I woke up around 6 to the sound of the phone ringing. I threw on my robe and went to Mom’s room.
“It’s your father,” she said, and handed me the phone.
Right after Mom and Dad split up, I got it into my head I’d never see him or hear from him again, and every time he called, I’d get this ridiculous sensation of relief. I felt the exact same way, like a hundred-pound weight had just flown out of my stomach.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “And Lisa? Is she all right?”
“We’re both fine,” he said. “Your mother says everything is fine where you are and that you heard from Matt last night.”
“That’s right,” I said. “We tried and tried to reach you and Grandma last night and the circuits were all busy.”
“I reached her late last night,” Dad said. “She’s fine. A little shaken up, but that’s natural enough. We’re lucky, Miranda. We all seem to have made it, no problem.”
“I feel like it should have been a dream,” I said. “Like maybe I’m still dreaming and when I wake up none of it will have happened.”
“That’s how we all feel,” he said. “Your mother says school hasn’t been canceled. I guess the idea is for us to get on with our lives and be grateful that we can.”
“All right,” I said. “I can take a hint. Give my love to Lisa, okay? Tell her I was thinking about her and the baby.”
“I will,” he said. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” I said. I gestured to Mom to see if she wanted the phone back, but she shook her head, so I hung up.
“How late did you stay up?” I asked. “Did anything else happen?”
“I went to bed around the same time you did,” she said. “I saw you turn your light out. I didn’t sleep very well, though, kept waking up and turning the radio on, that kind of thing.”
“Did the tides stop?” I asked. “Did the flooding stop?”
“They stopped, they started,” Mom said. “It’s very bad.” She kind of laughed. “Very bad doesn’t really describe it. Catastrophic. They don’t know how bad the damage is yet, how many countries were affected.”
“Countries?” I said. Somehow I’d forgotten there were other countries, that we shared the moon with other countries.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “They don’t know. Nobody knows. Holland was decimated; they’re pretty sure about that. Australia: Most of the cities there are on the coast, so it was very badly hit. The tides just went mad. They think the asteroid was denser than they’d assumed it would be, so the collision was bigger. They think the moon got knocked off kilter, got pushed a little closer to the earth. At least that was the theory around five.”
“But it’s not going to crash into earth,” I said. “We’re okay, right? We don’t live that close to the ocean.”
“They’re sure it won’t crash into the earth,” Mom said. “At least not in the foreseeable future. Beyond that, I don’t think anybody’s predicting anything.”
It was funny. I was actually glad school was still on, like that proved we’d be okay. I left Mom and took a shower, and by the time I dressed and went downstairs, Mom had already started breakfast and I could hear Jonny moving around.
Mom made pancakes, which she never does on a school day. I didn’t think I’d have any appetite, but I ate more than my share. So did Jonny. I don’t remember seeing Mom eat any, but there was some batter left, so maybe she made some for herself after we left.
When I went outside to wait for the bus, I looked up, and I could see the moon in the morning sky. It was still bigger than it should have been, and it didn’t seem quite as washed out as it usually looks in the daytime. I stopped looking at it, and concentrated on the dogwoods instead.
On the bus, all anybody talked about was what happened last night. Not that anyone really seemed to know or understand. A couple of the kids seemed to think it was cool, and a couple of girls were crying the whole trip.
I sat next to Sammi, but she didn’t say much. Megan didn’t get on the bus, and neither did her church friends. The bus was only half full.
I hated the kids who were acting like it was all a big joke.
There were a lot of kids missing from homeroom, too, but most of the teachers seemed to have shown up. We’d just started history when the first lightning bolt landed. It flashed so brightly the whole classroom seemed illuminated. The thunder followed, loud enough to shake the building. At least one kid screamed, and I was just glad it wasn’t me.
Ms. Hammish tried to pretend the storm wasn’t happening, but there was no way we could avoid talking about the moon. She asked how many of us knew someone who lived on one of the coasts, who might have been affected.
All our hands went up.
“I don’t actually know someone who lives there,” Michelle Webster said. “But I feel like I do, because all the stars live in Hollywood or in New York, and I know I don’t know them, but I feel like I do.”
A lot of the kids said they felt that way too. I guess Ms. Hammish was going to tell us that was a normal way to feel, but then a lightning bolt hit one of the trees right outside the school grounds. The tree burst into flames, and then we lost our electricity.
A lot of kids started screaming then. Michelle began sobbing, real hysterical sobs, and other kids started crying, too. Sarah pulled out her cell phone to call home maybe or 911 but she couldn’t get a connection and she threw the cell phone across the room. The thunder kept rolling, and the tree began to smolder from the fire and the rain.
It was weird. There was all this craziness going on around me, and Ms. Hammish was trying to calm everybody down, only we could hardly hear her, because the thunder was so loud, and kids all over the school were screaming, so it wasn’t just our classroom, and I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t screaming or crying. I was just noticing things, how the winds had picked up, and branches were flying around outside, and how the storm didn’t seem to be letting up any.
Ms. Hammish must have decided it was a tornado, because she told all of us to get up and go into the hallway. I don’t know how many of the kids heard her, but I did, and I got up and started walking around the classroom, lifting the other kids out of the seats, until they all figured out what we were supposed to do. By the time we’d evacuated the room, there were lots of kids sitting on the hallway floor, and we joined them.
I kind of missed being able to see the storm. I didn’t feel like it was a tornado. I felt like the world was coming to an end, and I was going to miss all the action, because I was going to be sitting on the hallway floor when it did.
And then I thought, Well, that’s typical, I can’t even get any action when the world’s coming to an end, and I started laughing. It wasn’t hysterical laughing (it really was funny that the world was coming to an end and I still couldn’t get any action), but once I started, I couldn’t stop. Other kids were laughing, too, so the hallway consisted of kids laughing and kids crying and kids screaming and teachers walking around and checking classrooms to make sure they were empty. The hallway was completely dark, except for the flashes of lightning we could see from the classroom windows.
I managed to stop laughing, but then I thought, at least nobody’s singing “The Star Spangled Banner,” and I started laughing all over again. The phrase “By the dawn’s early light” got stuck in my mind, and I kept hearing it over and over again. “By the dawn’s early light.” “By the dawn’s early light.” I wondered how many people had sung “By the dawn’s early light” yesterday and were dead today.
We were in the hallway for almost an hour. It’s hard to stay hysterical for that long, and by the time the hour was over, and the storm had died down, almost all the kids were quiet, except for one girl who kept screaming, “I don’t want to die!”
Like any of us did.
We went back into our second-period classrooms, even though it was already fourth period. It was still raining with thunder and lightning, but the winds had calmed down, and the lightning was farther away.
Some of the kids who’d been crying were just shaking. The electricity still wasn’t on, and with the lightning not striking so close or so frequently, things were actually darker in the classroom. The sky was still a mean gray, and I think we all felt like the storm could come back at any moment full tilt and we’d be back in the hallway. Ms. Hammish didn’t tell us to go to our fourth-period classes. We all just sat there instead.
I couldn’t totally shake “By the dawn’s early light” from my head, and I was kind of wishing Ms. Hammish would distract us with a history lesson, when in walked Mom.
She was soaking wet and looked wild and determined. I thought, something’s happened to Matt, and that stomach weight came right back like it had never been gone.
“Come on, Miranda,” Mom said. “Get your books and let’s get going.”
Ms. Hammish stared at her, but she didn’t say anything. I got my books and followed Mom out of the classroom.
I thought, If I don’t ask what happened, it won’t have happened, so I kept quiet as we left school. Mom didn’t say anything, either. The rain was pouring, and the thunder was still pretty loud, and I thought the world really is coming to an end, and Mom wants me home when that happens.
We ran to the parking lot, and Jonny opened the door for me. I jumped in, and I was surprised to see Mrs. Nesbitt sitting in the passenger seat. I could see Mom not wanting Mrs. Nesbitt to be alone when the world ended, but I couldn’t figure out why she had to be driven somewhere first.
“Here, Miranda, take this,” Mom said, and she handed me an envelope. I looked inside it and saw ten $50 bills.
Mom started the car. I looked at Jonny, who just shrugged.
“When we get to the supermarket, I want Jonny to go to the pet food department,” Mom said. “Jonny, you know what Horton’ll eat. Get kitty litter, too, and put the bags on the bottom of the wagon. Get the biggest bags that’ll fit there. Fill the wagon with as many bags of dry food as you can.”
“Horton likes canned,” Jonny said.
“Get the little ones,” Mom said. “The expensive kind. As many as you can throw into the empty spaces. Fill the wagon as high as you can possibly can. And Mrs. Nesbitt, when you get the paper goods, don’t forget Tampax for Miranda and me. Lots of boxes.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Mrs. Nesbitt said.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Would someone please tell me?”
“It’s just in case the world’s coming to an end,” Jonny said. “Mom wants us to be ready.”
“I went to the bank this morning,” Mom said. “And I filled the gas tank and gas was already at five dollars a gallon. I went to the supermarket and the electricity went out and there was chaos there, so they just said a hundred dollars for each wagon no matter what was in it. I had a lot of cash on me, so I filled a wagon and then I went back and got Mrs. Nesbitt and then Jonny and you so we could each get wagons to fill.”
“You don’t really think we’re going to need this stuff?” I asked. “Everything’s going to get back to normal soon, isn’t it?”
“Not in my lifetime,” Mrs. Nesbitt said.
“We don’t know,” Mom said. “But kitty litter doesn’t go bad. If it turns out I’m wrong and I’ve wasted all this money, fine. I’d just as soon the world gets back to normal. But in case it takes a while, we might as well have toilet paper. Miranda, you’re going to canned vegetables and fruits. You know what we like.”
“Mom, we don’t eat canned vegetables,” I said.
“We do now,” she said. “Canned vegetables. Fruits. Soups, too. Lots of cans of soup. Find the cartons in the back of the car and put them on the bottom shelf of the cart. Fill those cartons up too. Get as much as you can in the wagon.”
I stared out the window. The rain was still falling and occasional flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance. The electricity was still out, so corners with traffic lights were crazy, with cars stopping and starting and not knowing what exactly to do. I saw a lot of trees had fallen, and cars were driving over the smaller branches that littered the streets.
Mom just plowed through.
“What about desserts?” I asked. “If the world comes to an end, I’m going to want cookies.”
“We’re all going to want cookies if the world comes to an end,” Mrs. Nesbitt agreed. “And chips and pretzels. If the world is coming to an end, why should I care about my blood pressure?”
“Okay, we’ll die fat,” Mom said. “Grab what you can grab and ram it into your wagons. But remember if we actually need this stuff, we’re going to be a lot more grateful for a can of soup than for a box of stale cookies.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mrs. Nesbitt said.
“Get Progresso,” Mom said. “They don’t need water.”
“Mom,” I said. “We have water.”
“Which reminds me,” she said. “After you pay for your first wagons, put the stuff in the car and go back.
Jonny, you get water. As many bottles as you can fit in. Mrs. Nesbitt, you get whatever you think you’re going to want. Miranda, you go to health and beauty aids. Get aspirin and peroxide and Band-Aids.”
“Great,” I said. “The world’s coming to an end, and we’re fixing it with Band-Aids.”
“Vitamins,” Mom said. “Get lots and lots of vitamins. And laxatives. Calcium. Vitamin D. This is so hard, trying to remember everything we might need.”
“Or might not,” I said. “Mom, I love you, but I think this is crazy.”
“So we’ll all get vitamin D for Christmas presents,” Mom said. “Just do it, okay. Jonny and Mrs. Nesbitt and I have car keys, so wait for one of us to show up, and we’ll put your stuff in with theirs. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said, because I decided it was better to humor her.
“After we finish our second loads, we’ll see what it’s like,” Mom said. “Then we’ll see if it’s worth it to go back in.”
She pulled into the supermarket parking lot and I got a real sense of the madness going on. There were people racing for carts, people screaming, and two guys punching each other out.
“Jonny, get a wagon for Mrs. Nesbitt first,” Mom said. “Everyone stay calm, and remember you have cash. That’s all they’re taking, and we have a real advantage there. Work fast. Don’t debate. If you can’t decide between two things, take both. Pack the carts as high as you can manage. If you have any problems, go to the car. Don’t try to find anyone in the store. Okay? Are you ready?”
We all said we were. Jonny looked like he actually meant it.
Mom found a parking spot toward the back of the lot, and -there were two carts there. We raced out of the car and grabbed them. Mrs. Nesbitt and I each took one and went into the store together.
The supermarket reminded me of the hallway at school this morning, and maybe because I’d just been through all that, the store didn’t scare me as much as it ordinarily would have. So what if people were screaming and crying and fighting. I plowed through people and raced to canned vegetables.
I realized I’d forgotten the cartons for the bottom of the wagon. There was nothing I could do about that, except put as many cans on the bottom as I could and hope for the best.
Except for the total terror I was feeling in the pit of my stomach, it was kind of fun, like those game shows where someone wins five minutes at the supermarket except there were dozens of other winners and we were all there at the same time.
I didn’t have much time to look around, but it seemed like most of the people were buying meats and produce, and there weren’t that many people fighting over the canned carrots. I even lucked out with the soups: Campbell was a lot more popular than Progresso, which made my life easier.
When I filled the cart as full as I could possibly manage, I wheeled it to the checkout lines only to discover people were simply throwing cash at the poor terrified cashiers. I took two $50s out, tossed them in the same general direction, and then since nobody seemed to be bagging, I pushed the cart out of the store and made my way back to the car.
It was actually raining harder, and the storm seemed to be closer. Not as bad as it had been this morning, but bad enough. I was relieved to see Mrs. Nesbitt standing by the car, waiting for me.
We threw all the cans into the car, and put the jars in a little more carefully.
Mrs. Nesbitt grinned at me. “All my life I’ve been well behaved,” she said. “It’s about time I got to push people around and not apologize.”
“Mrs. Nesbitt, you little devil,” I said.
“Ready for round two?” she asked. I said I was, and we made our way back to the store.
Except that some guy tried to steal the cart from Mrs. Nesbitt. “I need it!” he yelled. “Give it to me.”
“Get your own!” she yelled right back at him. “This is war, man.”
I was afraid the man thought that was exactly what it was. I didn’t know what else to do, so I rammed my wagon into his back and caught him by surprise. That gave Mrs. Nesbitt just enough time to pull away from him. I raced away, also, and didn’t look back.
Compared to battles in the parking lot, the store almost seemed comfy. I went to health and beauty aids and found it fairly empty. I guess the rest of the world hadn’t realized they were going to need vitamin D.
The great thing about ransacking painkillers was I knew I was getting more than $100 worth of stuff. I filled the cart to overflowing, stopped one more time at canned goods, and then over to baked goods, where I put boxes and boxes of cookies on the cart’s bottom shelf. I even remembered Fig Newtons, since Matt likes them.
This time I found Mom unloading her stuff in the car. She’d bought enough tuna fish and salmon and sardines to last us for two lifetimes.
The back of the van was as much a madhouse as the store, since there weren’t bags for anything. Mom was trying to unload as best she could, but things kept falling out, and I spent as much time grabbing stuff from the pavement as Mom did unloading.
A man came over to us. He had a wagon, but he looked desperate. “Please,” he said. “Please help me.”
“You have a wagon,” Mom said.
“I need you to come in with me,” he said. “My wife is seven months pregnant, and we have a two-year-old and I need diapers and baby food and I don’t know what else. Please come in with me so I can use your cart. I beg you, for my wife and my babies.”
Mom and I both looked at him. He looked like he was in his late twenties and he seemed sincere.
“Miranda, go back into the store and just use your best judgment,” Mom said. “I’m going with this man.”
We finished ramming stuff into the van, and then the three of us went back in.
I felt better catching a glimpse of Mrs. Nesbitt as we walked in. She was at gourmet foods. I guess she figured she might as well go in style.
I also found Jonny finishing up at the water section. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
I went over to juices and selected juices that were in cans or cartons. In a million years, I never thought we’d be drinking canned juice, but bottles were just too hard to deal with. I also got some of that lastforever milk.
By that point, a lot of the shelves were nearly empty, and people were starting to fight over single boxes of things. There were broken eggs on the floor, and spilled liquids, so just walking around was getting tricky.
There was still some room in my cart, so I went over to snacks and got a couple of boxes of pretzels. I spotted canned nuts, and threw lots of those in. Baked goods seemed pretty empty, so I filled the wagon with cartons of salt and bags of sugar and, just for the hell of it, a bag of chocolate chips.
I threw my $50s to the cashier and made my way to the van. The parking lot was getting nastier, and the rain was still falling hard. Jonny was there, but as soon as Mom showed up she told both of us to go back in and ransack the shelves for anything we could find. There really wasn’t much left in the store, but I managed to fill the cart with lima beans and brussels sprouts and other end-of-the-world delicacies.
When we finally all got into the van, Mom wouldn’t let any of us talk until she maneuvered her way out of the lot. By that point we were too exhausted to make conversation anyway.
Mom started driving home. The roads were even worse than they had been. At one point Jonny and I had to get out of the van and clear a big branch off the road. A couple of other people showed up and helped us, but I was scared until we got back into the van and Mom started driving again.
We were halfway home when Mrs. Nesbitt said, “Stop at that strip mall.”
“You think?” Mom said, but she pulled into the parking lot. It was practically empty.
“Jonny, you go to the pet supply store,” Mrs. Nesbitt said. “I’m going to the gift shop. Laura, you go to the nursery.”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “I’ll buy vegetable flats. We’ll have fresh produce all summer.”
That didn’t leave much for me, so I went to the antiques store. I don’t know why, but then again, I didn’t know why Mrs. Nesbitt was so insistent on going to the gift shop. It wasn’t like Hallmark put out Happy End of the World Day cards.
The great thing about the antiques store was I was the only customer. There still wasn’t any electricity, and the lightning flashes were still a little too close for comfort, but it was the only place I’d been to in hours that didn’t seem like a madhouse. The woman behind the counter even said, “Can I help you?”
I didn’t want to give away our secret, that we were stocking up for the end of the world, just in case it gave her any ideas. So I said no, thanks, and kept looking.
I still had $200 in my envelope so I knew I could buy pretty much anything we needed, if I could only figure out what we might need. Then I saw three oil lamps. I grabbed them and went up front.
“We have scented oil to go with them if you’re interested,” the woman said.
“I’ll take all of them,” I told her.
“We should be getting electricity back soon,” the woman said. “At least that’s what I heard on the radio.”
“My mom is worried,” I said. “This’ll just make her feel better.”
The store had an old-fashioned cash register, so she was able to ring up my purchases. I handed over two $50s and actually got change.
I was the first person at the car. I stood there, getting even wetter, until Jonny showed up. “Horton’s never going to go hungry,” he said.
There was hardly room for all the stuff he’d bought, but we rearranged everything we could. Then Mrs. Nesbitt came out, carrying bags and bags.
“I bought every candle in the store,” she said. “Gift shops always have candles.”
“Mrs. Nesbitt, you’re a genius,” I said. “I got oil lamps.”
“We’re both geniuses,” she said.
We got in the van and waited for Mom. When she showed up, she had a dozen flats. I had no idea how we were going to fit them in, but it turned out to be easy. Mrs. Nesbitt sat on my lap, and we used up all her space with flats of tomatoes and cucumbers and string beans and strawberries.
“The more we harvest, the longer the canned foods will last,” Mom said. “Okay, is there anything anyone didn’t buy that we might need?”
“Batteries,” I said. The transistor radio in the shop had made me think of them.
“Matches,” Mrs. Nesbitt said.
“That convenience store should have them,” Mom said. “And it doesn’t sell gas, so it should be pretty quiet.”
She was right. There was only one other car in the lot. Mom bought all their batteries and boxed matches and bars of soap. She even bought a coffee cake and a box of donuts.
“Just in case the world ends tomorrow,” she said. “We might as well enjoy today.”
We dropped Mrs. Nesbitt off at her house and we all carried food and supplies for her. We didn’t fuss over which can of soup belonged to who or whether she was entitled to more candles. We just divvied stuff up, so that she had plenty. We kept the cat food and the vegetable flats. I made sure she had one of the oil lamps and oil to go with it.
It took a long time to get her stuff out, and a longer time to unload the car when we finally got home. Mom got shopping bags and we filled them and put everything in the dining room, except for the donuts. Those we ate as soon as we were finished.
“I’ll sort things out later,” she said. “Thanks, kids. I never could have done this without you.” And then she started crying.
That was two hours ago. I don’t think she’s stopped crying yet.