Safe. Was there even such a thing anymore? The beauty and quiet around me made me believe—for the moment at least—that there were still safe places where good people existed. “Hosea said things would get fixed eventually.”

Tuck was silent again as though deciding how to answer. Finally, he said, “It will take at least several years.”

I stopped, gaping at him. “Years?”

“At least.”

He turned and started walking again, and I took up beside him, my legs like Jell-O. My head swam as a barrage of specifics wound through my mind. What would things look like after years with no power?

“What will people do for money?”

“They’ll have to trade things of value.”

Things of value. That phrase inspired a whole slew of unsettling half thoughts. What did I have of value now? My ribs felt hollow as I considered Tuck in my peripheral vision. He could work anywhere for the things that were now important—food, water, shelter…safety. He could come back to Topeka and find Hosea. His options would be limitless.

We need people with special skills.

It was me who would have no way to earn a living anymore. No one was going to trade me something precious for my voice, not when they were trying to survive. Birdsong was worth as much as my singing. I felt dizzy. Some of this had already occurred to me, and I’d begun to accept that my career would be put on hold. But I’d never imagined that on hold meant years. Would it even be salvageable by then? Who could even say?

I started humming again to shut out the unanswerable questions zipping through my mind, our feet hitting the pavement, providing a soothing cadence, my breath coming easier after a while.

Day Eight

We camped that night, so exhausted I was half-asleep before my body hit my sleeping bag, and the next day we started out again at daybreak, the Oklahoma sunrise coloring the plains in silvery-white light.

After a few miles, we saw a farmhouse in the distance, and Tuck came to a slow stop as he turned to shield his eyes from the glare and look at the property. I stopped too, and it took me a moment to pull myself from the semitrance I’d been in as I walked, focusing on the slap of my shoes on the road rather than the emptiness in my stomach and my growing thirst.

“It looks like a small farm,” I said. “If we can sneak into the henhouse, would they even miss a couple of eggs?”

Tuck thinned his lips. He didn’t like the idea of stealing, I could tell. But I also knew that he’d put survival above egg theft. Especially as eggs could be replaced for those who owned chickens.

“There might be a creek on their land or some other water source,” Tuck said. “We could fill up our water bottles.”