In an unusual move, as if anything could be considered usual for them, both Lindsey and Terah walked into Scotrun together for supplies. The danger of being recognized and noted seemed less urgent than finding a way forward. Their working hypothesis had been that demons would be deterred by consecrated ground had informed their decision to aim for the convent. Although Lindsey had indicated that it wasn’t a long-term solution Terah had been hoping that it might become one anyway.
Since it was daylight they kept silence until they cautiously stepped out into view on the road into town. “You haveta be careful in a really small town like this,” she said. “Not many strangers pass through, let alone become regulars. They’ll know nobody’s moved to town and we’re suspects already. We need to decide where to go from here.”
“It’s ridiculous that towns can’t accept strangers as strangers.”
“I bet you thought differently when you lived with Danielle. You didn’t want strangers in your neighborhood.”
That had been true. It’d also been so long ago.
“Is it always this quiet here?” Lindsey wondered.
“It’s a small town.”
It became clear, however, that this was too still, even for rural Pennsylvania. No cars passed them. The gas pumps and parking spaces at Sheetz were vacant. “But this is spooky quiet. Something’s wrong.”
It’d been a risk to be seen together, but they planned to use some classic deflection schemes to pick up a few supplies. Cautiously, like a couple, they walked to the door. “It’s dark.” Terah tugged on the handle. “Locked.”
“Employees out sick?” Lindsey mused. “Let’s see what else is in town.” Downtown, they discovered, didn’t exist. They walked down the highway and found all the businesses closed. “This is just weird. Even if people get sick, businesses stay open.”
“We don’t get the news,” Terah said. No cars drove by on 611. “We just don’t know what’s going on. World War III could happen and we wouldn’t know.”
“People survived millenniums without newspapers.” At the word “newspaper” her voice faded in a way that gave Terah pause.
“I’ve never been a news junkie,” he nodded. “Once the internet kicked in I was a headline reader, but I’m no political scientist. I’m not qualified to know if current developments are good or bad. I just didn’t have the time to read through all the articles. You know, current events are so ephemeral. I had bigger ideas to wrestle with, white whales to harpoon.”
“That doesn’t answer what’s goin’ on. Why the hell aren’t any people here?”
They walked past a few more empty stores. It was obvious they weren’t going to find anyplace open to gather supplies. “The convent was really cleaned out,” Terah said, underscoring their plight.
“Let’s get our stuff and go.”
“Go where? At least we have a place that’s out of the weather.”
“A nice dry place to starve to death, you mean. We need to find a place with people. We haven’t had a decent stock of food since the bear at the fishin’ shack. What other options do we have? If we break into a store they’ll come lookin’ for us. Petty theft is one thing, but breakin’ in is burglary, and we don’t wanna deal with that.” Still, they found a Pepsi dispenser that wasn’t too reluctant to donate a few plastic bottles of empty calories.
“But where do we go from here? We need food and there’s nothing west of here for miles and miles.”
“We head south.”
“Why?”
“There’s reasonably sized towns there. Places to blend in. The real danger right now is small towns where we’ll be noticed. Especially small fuckin’ places like this where there’s no food.”
As much as Terah didn’t want to spend nights outdoors any more, the weather had turned not exactly balmy—this was Pennsylvania, after all—but it was April and the promise of somewhat better temperatures was in the air.
“Next thing north of here is Scranton,” she said as they headed back to St. Grosseteste. “And beyond that the Endless Mountains. Besides, it’ll be colder up there. To the south we’ll find Allentown. Bethlehem’s near there. Both pretty good size places. Saylorsburg’s along the way. Wind Gap. Nazareth. At least we’ll be able to pick up some grub. An’ we might take a risk at Belfast.”
“Belfast? What risk?”
She wouldn’t answer. This young woman had so many secrets that a dissertation could’ve been written on her.
It was mid-afternoon before they found themselves turning south. They kept to the woods despite the lack of cars. Hunger goaded them on. “Once you get beyond the initial pangs you can go on a while before it starts feeling uncomfortable again,” Terah lectured.
“I don’t need this,” Lindsey replied. “I’ve been hungry plenty a times. At Honest Oahusha my stash took months to build. We coulda done the same at Grosseteste, but there has to be a place to get supplies.”
Although the trees were budding it was going to be some time before they could forage. “I know lots of stuff in the woods is edible, but you really have to be a naturalist to get away with it. Last thing we need is for one of us to get poisoned.”
“You keep wantin’ to make plans. Don’tcha see that plans never work out? You haveta just be in the moment. The moment’s all there is.”
The wooded hillsides grew more intense again. Terah had never appreciated, driving by them at seventy miles per hour, just how dense these Pennsylvania woods could be. He didn’t want to raise the topic of demons again, but he knew they hadn’t seen the last of Wednesday. It also looked like they were going to have to spend a hungry night in the outdoors again. And he was once again thinking of Lindsey in a way that wasn’t part of their agreed upon relationship. How could two people spend so much time together and not end up in a natural kind of détente that seemed to follow naturally from prolonged partnership? It was probably a sexist thing to think, but back in the academy his former colleagues were writing about freedoms of sexualities. Didn’t they realize just how wide, how broad, how deep that went? Those whose driving desires motivated them, they argued academically, shouldn’t be blamed for it. He knew that nature was urging him to express himself to a young woman he profoundly admired.
“Men can be such pigs,” he muttered.
Lindsey stopped. She screamed.
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