The Night Parade(12)

It could have been a shopping trip just like any he’d made in his lifetime . . . until he paused beside a hat rack, a plan forming in his head. He selected a nondescript blue baseball cap from the rack—emblem-free and just about as unmemorable as a hat could get—and realized that he would have to explain much of this to Ellie upon his return back to the motel. If he was going to do this, to put this plan into action, then she would have questions. He couldn’t lie to her forever.

He decided to buy the hat.

That settles that.

By the time he took everything to the front of the store, there was a sullen-looking man grazing behind the counter. His comb-over was thin and greasy and his eyes were denim blue. He wore a paper carpenter’s mask over his nose and mouth, a trend that had gained popularity after the CDC suggested Wanderer’s Folly might be airborne. At one time, David had tried to purchase some of the N95 masks that were initially recommended by the World Health Organization, but that was before it became known that the masks were virtually useless in protecting against the virus. (One WHO spokesperson suggested it was the equivalent of taping up your doors and windows during a nuclear fallout.) The virus was in the blood—not in a sneeze, not in a cough—but many theorized that it was transmitted when the airborne virus gained access to the body by osmosis through the flesh. Those who still wore the masks did so out of fear or a false sense of security.

David’s gaze lingered on the man just long enough for the man to draw his eyebrows together in consternation. Without a word, he proceeded to ring up David’s items.

“You have any books?”

“Books?” the man said, his voice muffled through the mask.

“Like, YA books.”

“What’s that?”

“Books for young adults. Like, for preteens.”

“Ain’t a library.”

“That thing really work?” David asked him, nodding at the mask.

“Couldn’t hurt,” the man said.

“Do you have any more?”

The man pointed to a wall of mismatched items—plungers, automotive air filters, toilet paper, picture frames. There were several paper masks hanging from a peg. David retrieved two of them and added them to his purchase. It had nothing to do with protection against the Folly; he thought the masks might help hide their faces, if it came to that.

“I need a charger for an iPhone, too. I didn’t see any on the shelves.”

The man reached beneath the counter and set one beside David’s other purchases. “Kids tend to steal ’em,” the man said.

“There are still kids around here?”

The man eyeballed him but said nothing.

“And a few packs of Marlboros,” David said.

“We’re all out.”

“What other brands do you have?”

“None.”

“None? No cigarettes?”

The man’s milky eyes narrowed. “No cigarettes,” he repeated.

“How about a place to eat around here? A diner or something?”

The man shook his head as he bagged David’s items. He moved with a zombie’s lethargy. “Not ’round here.”

“What about off the highway?”

The man hoisted a disinterested shoulder. “Wouldn’t know.”

“Where is everybody?”

“You with the Census Bureau?”

David laughed—a forced whip-crack of a sound that sounded false to his own ears.

“That’ll be forty-nine ninety-five,” said the man.

David handed him fifty bucks, considered telling him to keep the change, but decided to hang around for it in the end. From here on out, every penny would count.

Back outside, the homeless man with the sandwich board was gone. So was the dog.





7


Ellie was awake when he returned to the motel. She was propped up against the headboard, her long hair in uncombed tangles. She was watching a cartoon on the TV. She had the shoe box in her lap, the lid open, and was gently running a finger along the bird eggs inside. There were three of them, small, speckled things that looked impossibly delicate to David, like porcelain. They were fitted snugly in a nest of twig-bits and leaves. Ellie swung her legs off the side of the bed and, setting the shoe box aside, studied the shopping bag he hauled into the room and set down on the table.

“Did you find my note?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I got some stuff for us. Some food, but some clothes, too. And toothbrushes.” He offered her a conciliatory smile.

“I want to call Mom.”

“It’s still early.”

“She wakes up early.”

“There are some things we need to do first,” he said. From the shopping bag he withdrew a T-shirt with silk-screened trucks on it, the nondescript baseball hat, some other items. “Also, we need to talk, Little Spoon.”

“Is it about Mom?”

It was, but he didn’t need to go there just yet. He still needed some time to figure out how he was going to explain what had happened to Kathy, and now certainly wasn’t the time. Right now, they needed to get back on the road and keep moving. Which meant, for the time being, he would lie to her. It was a lie he had begun last night when they traded the Bronco for the Olds, and he’d had several hours to build upon that story in his head so that it sounded plausible.