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“Stay here,” I said and wedged myself through the door.
Eugie tried to follow, but Cricket held him back.
A blast of blistering cold permeated me to my bones within a second. My body began to shiver, and I had to fight the strong, chilling wind the five feet to the truck. I hit the key lock in my pocket and jumped inside.
“Oh. My. God.” I shivered.
I didn’t want to waste any time, so I found an old trash bag that had laundry in it and tossed the clothes inside and started tossing anything I thought we could use inside, including the comforter, the emergency kit and the M&M’s. I also found a lighter, an old metal flashlight that belonged to Jonah, and a bag of candy bars hidden underneath the passenger seat so frozen they could break a window. No doubt put there by Bridge because her doctor told her to start watching her carbs.
I ran as fast as I could back into the school with my loot. Cricket had pushed the door open as far as she could, and I wedged myself through with the bag.
Once inside, I jumped up and down and shouted, “Hooo!” making Cricket howl with laughter.
“Cold, city boy?”
I returned her earlier look. “Um, excuse me? But you’re skinny ass would be a solid Popsicle five feet outside this door.”
“Hey! I’ve got some insulation, buddy.”
“Oh yeah, Skeletor, sure you do.”
Her jaw clenched. “Come on. We have to search the building in case the electricity goes out.”
I followed her, reveling in my Skeletor reference because
A) Masters of the Universe rocks
B) It got under Cricket’s skin.
The schoolhouse wasn’t very big, hence the reason it was called the “old” schoolhouse. Basically, it was three rooms total, a stage area that probably doubled as the cafeteria and two classrooms.
We checked the classroom closets, but there was nothing worth pulling out.
“Hey,” I said, pointing to what looked like a janitor’s closet.
I pried open the door and dust came billowing out. I let it settle before stepping inside. “Here’s an old candle,” I said, picking up a red pillar candle probably used at Christmastime fifty years ago.
“See anything else worth using?” she asked.
I checked the shelves. “Score!”
“What is it?”
“A bottle of whiskey,” I said, dusting off the label. “Unopened from about twenty years ago.” She didn’t say anything. “Cricket?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, a bottle of whiskey, cool,” she said, unenthused.
I pocketed the whiskey and shut the door to the closet.
“Not a fan of whiskey?” I asked.
“You could say that,” she said vaguely.
She started walking back toward the stage area. “You could force down a shot if it got too cold. It’d warm you up.”
