No one on this entire planet was separate from anyone else. We were all connected, by the water we drank, the air we breathed. The release of radiation from Cookshire had risen into the atmosphere. Heightened levels of radiation registered everywhere. Halfway around the world it had tainted rice crops, poisoned grazing fields, turned the air toxic where babies slept in the open.

When I dwelt on it, my stomach knotted around the things that had happened because of the accident. But good things were happening too. Right here in the back bedroom good things were happening.

Of everything in my life that had changed, that’s what mattered most.

Twenty

Christmas was over. We’d tried calling Aunt May and Uncle Lemmy but we couldn’t get through. The phones stayed jammed all Christmas Day.

We hadn’t made a big deal of it. Gran and I never did, but especially not this year. It didn’t seem right with all Mrs. Trent and Ezra had lost. Besides, Mrs. Trent didn’t even celebrate Christmas.

The day after, I tromped across the fields in my heavy boots, a wool hat tugged low over my ears to keep out the sting. The puppy, growing bigger daily, rolled along beside me. Caleb pranced along at my other side.

In the bitter wind I made my rounds of the first three pastures, finishing across the main road on the flat. The day, with a windchill factor somewhere around forty below, kept my skin and eyes stinging.

The last pasture sprawled way up on the hill, the other side of the road from Muncie’s house, above Ripley’s place.

I could take the long way by the dirt road to get to the pasture, or I could take a shortcut through Ripley’s woods. The woods, at least, offered some protection from the wind.

Cold crinkled the moisture in my eyes when I blinked. The tiny hairs inside my nose stiffened with frost. Trotting happily along beside me, the puppy and Caleb kept well insulated in their thick coats. But I couldn’t stop shivering. I decided to take the shortcut.

Caleb hesitated at the foot of Ripley’s land. “Smell Tyrus, eh, boy?”

Ripley’s family never hauled trash. They tossed it out into the woods, leaving old cars, garbage, junked appliances rotting among the trees. They didn’t care what their place looked like, what vermin the garbage drew. They didn’t even care where their septic emptied.

We’d climbed about three quarters of the way to the far pasture when Ezra’s puppy balked. He sat his fat rump down and wouldn’t budge.

“Come on, pup,” I urged. “This is no time to stop. Come on.”

Just then I heard the whisper of leaves as a wiry gray shape streaked past.

The puppy jumped and barked. A squirrel raced up a bare maple tree, then edged back down, teasing.

The puppy went crazy. His yapping broke the wintry silence.

“Hush!”

But my warning came too late.

Ripley must have been outside already. Within moments he appeared, lumbering toward us, across the snow. The puppy barked enthusiastically, watching Ripley approach, but Caleb sat at my feet, growling.