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Narrative

More Disturbing News

Cindy’s shift as receptionist at Shepardsport Pirate Radio had not been an easy one, mostly because of all the commotion. At least they were getting fewer listener complaints about the sudden decrease in broadcast quality, which was a relief. But right now she was just as happy that there wasn’t any secretarial work to be done, because there was no way she could’ve managed to maintain her concentration with everyone coming and going. Quite honestly, it seemed like half of Engineering had been in here over the course of her shift.

And with so many people coming and going, not to mention the continual possibility that Ken Redmond might come back in, she didn’t want to check her e-mails or her texts or anything else that might be considered “personal.” Which made the shift all the harder to get through. Finally she’d gone on the computer, checking some news websites and hoping she could make it look like something Autumn had assigned her for the news department. Except most of what she was seeing only made her feel even worse.

At least Mars and the Moon are holding together so far, assuming the command structure hasn’t lowered a cone of silence over the problems. Cindy was aware that Autumn sent sensitive stories past Captain Waite before airing them, although as far as she knew, he’d never outright silenced anything.

By the time Cindy’s shift was over and she could leave the station, she was very glad to be out of there. She didn’t have the technical expertise to help with the broadcast equipment issues — although she wasn’t sure how much more Spruance Del Curtin could bring to the table. And after spending most of the shift trying to look as if she was doing a project for the news department, she was pretty sure that no, she did not want to go into journalism as a career.

As she was walking down the main corridor of Engineering toward her first airlock, she checked her phone, was surprised to find several new texts waiting for them. Among them was one from Shelly Walstrand.

Curious, she swiped the flag on the lock screen to open the text. As it turned out, there were actually a whole string of texts. Apparently the food at the place Shelly was holed up had run out. They’d all brought the food from their own houses when they’d gathered there, so that was no longer an option. So the friend’s big sister had gone off to look for a store that still had food. One of the guys had insisted on going with her, even though he was just fifteen and pretty skinny.

Apparently it was a good thing, for the simple reason of having a second pair of eyes watching. The convenience store at the corner gas station was empty, whether because it had sold out or had been looted, neither of them could determine because it was abandoned, the door swinging loose but not showing any obvious signs of having been forced.

They’d continued onward to a small community grocery store, where they’d found the door locked, but with the window boarded over in a way that created a narrow slot through which one could pass money and products could be pushed out.

Not surprising, considering how a pandemic would make people want to minimize contact. More surprising was the prices for what little the store had on offer. A single loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter would take all the money they had brought. Not to mention none of them had any more cash, and it was a long way to her bank, assuming her paycheck had even deposited, given her workplace had been closed.

But with the younger kids scraping crumbs from the bottoms of the remaining jars, there wasn’t much choice. They had to bring something home, so they bought it and started heading home.

They hadn’t gotten far before they realized they were being followed. They ended up running the last several blocks back home, got through the door and then had to barricade all the entrances against several very desperate looking people who were now trying to force their way in.

All over a loaf of bread and a tiny jar of peanut butter. Cindy’s gut clenched, hard. And here we were worrying about losing those big planters down at Agriculture because of the irrigation breakdown.

Although Uncle Carl and Aunt Betty did belong to the Christian Science Church, the denomination Alan Shepard had been raised in, they’d never been very active members. And now Cindy felt a very strong urge to pray for her old friend down on Earth, and she wasn’t sure how.