Thirst by Benjamin Warner Read Free Book Online Page A

anyone up the street.
    He walked to the corner and knocked on Mrs. Kasolos’s door.
    Mrs. Kasolos called, “Who is it?” from deep inside.
    “It’s Ed Gardner,” he said.
    “Who?”
    “Laura Gardner’s husband. Eddie Gardner from up the street.”
    There was a muffled sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. The dead bolt thunked across.
    She opened up a crack and stared at him.
    “I’m just checking to see how you’re doing,” he said.
    “Your wife thinks old people are cute, doesn’t she? Tell her not to worry.”
    “You have things to eat?”
    “I’ve been feeding myself for years.”
    “I mean, with the power out.”
    “I have a pork chop from Thursday that’s still good. It takes me a while, but I’ll eat it.”
    “How about to drink?”
    “Come in here,” she said.
    She opened the door up fully, and Eddie stepped inside. There was a long dining room table padded with thick brown squares that lay askew. A bunch of bananas in a bowl sat on the table. A breakfront held a series of presidential plates in wooden stands, the largest of which had G. W. Bush’s face painted on one half, G. H. W.’s face on the other. More plates—a row of them with blue Chinese designs—had been affixed to the wall.
    “Look at that,” she said. Her face soured, and she pointed to the other side of the room, as if identifying where it had been vandalized. Her finger shook as she held it up.
    Eddie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was a watercooler there.
    “Oh,” he said.
    “That’s five gallons. I have a man who comes to replace it every three weeks. They brought me an extra in the beginning, so I have one in the basement, too.”
    He stood there, silently, until she said, “Well?”
    “If you need any help … my wife and I are right down the street.”
    “I have my daughter coming down. She lives in Burtonsville, but she checks on me.”
    “When is she supposed to come?”
    “She’s never on time. She works a job with the government and they run her to the ground.”
    “There’s a lot of traffic. She might be held up.”
    “Tell your wife not to worry. I’ve survived worse. You don’t get to be my age without being able to make it.”
    “I’ll be back to check on you.”
    “Don’t bother,” she said.
    “I’ll be back.”

Bill Peters had been right. The grocery store was picked over. Sections of shelves were hollowed out where the sodas and sports drinks had been. There was still cereal. One of the aisles had suffered a fracturing of tomato sauce jars. Laura put an arm against his chest to hold him back.
    “Glass,” she pointed.
    They each wore a backpack. “There’s no milk?”
    Laura shook her head.
    It was like before a hurricane, but there wasn’t any music. No children. Men and women moved through the aisles, staring up and down the shelves, pulling items based on private calculations, stuffing them into bags.
    “Here,” Eddie said. “Let’s get these.”
    She helped him load some jars of pickled peppers. He took Spanish olives, too, and a glass bottle of apple cider vinegar.
    “It doesn’t seem like it’s been long enough for this,” she said.
    “People are just being cautious.”
    “Or they know something. We should have tried the radio.”
    “I tried the radio. There’s not even static.”
    “We should keep it on anyway. They have that emergency-broadcast thing.”
    “It’s dead, Laura. How are we going to get an emergency-broadcast thing?”
    She looked at him crossly. “Just forget it,” she said.
    There were still a few green bottles of lemon juice and Eddie took one of those. Beneath the water filters, the shelves were empty where the bottles of water should have been.
    “Let’s split up,” he said.
    There was meat in plastic wrap in the back, but when Eddie reached for it, there was nothing cool coming out of the refrigerating vents, and he left it where it was. A cardboard box sat just in front of the plastic flaps that led into the