“Cassidy, that’s highly unlikely,” Chris replies. “Besides, we need to stay on the road and out of the cities.”
“This isn’t a city,” I point out. “It’s a fast food shack in the middle of nowhere. Nobody lives here but a couple of coyotes and a sewer rat.”
Chris sighs, but he doesn’t argue. Which means he’s getting sick of eating energy bars, too. It’s been six days since we’ve had anything else, and they’re not exactly as yummy as a box of French fries.
I climb over the center divider, cutting across the freeway exit ramp towards the McDonald’s. There are no cars in the parking lot — or at the gas station that’s across the street. A more positive sign is that the windows haven’t been smashed out of the McDonald’s yet.
Hooray.
I jog towards it, envisioning a bunch of greasy hamburgers and calorie-bomb milkshakes. Nothing could be better. Or sound better, anyway. I walk up to the front door and push. It doesn’t budge, which means it’s locked. Of course.
Chris tugs on the handle a few times and walks around the building, checking all the entries and exit points. Finally he says, “We’ll have to break in.”
“Awesome,” I say. “I’ll kick in the door.”
“Thank you, but I think I’d better handle this part,” Chris replies, flashing a wry smile. “Excuse me.”
He pulls his Bowie knife out of my belt and slips it between the glass double doors. It takes him a couple of minutes to pop the lock, but because there’s no electricity, there’s no alarm. Sweet.
“After you,” Chris says, holding the door open.
I walk inside, impressed with his thief-like skills.
“You should have been a professional bank robber,” I tell him.
“Yeah, my mother would have really loved that.”
I laugh and take a look around. The whole place is pretty much untouched. The trash hasn’t been taken out so it stinks. It’s dark inside, but no place is darker than the kitchen behind the front counter. Chris twirls the Bowie knife around a few times and jumps over the counter first.
I crawl after him, not wanting him to reach the freezer before me. If there are hash browns in there, I claim them all. I flick on the flashlight we took from the thugs last night and shine it around the kitchen. There’s some gross food scraped along the floor, like people were running around and got it stuck all over their shoes. Probably when the EMP hit.
“There’s the freezer over there,” I say, pointing to a big steel box in the wall. “Let’s raid it!”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Chris warns. “It’s been a week since the electricity went out. If there’s anything in there it’s probably rotten.”
“Party pooper,” I snap.
Chris rolls his eyes. I keep the flashlight trained on the freezer as I tap the door. It’s halfway open. I frown. “Go ahead already,” Chris says.
“I’m going, I’m going.”
I open the door and look inside, seeing a bunch of empty steel shelves and melted icepacks. There are some disgusting packages of hamburger meat rotting in the back of the freezer. “Gross,” I mutter, shutting the door. “Great. It’s back to energy bars again.”
“Tried to tell you,” Chris shrugs.
“Forgive me for holding out some hope that there was still junk food left in the world.”
“You have the weirdest hopes.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
Ding.
Both of us freeze at the same time. Something metal hits the tile of the kitchen flooring and makes a noise like a bell. I whip my flashlight around, spotting a metal spoon spinning on the floor.
“What the…?” I mutter.
At that moment a shadow moves across the back of the kitchen, headed for the rear door. I can hear light footsteps. Chris immediately vaults over the counter and tackles the shadow. I scurry after him, buzzing with adrenaline.
Man. How many times are we going to have people sneak up on us?
I shine the flashlight and wrinkle my nose, shocked. Chris is holding a skinny kid by the shoulders. A girl. She’s got scraggly blonde hair with a bunch of clips in it, knee-high combat boots and rainbow fingerless gloves. “Wow, dude,” she says, looking angry. “You just tackled me? You weigh like three hundred pounds. Let go, will you?”
She kicks Chris in the leg. It doesn’t hurt him, but he let’s go anyway.
“Geez,” I say. “You’re just a kid.”
“You and me both, sister,” she shrugs, turning to face me. Her skin is extremely pale, almost cherubic. She looks about eleven or twelve. “What’s the big idea tackling me?”
“Sorry,” I say. “We thought you were dangerous.”
“I am,” she sniffs. “Anyway, this is my McDonald’s. Leave already.”
“Where are your parents?” Chris asks, frowning.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She only comes up to my shoulder. She’s got on long black leggings underneath a pink skirt. “Hellooo. Leave. Now.”
“Answer the question,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Where are your parents?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you alone?” I press. “Who’s taking care of you?”
“I can handle myself,” she answers, looking proud. “Bye.”
She turns to leave, but Chris catches her around the waist and holds her there. “You’re alone,” he states. “How long have you been hiding out here?”
The girl tries to wrestle herself out of Chris’s grip, but not even a sumo wrestler could break those iron arms. “I don’t know. A week, maybe? Everybody left when the electricity went out. I came here to find food.”
“Why didn’t your parents take you with them?” I ask, horrified.
“I don’t have parents, genius,” she replies. “I’m a foster child, okay?”
I sigh.
“I get it.” I look around the kitchen. “So. Is there any food left?”
She laughs.
“Like I would share it with you.”
Chris gives her his death stare and she swallows.
“Fine. This way.”
She shoves past me and tromps into the other half of the kitchen. She opens up a sliding door underneath the counter and pulls out a few boxes of cookies and sealed apple slices. “Happy now?” she demands.
“What’s your name?” I ask, dumping a bunch of apple packages into my pack. “How old are you?”
“Twelve. Almost thirteen,” she replies, picking at a cookie.
“And your name?” I say, putting my hands on my hips.
“Isabel,” she replies.
“I’m Cassidy,” I smile, shaking her hand whether she wants me to or not. “And this is Chris.”
“He your boyfriend?” Isabel asks.
I flush, glad I can’t see Chris’s face.
“He’s my friend,” I reply. “Do you have any family or friends around here who can help you?”
“No. The whole area’s empty,” she shrugs. “I just got left behind.”
“How?”
“My foster family left without me.” She bites down on a cookie, propping her legs up against the wall. “There are like, two people in the whole county around here so it’s not like it took long for everybody to disappear.”
“Have you been living off cookies and apples for a week?” I ask.
“There were French fries and hamburgers and stuff at first,” she answers. “Then everything started getting yucky.”
I nod.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what’s happening everywhere.” I turn to Chris, who’s putting a few cookies in his backpack. “Don’t overdo it there, pal. Chocolate melts.”