Foreverland Is Dead

into the plastic hamper with the crook of her arm. She dry-heaves once.
    She drags the hamper across the floor, backing into the hallway with the food in tow. She feels dizzy again. The smell has worked its way past her throat and into her esophagus, staining her senses.
    But she keeps going, despite the tears… She closes her eyes, backing out of the hallway and into the front room. She backpedals until she feels the cool breeze and the sun. She steps off the porch, the hamper banging on the steps and cans falling out.
    She keeps going.
    One foot after another.
    Until she backs into something soft. Arms wrap around her.
    “You did it.” Cyn has her.
    Miranda collapses. The tears, this time, are different.
    She never wants to go in there again.

7

    “This is good stuff.” Mad holds up a can of black beans. “Everything on our shelves is generic, but this is brand name. Is there more?”
    “ Miranda said the entire pantry is stocked,” Cyn added.
    “Where is she?” Mad asks.
    “Puking.” Roc’s laughter sputters.
    Cyn walks away from the back corner of the dinner house. The outside door to the kitchen faces the garden and brick house. Mad slides the hamper inside and starts stacking the goods. Roc follows her, pulling out random items and setting them to the side.
    “Get all that inventoried,” Cyn says. “I want a list of all the food we have in stock.”
    “You an accountant now?” Roc says.
    “We’ve got to plan our meals, know what we have. Then we’ll know how long it’ll last.”
    “There’s a crapload in the brick house, you said so yourself.”
    “We won’t know how much until we get it. Until then, we work with what we have.”
    Jen arrives from the garden, a pile of green peppers cradled in her shirt. She puts them in the sink. “We’re going to eat like queens tonight,” she says.
    “No, we’re not,” Cyn says. “We’re only going to eat what we need.”
    “Well, these peppers aren’t going to last forever.”
    “They’ll be just fine for a couple of weeks. We prioritize what needs to be eaten first. We’ll eat what comes out of the garden until the cold gets here.” Cyn looks at the sky like the color tells the season. “After that, we start on canned goods.”
    Roc’s p ile is two cans high. Cyn grabs the can of cherries, the pie-filling kind. Roc drops her hand on Cyn’s wrist. “What’re you doing?”
    “Helping.”
    “I’ve got a system here, you’re messing with it.” The dagger tattoo ripples. “Why don’t you start writing stuff down?”
    “Your cans are out of order. They need to be organized with the others.”
    “They will. I’m just looking, seeing what we’ve got. No need to be getting your hands on everything.”
    Roc stares. She doesn’t let go until Cyn looks away.
    “Look at this.” Jen digs to the bottom of the hamper. “Soap.”
    Cyn had forgotten what clean smelled like. She’s afraid to take the soap, nervous that if she gets clean she’ll just be more aware of the filth. Maybe it’s better to just wallow in it.
    At least for now.
    Miranda comes around the cistern, head down, hair in her face.
    “You all right?” Cyn pushes the hair away. Her skin is clammy, the color sort of yellowish.
    “Well, look who’s here.” Roc peeks out of the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you fed your breakfast to the outhouse. That’s a waste. Give her a demerit, Cyn.”
    “You need some water?” Cyn doesn’t wait for her to answer, whispers to Mad to bring a cup.
    “What’d you see in there?” Roc says.
    “Give her a second,” Cyn interrupts.
    “She’s had twenty minutes. What’d you see in there, Shiny?”
    Miranda hides her right foot behind her left. The shoes are scuffed but still reflective. She can’t hide them both; instead, she backs up.
    Mad hands a plastic cup to Cyn. “Here, have a sip. You don’t want to dehydrate.”
    Miranda holds the cup with both hands. She takes a drink.
    “Look, I know you’re traumatized.” Roc steps outside, gets between Miranda and Cyn. “It’s a big, scary house, but we could use a little help, here.”
    “I brought the food,” she mutters.
    “Yeah, thanks. But boiled yams ain’t going to call for help. Did you even look around?”
    Miranda shuffles her left foot behind her right.
    “Give her some space.” Cyn gently grabs Roc’s elbow. She pulls away, eyebrows wedged together. “Just give her a minute to think. Go count the food —she’s not going anywhere.”
    Roc