Plague

We’re . . . we’re rich.”
    If each jar had been a giant diamond, Sam would still have preferred the Nutella.
    “This is the greatest discovery in the history of the FAYZ,” Dekka said, sounding like she was witnessing a miracle.
    “What is a phase? What do they mean by phase?” Toto asked.
    “FAYZ. Fallout Alley Youth Zone,” Sam said distractedly. “It’s supposed to be funny. Dude: what’s in the rest of these containers?”
    Toto looked uncomfortable. He squirmed so much he looked like he was dancing. “I don’t know.”
    “What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you lying?” Dekka demanded sharply.
    “No lies,” Toto said, eyes flashing. “I’m Toto the truth teller, subject 1-01. Not Toto the liar.”
    “Then what are you saying? You never looked in any of these containers? There’s fourteen containers. Plus that first boxcar. What do you mean you don’t know?” Dekka found it outrageous.
    Toto did his squirmy dance again. “I couldn’t get them open. They’re locked. And they’re steel. I hit them with chairs, but they wouldn’t open.”
    Sam, Dekka, and Jack all stared at the strange boy.
    Then they stared at the containers.
    Then they stared at one another.
    “Well,” Sam said, “I do believe we can get them open.”
    Approximately eight seconds later Sam had burned the lock from the nearest container. Jack then pushed the door open.
    The contents of the container were wrapped in plastic but still unmistakable.
    “Toilets?” Dekka said.
    Many of the porcelain fixtures were cracked from derailing, the shards held in place by the shrink-wrap.
    A second container revealed more toilets.
    The third container held what had to be thousands of medium-sized cartons. The cartons contained baseball caps. Dodgers caps.
    “One size fits all,” Dekka said, disgustedly. “But I’m an Angels fan.”
    “This is going to take us a while to go through everything,” Sam said. “But I think it’s probably worth it.”
    The fourth held wicker lawn furniture.
    “Or not,” Sam said, disgusted.
    The fifth container was wicker flowerpots and cracked terra-cotta pots as well as two pallets of plaster yard pretties: cherubs, gnomes, and the Virgin Mary.
    The sixth was house paint and deck stain.
    The seventh was better, a mixed load, pallets of shrimp-flavored Cup-a-Noodles, chicken-flavored ramen, coffee filters and coffee makers, and boxes of mixed teas.
    “I wish I’d had some of those noodles,” Toto said wistfully. “It would have been nice to have noodles.”
    “Noodles are fine,” Sam agreed.
    “I wouldn’t say no to some noodles,” Jack said.
    “True, true statement! He would not say no to noodles,” Toto babbled.
    The eighth container was empty. Nothing.
    The ninth was two big pieces of industrial machinery. “Whatchamacallits,” Jack said. He searched for the words. “You know. Like industrial lathes or whatever.”
    “Yeah, great,” Dekka said. “All we need is two hundred and twenty volts and we can set up a machine shop.”
    Sam was starting to feel anxious. Nutella and noodles were fine. Great, in fact. Miraculous. But he’d been hoping for more food, more water, more medicine, something. It was absurdly like Christmas morning when he was little: hoping for something he couldn’t even put a name to. A game-changer. Something . . . amazing.
    When Jack opened the tenth container he just stood, staring.
    Sam said, “Okay, what is it?”
    No answer.
    Sam leaned over Jack’s shoulders to look. Pallet after pallet of heavy cartons. Each carton was emblazoned with the Apple logo.
    “Computers?” Sam wondered. “Or iPods?” Neither would be of any use.
    At last Jack moved. He rushed to the nearest pallet, then hesitated. He carefully wiped his hands on his pants. Then he tore away the shrink-wrap and gently, cautiously, opened the first carton.
    It was with trembling fingers that he lifted out a white box. On the box was a photo of a laptop.
    “That would be great if we had internet,” Sam said. “Or electricity.”
    “They ship them fully charged,” Jack snapped, angry at Sam’s interruption. Like Sam had started talking in church. “It’s been so long but . . . but they may still have some charge.”
    “Okay,” Sam said. “So you can play some games. Let’s move on to the next—”
    “No!” Jack cried, his voice somewhere between anguish and rapture. “No. I have to . . . I have to see.”
    He spent five full minutes carefully opening the box,