Gone

on her shorts.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Better go while we still can.”

TWENTY-ONE
    129 HOURS , 34 MINUTES
    “SHOW ME YOUR list,” Howard demanded. He was outside the front door of Ralph’s grocery, seated in a lawn chair, with his feet propped up on a second chair. He had a small combo TV/DVD playing Spider-Man 3 . He barely looked up as they approached.
    “I don’t have a list,” Astrid said.
    Howard shrugged. “You need a list. No one goes in without a list.”
    Sam said, “Okay, do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?”
    “It just so happens I do, Sam,” Howard said. He fished a small spiral notebook from the pocket of an ill-fitting leather jacket and handed it to Astrid.
    She wrote and handed it to Howard.
    “You can have all the fresh stuff, like produce, that you want. It’s all going to go bad. Ice cream is mostly gone, but there might be some Popsicles.” He glanced at Little Pete. “You like the Popsicles, Pe-tard?”
    “Get on with it,” Sam said.
    “If you want canned stuff or, like, pasta or whatever, you have to get special permission from Caine or one of the sheriffs.”
    “What are you talking about?” Astrid demanded.
    “I’m talking about you can have lettuce and eggs and deli and milk because that’s all going to expire soon, but we’re saving up the stuff like canned soup or whatever that won’t spoil.”
    Astrid admitted, “Okay, that makes sense, I guess.”
    “Likewise paper products. Everyone gets one roll of toilet paper. So make it last.” He glanced at the list again. “Tampons? What size?”
    “Shut up,” Sam said.
    Howard laughed. “Go ahead on in. But I’ll check everything on the way out, and if it’s not okay, I’ll make you put it back.”
    The store was a mess. Before Caine had posted a guard, it had been looted of almost all the snack foods. And the kids who had looted had not been neat or careful. There were broken jars of mayonnaise, displays turned over, shattered glass from smashed freezer doors.
    There were flies everywhere. The place had begun to smell like garbage. Some of the overhead lights had burned out, leaving pockets of gloom. Brightly colored posters still hung over their heads touting specials and price reductions.
    Sam grabbed a cart and Astrid lifted Little Pete into the seat.
    The flowers in the little florist’s corner were all looking tired. A dozen Mylar balloons with “Happy Birthday” or Thanksgiving messages on them still floated but were losing altitude.
    “Maybe I should look for a turkey,” Astrid said, looking at the display of Thanksgiving-related food: pumpkin pie mix, mincemeat, cranberry sauce, turkey basters, stuffing.
    “You know how to cook a turkey?”
    “I can find instructions online.” She sighed. “Or, not. Maybe they have a cookbook around.”
    “I guess no cranberry sauce.”
    “Nothing canned.”
    Sam walked ahead into the produce section, then stopped, realizing Astrid was still staring at the seasonal display. She was crying.
    “Hey, what’s the matter?”
    Astrid brushed at her tears, but more came. “Grocery shopping was always something the three of us did, my mom and Petey and me. It was a time every week when we could talk. You know, we’d shop kind of slowly and discuss what to eat and talk about other stuff, too. Just casually. I’ve never been in here without my mom before.”
    “Me neither.”
    “It feels weird. It looks the same, but it’s not.”
    “Nothing’s the same anymore,” Sam said. “But people still need to eat.”
    That earned a reluctant smile from Astrid. “Okay. Let’s shop.”
    They picked up lettuce and carrots and potatoes. Sam went behind the counter to lift a pair of steaks and wrap them up in paper. Flies were thick on some cuts of meat that had been left out when the butchers disappeared. But the meat from inside the case seemed untouched.
    “Anything else, ma’am?” he asked.
    “Well, since no one else is taking them, I might as well take that roast.”
    Sam leaned down to look in the display. “Okay, I give up. Which one is a roast?”
    “The big thing there.” She tapped the glass. “I can put it in the freezer.”
    “Of course. The roast.” Sam lifted it out and slapped it down on a sheet of waxed butcher’s paper. “You realize it’s, like, twelve dollars a pound or whatever?”
    “Put it on my tab.”
    They moved on to the dairy case. And there was Panda, standing nervously and holding his bat at the ready.
    “You