Scarlett Hopper's Arc

Chapter 24 of 33

Scarlett did not wake when Marcus set the hammer down. She did not wake when Maranda changed the bandage on her wrist. The room held her still, breath shallow, face turned toward the watering can on the floor. Marcus stepped out to the framed rooms and put his hand on a stud. Wind pushed through the open wall. Ash sifted onto the floorboards where the beds would go. He counted what he had left: three sheets of plywood, half a bucket of nails, no tar paper, no seal. Not enough to close it before the afternoon storm. Maranda came out behind him with her sandals in her hand. "She sleeps until morning. Maybe longer." She looked at the open frame. "That will fill with ash by dark." "I know." "The store," she said. "You said it still has stock." Marcus hesitated. He did not know this woman well. He had seen her set bone charms in the dirt and treat a bullet wound with steady hands. That was what he knew. "It's a walk. And I don't leave her unguarded." "John stays. The dog stays. The crows watch the road." Maranda tied her hair back. "I go with you. Two carry more than one." He studied her. She did not look away. He nodded once. They took the rolling cooler from the porch — the big black-and-pink one Scarlett hauled fish in — because it rolled and it locked. Marcus slung his tool bag. The tabby cat rode his shoulder. Maranda tucked a small pouch of red powder into her dress pocket. The hardware store sat quiet under its faded sign. Tools, wire, and garden goods hung where the old owner had left them. Marcus moved fast. Tar paper. A roll of roofing felt. Sealant tubes. Boxes of nails. Two pane windows wrapped in brown paper. Hinges. A door. Maranda worked the far aisle and came back with seed packets — beans, squash, turnip, kale — and a jar of onion sets. She held one packet up. "For after winter," she said. "After winter," Marcus agreed. They loaded the cooler until the lid strained. Marcus tied the door and windows across the top with cord. On the walk back Maranda spoke about the pursuers she had outrun, and Marcus spoke about the year he spent alone behind the store counter waiting for someone worth opening the door for. By the split rock they were laughing, quiet, the way people laugh when they have decided to trust each other. They beat the ash wind by twenty minutes. Marcus nailed tar paper over the open frames, hung the door, and set the windows in rough. Maranda swept the ash from the floorboards and laid the seed packets on the kitchen table in a neat row. When Scarlett woke at dusk, the rooms were closed. The wind hit the new walls and stopped there. On the table, the seeds waited.