Katie selected her mother and listened as the phone beganto ring. She hung the phone up after two rings, and tossed it into the nearestgarbage can, tears threatening to escape from her eyes. She walked fast, as ifthe phone would jump up out of the garbage and follow her around. Katie didn'twant to know. She didn't want to know how her 70-year-old mother was survivingthis. She didn't want to have that conversation. She didn't want to tell herwhat had happened to Jason and Kevin. Most of all, she didn't want the phone togo to voicemail. She didn't want to hear her mother's voice telling her toleave her name and phone number so that she could get back to her. Not gettingan answer would be the worst.
She walked along the concourse, until she came to a whitetrailer that had been set up to serve food to the refugees. That's what theywere now, refugees in their own country, in their own home, fleeing from adisaster that seemed to have struck the world down in one fell swoop.
When she had first arrived, she overheard two peopletalking about causes of the disaster. Maybe it was nature trying to create ablank slate. Maybe God was real, and he was pissed. Katie laughed in her head.What a waste of time their conversation had been. Two scared men trying tofigure out who or what they should blame. Blame wasn't going to make it goaway. If anything, knowing would just make it worse. Katie was glad she didn'tknow why the end of the world was happening. Knowing why would lead to the hopeof being able to stop it. Stopping it would mean continuing on for who knew howlong with the guilt of killing her husband and child... the guilt of knowingthat she had, in her most melancholy moments, actually fantasized about doingit before the world had rotted.
There were two lines of people waiting to be served.Boxes of bulk food items were stacked haphazardly around the trailer. She couldsee soldiers working feverishly inside the trailer, dishing out food as fast asthey could, but still they could not keep up with the demand. The refugeesstood, a hundred deep, many of them lost in their own thoughts. Smiles were fewand far between.
Katie stepped up behind a man with a red beard. His handswere placed protectively on the shoulders of two children, and their eyes werepainted with sorrow. They did not speak. They stood there, mute, waiting inline like cows for the slaughter. The children made Katie feel sad. How wouldthey die? Would they get eaten? Would their father murder them to save themfrom an eternity stalking the world as living dead? Would he do nothing?
There was only one thing that Katie felt good about,knowing that she had ended her own child's twisted existence. Kevin wouldn't betarget practice for anyone. She had ended him, the way it should have been.Family takes care of family.
"When the time comes, it should be you," shesaid to the red-bearded man.
He looked at her, horror in his eyes. "Excuseme?"
"If they turn, make sure you're the one that doesit. You know what I mean?"
The man didn't say anything else. He propelled hischildren to the back of the other line. Katie smiled and waved at the children.They did not reciprocate.
Katie turned her attention to the line in front of her.At least she'd get her meal faster this way. The trailer was pumping out platesof food at an alarming pace. Katie wished they would have given out morepackaged food, something that would last a while in an emergency, but food wasfood, even though the stuff they were ladling out didn't seem all thatappetizing to her.
With her mind lost in thought, she stepped up to thecounter, and a woman in fatigues plopped a tray in front of her. First, therewas a scoop of mashed potatoes, likely from some dehydrated source. Then therewas an unappetizing piece of breaded meat topped with another ladleful ofgravy. Next was a scoop of mixed vegetables, carrots, peas, and corn that allhad that shrunken look that comes from being dehydrated. Finally, she was givena dinner roll with some sort of butter substitute in a tiny golden package. Itwas followed with a bottle of water, which Katie was a little upset with. Therest of the meal brought about the nostalgia of meals long ago at herelementary school in Vermont. The only thing missing was an 8 oz. carton of 2%milk.
Katie stepped out of line with the Styrofoam tray in herhand. She was looking at the meal in front of her, wondering what she was goingto eat first when a voice spoke at her side. "Nothing like the old armedforces to put a little meat on your bones in the cheapest, most flavorlessmanner possible. Am I right?"
Katie broke out of her culinary contemplation and lookedat the man who had spoke. He was an older gentleman, with a mean look about hiseyes, but a kind bent to his mouth."
"Yeah. At least I didn't have to make itmyself," she said.
"Amen to that." The man plopped his bottle ofwater onto his tray, and held out his now freed up hand. "My name'sZeke."
Katie shook the man's proffered hand and smiled,"I'm sorry."
"For what?" the man said.
"That you've been stuck with that stupid name foryour entire life."
The man laughed, a deep hearty laugh that echoedthroughout the concourse. It was a dusty sounding laugh, as if that register ofhis throat hadn't been used in years. "Yeah. I'm sorry too." Theystood there for a moment, experiencing a brief moment of awkward silence beforeZeke said, "Are you here with people?"
Katie shook her head, the truth too raw and unpredictableto be allowed to cross her lips. "Well, would you like to eat withus?" he continued.
"Us?" Katie asked. The man with the mean eyespointed to a man who was waiting by an entrance to the arena, an impatient lookon his smooth, almost baby-like face. "Oh, I don't..."
Zeke interrupted her and said, "I'm not asking youout on a date, lady. I'm just trying to have
