Chapter 32
The days go by slowly, but we move at nearly double the speed once we both get the hang of rowing.
The rowboat’s not only faster than the canoe, but it also gives us plenty of space for our new gear and for sleeping.
That’s not to say it’s easy. My muscles still ache at the end of every day, and sleeping in the boat isn’t exactly comfortable.
It’s better than sleeping with one eye open on the shore, though.
The farther south we go, the more often we hear the screeches of carriers echoing off the river.
Who knows how far away they are or who they’re chasing?
I’m not willing to give up the protection of the river to find out.
At the end of every day before the sun sets, we check the map trying to guess where we are, but most days, it’s impossible.
There are no clear landmarks, and one mile of river looks pretty identical to the next.
All we know is we’re still in that long stretch of river between the middle of nowhere and St. Louis.
Today, though, the river takes a distinctive sharp turn and nearly doubles in width.
We stay close to the shallow edge, and soon we start to see more and more of what used to be populated areas.
A highway traces along the left side of the river, and that’s when I realize this must be the point where the Illinois River meets the Mississippi River.
We’re getting very close to St. Louis now. Maybe just a few days away.
I pull out the pocket atlas, trace my finger along the blue line of the river, and immediately know where we are.
“Grafton!” I shout.
Keisha startles and nearly drops the oars mid-row. “Jesus, Quinn, you just about gave me a heart attack. What is it?”
“We made it to Grafton. Look, on the map right here. This has to be it, see?” I say, pointing to the restaurants and shops lining the highway.
Keisha studies the map carefully from under the brim of her straw hat, then looks up at the highway and the shops.
“I think you’re right. That means we’re close now.
Probably just a few days away from St. Louis,” she says, taking the map to study it more closely.
She squints at the tiny letters, a little wrinkle appearing between her eyes.
“It looks like between here and St. Louis it’ll be pretty populated.
Especially once we get here,” she says, pointing to a town called Alton.
“That means no stopping until we get to St. Louis. How are we doing on supplies?” she asks.
“We could use more water. We’re running pretty low on everything that isn’t fish. We could use some more packaged food. Now that I think about it, it might give us an advantage to have something to trade once we get to the city. We should probably see what we can find,” I say.
We pull the boat onto the shore near the highway and make our way toward the cluster of shops and restaurants.
I’m optimistic, but those hopes are dashed the moment I see the first two carriers.
They both lie awkwardly in the ditch next to the highway with deep wounds in their foreheads.
Someone has been through here already, and I’m guessing this entire stretch of highway has been looted.
Every few yards, another carrier appears, stinking and open-mouthed, lying lifeless on the ground. I’m grateful that somebody saved us the trouble, but I start to worry that we might have to meet that somebody.
“Keisha,” I whisper. “How long ago do you think this happened?” I say, gesturing to the corpses at our feet.
“Hard to say. The wounds look dry. I’d guess anywhere from a few hours to a few days,” she says with a shrug. It’s not a super helpful answer. But at least we know we’re not on someone’s heels. I keep my machete in my hand, and we walk toward the first shop.
The sign on the door of the closest building says GRAFTON FUDGE AND ICE CREAM SHOP.
You can tell it’s been a favorite tourist attraction for years.
Its front porch welcomes customers to sit in old rocking chairs to enjoy their sweets and watch the river flow by.
I can’t help but feel a rush of excitement at the possibility of chocolate, and my steps get quicker.
As we get closer, I can see the door was left wide open.
Again, not a good sign, but I try to hold on to hope.
We climb the three steps onto the creaking front porch and peer into the dark shop.
Empty wrappers litter the entrance, and my heart sinks.
I step through the doorway first, scanning the shop for danger, but nothing moves.
The glass display cases are shattered, and what probably used to be ice cream is dried in a sticky paste on the old wood planks of the floor.
Every shelf in the place is completely empty.
I kick around the trash with my foot, looking for anything that might be left.
Keisha looks as disappointed as I feel. We check behind the counter just to be sure, but it’s no use. The whole place has been swept clean.
“A peanut butter cup would have made my whole year. Just one,” she says, lazily kicking an empty box across the floor. “Or even cherry-flavored gummy bears. I think today might be my eighteenth birthday. Would have been nice.”
“Today? Is it the end of July already?”
“I think so. I tried to keep track, but I might be a day or two off. Either way, if we were back at the Pegasus Center, I’d be packing my stuff.”
“Happy birthday, Keisha,” I say with a warm smile. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you’re not packing your bags. It would have sucked to say goodbye,” I say truthfully.
“I’m glad too. This is way better than getting a job and paying rent,” she says with a grin. I can tell she means it.
“Sorry you didn’t get a peanut butter cup on your birthday. I promise I’ll catch you a big fish for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, joy, more fish.” She laughs.
“If this place was cleaned out, it’s a safe bet that everything else on this strip is gone too,” I say, kicking aside more trash.
“Think it’s worth it to go farther into town and look through a few houses?”
“I’d rather keep moving. Who knows if whoever looted this place is still out there. Anyway, maybe we’ll find something else farther downstream.”
Keisha nods. Neither of us is desperate enough to go looking for trouble.
Not yet. We turn to walk out of the shop, but something on the floor catches my eye.
A cellophane-wrapped lollipop swirled in shades of red and pink.
Cherry. I reach down to pick it up, and my smile must be a mile wide. A laugh bubbles in my chest.
“What is it?” Keisha asks.
“Happy birthday,” I say, handing over the lollipop with a little curtsey.
Keisha’s smile matches mine as she reaches for the sweet, and she does that little hop, like she can’t contain her happiness. It’s my favorite version of Keisha. The one that does little hops.
“It’s even cherry! Thanks, Quinn.” She tears off the cellophane wrapper, then uses her teeth to bite off a big chunk of cherry-swirled sugar.
She takes the broken piece from her mouth and takes a step toward me.
“Open your mouth,” she says with a wry smile.
My jaw drops dumbly, and she slides the broken piece over my tongue, letting her fingertips linger on my bottom lip.
After days of fish and jarred vegetables, the taste is otherworldly.
My eyes close, and I feel dizzy with the sugar rush, so I’m completely unprepared for the feeling of Keisha’s lips on mine. “Muah!” she says, with an exaggerated kiss, leaving a sticky feeling on my mouth.
I blush a thousand shades of red.
“Ugh. You’re impossible,” I grumble, wiping my mouth. I remind myself it’s just an act. She’s just doing this to make sure I’ll do anything to protect her. But even the truth can’t dull the smile that takes over my face, and I hate myself for it.
Keisha laughs, puts the rest of the lollipop in her mouth, grabs my hand, and intertwines her fingers with mine.
Together, we walk out of the shop back toward the boat.
The weight of her hand in mine brings on a million feelings.
I never want her to let go of me. I never want the taste of cherry sugar to leave my lips.
I want this moment to be real, but it fades just as quickly as the fake cherry flavor.
A carrier’s screech echoes somewhere far behind us, interrupting my thoughts. I look over my shoulder instinctively, but I already know the carrier is too far away to matter. Still, the tiny hairs on my arms stand up, and we walk a little faster.
We climb back into the boat, and I volunteer to keep rowing. She knew I would.
Now that the two rivers have merged, it’s twice as wide. I could easily stick to the middle of the river, and it would probably be safer, but I stay close to the river’s edge, keeping an eye out for any looting opportunities. The scenery is like something out of a storybook.
Tiny buildings line the riverfront, while little houses dot the hills that rise up to surround the river.
Masses of trees paint everything else a deep green.
Soon, the little buildings along the river are farther and farther apart, letting me know we’re almost past Grafton.
Just when I think we’ve left the town behind, I look up into the hills and see something I don’t immediately recognize.
Behind a chain link fence, huge colorful tubes snake their way through the hills.
A wide parking lot sits nearly empty next to a large building.
I think I see a big swimming pool farther back into the hills.
“Is that a water park?” I ask, squinting.
“It has to be. Look at the size of those water slides!” She beams.
“I’ve never been to a water park. I’ve only seen them on TV. Have you?”
“Only once, with a group home a few years ago. It was amazing! Oh, I wish we could go!”
“It looks like someone beat us to it. See the sign?” I say, pointing toward the edge of the park.
A message has been painted over the original sign, leaving the name of the park a mystery. In thick black letters, the new sign reads SAFETY. ALL SURVIVORS WELCOME. As we inch closer, I start to see movement behind the chain link fence.
“There are people in there. I bet that’s who cleared out the shops along the riverfront,” Keisha says as I take my binoculars from my backpack, hoping to see more.
I adjust the lenses until my vision is clear.
As the fuzzy edges of the scenery come into focus, my heartbeat picks up and my hands start to sweat.
Memories of the barge passing the boatel come back into my mind.
Those aren’t people, and that isn’t a shelter.
“It’s been taken,” I say, passing the binoculars to Keisha and picking up the oars.
I row quicker, even though I know the carriers can’t get to us. Seeing so many of them packed together like that reminds me of what Steven told us about the herds that have been accumulating. If that many come at you at once, you’re finished.
“Wow. All that food. All those supplies. Wasted,” Keisha says, shaking her head. “I bet they have dozens of peanut butter cups.”
“I’m not going in there to find out. How many carriers do you think there are?” I ask.
“If I had to guess, I’d say two hundred. Maybe three?”
“I wonder how long it took for that place to fall. Makes you wonder if any shelter could actually be safe. I mean, is St. Louis even going to be standing when we get there?” I say, wishing she’d change her mind and agree to row past St. Louis and keep moving south.
“There’s really no sense wondering about it. We’ll know when we know,” Keisha says.
My insides twist. I’ve always hated wondering. I’ve always needed control. For now, I’m comforted by the fact that I have the upper hand. She still needs me to keep her safe out here. I row until the water park disappears.