“It’s the right idea,” Nora giggles, “but maybe something a little more manageable.”
She pulls two hatchets off the rack and hands one to Addis. He swings it, making the woosh followed by a grisly splat, then grins at Nora. There is a savageness in this grin, a bloodlust that in any other era would have been patiently lectured out of him as he grew up. It scares Nora a little, but she says nothing. This is not any other era. This is now.
“These’ll have to do,” she says. “Now let’s go find some food.”
• • •
The Space Needle’s lobby has been completely ransacked over the months or years, however long it’s been since this particular city surrendered to the march of regress. All the t-shirts and hats are gone. All the mugs, sunglasses, and “Space Noodles” pasta. heNone of the looters took an interest in the snowglobes, fridge magnets, or souvenir spoons. Even the paperweights—which could potentially be used as bludgeons—are still here.
The lights in the lobby are broken out, but when Nora pushes the elevator button she hears machinery grinding into motion. Addis looks up at her, wriggling with excitement. Nora pulls her hatchet out of her backpack and waits.
The doors open with a polite ding. There is nothing inside that wants to kill them.
“Let me push it!” Addis shouts and begins scanning the rows of buttons.
“Not the top one, that’s probably the view deck. There. That’s the restaurant.”
Addis pushes the button. The elevator soars upward, making Nora’s knotted stomach groan in protest.
“Whoa…” Addis gasps, pressing his face against the window as the city recedes below, spreading out to a hazy horizon of blue islands and waves. The disc at the top of the Space Needle rushes down and envelops them in darkness, then the doors open on the restaurant. Nora steps out and gives Addis a formal bow.
“Welcome to Sky City, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
He looks concerned. “What? What’s a—”
She laughs and shoves him in the face. “Never mind. Come on.”
She walks into the dining area and glances around, searching for the kitchen. Addis pauses at the edge of the Needle’s outer rim, which rotates slowly.
“Whoa…” he says again. “The whole place moves?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about that. Cool, huh?”
“Are you sure it doesn’t go into space?”
“Let’s go look around. Maybe we’ll find the command deck.”
Compared to most of the city below, the restaurant is in very good shape. One table is missing its cloth and silverware and there is a wad of bloody bandages on one of the benches, but the place is otherwise unspoiled. No broken windows, no graffiti, no corpses. But they aren’t here for the atmosphere.
They stand in front of the door of the walk-in freezer, paralyzed with suspense like gameshow contestants watching the wheel. Bankrupt or jackpot? Starve or keep going?
Nora pulls the door open. The freezer is full of food. Tubs of sliced vegetables, stacks of baguettes, bins stuffed with chicken br**sts and steaks, a dozen sausage ropes hanging from the ceiling. And all of it is rotten. A room-temperature cornucopia of mold.
Addis’s lips bunch and his brows squeeze down tight. He walks stiffly back into the kitchen and stands in a corner with his face to the wall, fists clenched at his sides.
Nora takes a deep breath and holds it, steps into the freezer and stares at the festering heaps of locally sourced organic ingredients. She thinks about those gameshow contestants, how they always took losing so well. They were college kids and single moms, hungry dropouts and desperate debt-cripples, and when the wheel informed them they’d just lost a life-changing sum of money and would go home with nothing, they laughed and sighed and clapped for their own demise. Aw, darn!
This is a different kind of show. The prize is not cash or a set of golf clubs; it’s another day of life for Nora and her brother, and she is not about to lose politely.
She dives into the compost heap, knocking aside tubs of slimy asparagus, dumping bins of green chicken br**sts, digging down through the mess as furry green sausages slap against her face. She gags frompe.he gags the smell and nearly vomits when her hand sinks into a turkey frothing with maggots. But at the bottom of it all, in a corner under some rat-gnawed bags of flour, she finds a box. She opens the box, and it’s full of cans.
“Addis!” she shouts.
It’s not a large box. Just three cans and a plastic tub: peeled potatoes, baby corns, tofu, and some slightly rancid margarine. Not a life-changing win…but enough to pay off all their hunger debts with a little left to spare.
She stands up with the box and finds Addis in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Guess what, Adderall?” She grins, savoring the novelty of what she’s about to say. “We’re going to have dinner tonight.”
• • •
Pommes frites, fried in margarine. Baby corn, sautéed in margarine. Margarine-infused tofu, with margarine sauce. It’s the tastiest meal Nora has eaten since this impromptu family vacation began.
“You’re a disaster,” she says, watching Addis shovel handfuls of dripping potatoes into his mouth. He has wasted no time staining the white linen tablecloth and spilling all his cranberry juice on the floor. “You’re lucky you know the chef.”
They have the best table in the house and the view is spectacular: all of Seattle spreads out for them through the floor-to-ceiling windows, fading east into the blue of the Cascades. Nora imagines bow-tied servers checking in on them, asking if they’ve saved room for dessert. She has always wondered what creme brulée tastes like.