Foreverland Is Dead

never breaks?” Kat asks.
    The door slams open. Roc throws a square of wet square of plastic onto the floor and stomps mud into the floorboards. “Started without me?”
    Miranda hunches over her bowl even though it’s empty. She feels Roc’s shadow pass over her. The kitchen lock beeps. Roc slides the keycard out and puts it around her neck.
    Cyn stares ahead .
    Roc makes just as much noise coming back, grabbing the chair next to Miranda. A poison slick of fear coats her stomach. She hides within her blonde locks.
    “That’s not what we’re eating,” Cyn says.
    Roc pops the top off an extra large can of baked beans. She dumps them into a pile and shovels in two spoonfuls. “Well, you shouldn’t have started without me.”
    Mad walks loudly to the kitchen, using Cyn’s key to open the door.
    “She seems pissed,” Roc says around a fourth spoonful.
    “Give her your keycard,” Cyn says. “She’s running the kitchen, you don’t need it.”
    “Give her yours.”
    “I’m first up every morning, getting things ready. Mad needs access.”
    “ Yeah, well, I’m making sure no one is thieving.”
    “And who’s watching you?” Kat says.
    Roc stops chewing. Lowers the spoon. She glares from beneath her hooded eyes.
    “You better watch your mouth.”
    “I’m keeping an eye on Mad,” Cyn interrupts. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’ll go easier if she’s got the key, Roc.”
    Roc hunkers over the plate , pushing the final bites with her dirty fingers. Every last bean eaten. She drops her heavy hands on the table and exhales, looking around.
    “It’s food you’re worried about?” she asks.
    “We’re conserving.”
    “Well, I know where there’s more. How about you, Shiny?”
    A rancid flavor crawls into Miranda’s throat. She feels Roc’s weight lean closer, smells her musky odor. Cold beans on her breath.
    “You know where we can get some food?” Roc kicks the back leg of Miranda’s chair.
    “Stop,” Cyn says.
    “Stop what? Stop getting more food? I thought that’s what this was about—getting food. Make up your mind, fearless leader. You want food or not? Because if you do—and I think we all do—I know where to get it.”
    Roc slaps the table top. The dishes rattle.
    Miranda squeaks.
    “I don’t want food, Shiny. I want…the hell…out of here!”
    “STOP!” Cyn’s chair tips ov er. She hangs on to the table’s edge. “Stop threatening her, Roc. She’ll go inside when she’s ready. There’s probably nothing in there but food that’s not going anywhere. We’ve got to focus on conserving what we’ve got.”
    Roc hovers in place. A fearful shiver trickles down Miranda’s neck.
    “Whatever you girls want.” Roc tosses her plate in the middle of the table. “Call me when you’ve had enough of this crap.”
    “We’re splitting wood after cleanup,” Cyn says.
    “Good. We need some.”
    “You’re helping.”
    Roc shakes the water off the plastic, drapes it over her head, and leaves the door open. The rain patters on the front porch.
    They sit quietly . Kat is the first one up. They begin clearing off the table. Cyn is still standing, eyes cast down.
    She never finishes breakfast.

12

    Miranda snuggles up in bed, warm and smoky.
    Roc started a fire that afternoon and no one said anything. Not even Cyn. They spread their wet clothes on chairs. The fire was wrong, but they were warm.
    Roc did nothing but take.
    Miranda feels the decay of cowardice in her backbone.
    They all do.
    When the back door clicks shut sometime in the night, she comes out of her sweet slumber. She has learned to ignore the nightly raids while everyone slept. Everyone else slept right through it. Miranda could stop her, but not by herself. But if they all come together, if they’re all sufficiently pissed off, if they all taste the foulness of their cowardice, they’ll rise up together.
    Miranda can do that. She can bring them together.
    If she can wedge a few slivers of wood between the door and the doorjamb. Roc will be locked out. She’ll have to pound on the door to get back inside, wake everyone up. And if they don’t wake up, she’ll stay out there in the rain.
    Maybe she won’t survive. That’s how nature works.
    She quickly finds three long slivers that are thick on one end, like custom-made shims. She starts for the door—
    Something’s not right.
    Roc’s bed isn’t empty.
    It ha s to be her. Who else would do that?
    There’s a pile of clothing in the center of