
Juan and Lucy watched her all morning from behind the curtains of the front parlor. For years they had made believe that they were the last people in the world. They had tangled with a few other survivors--none recently. The roads were full of potholes now, the winters lasted ten months this far north.
"If she has a gun...." Lucy closed her hand around the knife she had brought from the kitchen. The Bad Daddy had carried a gun and had locked them up after it had happened and had beat them when he was drunk. She pretended for Juan's sake that she was not scared.
In time the stranger got up and walked over to the grocery store.
"Let's go," said Lucy.
They crossed the green to the stranger's truck. The cab smelled of old sweat and oil. There was a cardboard box of books and a tool chest with four drawers. The steering column was rusty, and the driver's side door was held shut with wire. There was no gun.
"Crazy." Lucy was no longer afraid. The stranger was old and alone. Lucy sat at the picnic table under the dead oak and waited for her to come back.
The stranger was snacking from a can of La Choy Chow Mein Noodles when she stepped onto the broken street. She did not seem surprised to see them. She walked slowly toward the picnic table.
"This your town?"
"We live here." Since she was the elder, Lucy had always spoken for them.
"I mean you no harm. All I want is the missile."
"Why?"
She shook her head. "I know all about you, you know. Two seconds after I walked into the store. You live in the dead places, and you've never made a damn thing in your lives. You drink out of ponds and squat in the woods. When you get sick, you suffer until you get too sick and die. You're scavengers and you want me to explain what a rocket is for?" She laughed and offered Lucy some chow main noodles.
Lucy thought she looked too small to drive such a big truck. Juan grabbed a handful of noodles.
"You're going up," said Lucy.
The woman laughed until she started to cough. "Up." She spat into the weeds and licked blood from her lips. "Yes."