me and whispers, “Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m trying to get real information out of you,” she says. “And you’re just making jokes—”
“I’m not joking,” I insist, trying not to laugh. “I’m completely serious—”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not,” I say, forcing the smile off my face. “I just—Look, I promise, one day, when this is all over, I’ll take you to one of these places myself and you can see it all with the lights on.”
Now she pauses.
“Hot dogs and kitchens and eggs and an eye doctor?” she says, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Really?”
“And wedding rings. And birthday cakes. And a pharmacy. You can even buy flowers and a casket.”
Her uncertainty disappears; frustration is back in full force. “Why are you making fun of me?” she says, sounding wounded. “I’m asking you serious questions and you—”
“I’m not making fun of you,” I say, a little desperately now. “I swear, Rosabelle, I’m not making fun of you—”
She lifts a finger to her lips, telling me gently to shut the hell up. She then nods over her shoulder at the unlocked back entrance we identified earlier.
We’re just yards away now, and everything is weirdly, creepily quiet. No footfalls; no gunshots; no shouts or echoes. I have no idea what to expect when we get in there. We might be walking into nothing.
