Foreverland Is Dead

wall.
    Day three.
    She tries not to look at the endless bundles that are stacked like sticks below her puny new lines, too many to count.
    Cyn slides the box out from under the bed , blindly pulling out a second heavy sweatshirt and jeans. She pauses for a moment, bracing for the morning chill.
    The boots feel like reinforced cardboard. It’ll take several steps to loosen them up. The soles bang against the wood planks. She walks to the back door and see the lump beneath the covers of the last bed on the right, blonde hair splayed on the pillow.
    She made it.
    Cyn smiles. Miranda must’ve snuck in when they were asleep. Good.
    She runs to the dinner house. The wind smacks her, grit biting her cheek. The egg collection will have to wait. The dinner house creaks. Cyn considers firing up the wood stove, but doesn’t want to waste wood. She has no idea how much wood it’s going to take to survive the winter.
    Cyn rubs her hands for warmth. The scent of fresh vegetables instantaneously reaches deep inside her. She’s tempted to sneak a bell pepper, maybe one that’s half rotten, one they wouldn’t likely use. No one would know.
    She distracts her senses while she waits for Mad and starts taking inventory of food. Black beans, garbanzos, corn, and tomatoes on the top shelf. More of the same on the second shelf. Canned fruit is on the third shelf, with a gap on the far right.
    No cherries.
    Cherr ies.
    She shifts the cans around to fill the hole. She’ll bring it up at breakfast, see if anyone has anything to say. Maybe making everyone aware that she’s watching will put a stop to it.
    Tap-tap-tap.
    Cyn jumps. The pencil rattles on the floor.
    The sound on the outside door is small. She opens it. Miranda is outside, her arms wrapped around herself. Her clothes are smudged with dirt and grass stains.
    She’s shivering. “Sorry.”
    “For what?”
    Miranda looks down, still shaking. She doesn’t have to say anything else. Cyn knows she feels bad about not going back into the brick house. She’s their only hope to see what’s in there. But she’s so meek. So scared.
    She goes back to the inventory. Cyn gets down to the bottom shelf with Miranda watching her, grateful there are no more gaps to hide.
    “ Can I help?” Miranda asks.
    The dinner house groans against the wind. “You can get the eggs.”
    “I don’t know how.”
    “It ain’t hard. You just go in the coop and pick them up and bring them in here.”
    Cyn fires up the griddle. Mad should be waking up soon. Miranda stands next to the door, shuffling her feet. She’s not asking to help so she can really help; she’s just asking to be polite. Or maybe she’s waiting for Cyn to help.
    “Look.” Cyn pulls plates out of the cupboard. “I didn’t make you go back in the brick house yesterday, but things have got to change. You can help out. Those shoes ain’t made for working, but we ain’t got the luxury to do what we want, understand? It’s cold out there and maybe you’re scared of chickens, but those eggs need collecting.”
    The door shuts. Miranda’s gone.
    Maybe she thought Cyn would take care of her, protect her. Well, maybe so, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to hang around while everyone else carries their weight.
    Cyn eyes the shelf with the missing can of cherries.
    There are enough problems already.

9

    The clouds roll over the sky like a lead blanket, blotting out the sun for a week. Rain leaks from the dreary sky, the wind throwing it against the buildings like pellets. The wind harvesters churn, ceaselessly.
    Miranda stands inside the barn. The doors are wide open, but the wind and rain can’t reach her. The cold, however, always finds its way in.
    She looks puffy, wearing three sweatshirts. If there were more, she’d be wearing them, too. She doesn’t care that they’re stained and slightly damp, or that they smell like mold. The barn smells better. If she hand-washes them with water from the cisterns, they’ll never dry. She’ll never be warm.
    She shivers beneath layers of grimy cotton.
    Filthy. Just like them.
    Jen and Mad spend their time in the dinner house. The kitchen is clean and orderly. The cans are stacked in straight lines and the inventory posted. They found a pack of playing cards in the back of the pantry. Sometimes Kat joins them.
    They never ask Miranda.
    Roc hardly ever leaves the bunkhouse. Except to eat.
    And steal.
    Miranda hears her leave the bunkhouse at night when everyone is sleeping.