“You going to tell me all about the mice stirring, are you?” he said.
“Mice?” Sly’s deep voice woke everyone. “Me heard about mice, Heather. Mice not nice on ice not nice twice.”
Carrie laughed. “What’s this about mice, Sly?”
“Jim said mice was furry.”
“Stirring, Sly. Means they’re moving around. Only I didn’t mean there were mice here in our roller-home.” Which was what Sly had christened the horse trailer.
Nanci yawned. “Night before Christmas, is it? Well, everyone’s stirring all through our house. Might as well break our fasts and get the show on the road again. The woods are silent, dark and dead, and we’ve got miles to go before we can rest our heads.”
BREAKFAST FOR the McGills was more or less the same as for Jim and his group.
The contents of Cole Dalton’s larder had made a crucial difference to their journey northward. Their supplies had been right down onto the borderline, sinking deep into the red. Now they had enough from the packed shelves of what was almost a warehouse of convenience foods to keep them going for weeks.
Much of it was dehydrated meat and fruit and vegetables, sealed in a syrup that kept them fresh for years. All that had to be done was to open a half-pint can of something like chili prawns with bamboo shoots and add a half-pint of water. And the dried edibles swelled up miraculously to provide a meal that would have filled a two-pint bowl.
This way of preserving food was something that had only been developed in the Far East during the 2020s, and it had changed shopping habits throughout the world.
Jeanne selected oatmeal with sugar sub and cream sub already added, just putting in a canful or two of fresh snow and stirring it over the tiny camping stove. Then came some reconstituted hash browns with scrambled eggs and meatloaf.
The smell filled the trailer, waking Sukie. During the previous afternoon and evening, she’d begun to show encouraging signs of recovery. Her temperature had dropped when Jocelyn checked it last thing at night. But the best news was that it had stayed low throughout the hours of darkness, and now she was waking up from the period of coma.
“Thirsty,” she said.
THEY’D PARKED for the night at the back of a burned-out community center, out of sight of the highway. Though they hadn’t seen a single living soul all the day, apart from Cole Dalton, Jim wasn’t about to take any chances.
The snow had been falling off and on during the light hours, but it had become more intermittent. There had even been a rare glimpse—the first in ages—of a watery sun breaking through from the west in the late afternoon.
The moon had risen, bright and clear, but it had swiftly vanished behind a swelling bank of dark cloud from the east. It had become bitingly cold with a rising wind that had whistled through the slits in the walls of the horse trailers, until they’d been blocked with bundles of clothes and spare blankets.
Jim Hilton came knocking loudly on the double door at the back of the McGill trailer just as they were finishing off the delicious meal with mugs of hot, sweet coffee. Paul opened the door, closing it quickly again behind Jim.
“Morning, Skipper,” said Mac.
“How’s Sukie?”
“Better. Ask her yourself.”
Jim knelt down, marveling at the change in the little girl’s appearance. She still looked tired and thin, dark shadows beneath the big blue eyes. But now there was a sparkiness in her face. “How is it, kitten?”
“My back bottom’s sore, Jim. And my stomach feels like a mule danced on it.”
“Not surprised. You were very ill, Sukie.”
“I know, Dad and Jeanne told me. And Jocelyn. She said I nearly went to sing with the angels. Did I, Jim?”
“Yeah, kitten. I guess you did.” He straightened. “Soon as you’re ready, we’ll get going. Looks like it might be a good day for making some progress.”
MARGARET TABOR was humming along with the beautiful line about white lace and promises on her Carpenters disc. Her eyes were closed, and her body was swaying gently from side to side.