"Yankee Doodle went to town a riding on a pony. I am a Yankee Doodle guy."
And the kids started marching and I led the parade, the saddest parade in the history of the world, away from the front of the store, away from the monster outside, and right to the stupid cookie and cracker aisle. We ate fudge-covered graham crackers for a good long while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BLOOD TYPES
The kids fell asleep, after a while. It was maybe three in the afternoon—hard to tell inside because the lighting was the same all day long. I don't know what time it was, but Astrid had told them it was time for a nap and the kids dropped into their sleeping bags like the walking dead.
The twins slept together, and Max and Ulysses moved their bags next to each other. Chloe and Batiste were sort of the odd men out. Batiste tried to snuggle up to Chloe, but she wouldn't have it.
"Quit it, Batiste," she said. "You smell."
She pushed him away.
"It's a sin to push," Batiste mumbled.
"Yeah, well. It's also a sin to try to hug someone who doesn't want to be hugged!"
"No, it's not!" Batiste protested.
"Yes, it is!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No."
"Yes!"
"Come on, you guys," I said, trying to be sane.
"Hugging is not a sin!" Batiste yelled.
"It is too, if the girl getting hugged doesn't want it!" Chloe countered.
"Hey!" Astrid hollered. "Shut up!"
Then Chloe hit Batiste in the stomach, which I admit was not entirely displeasing to me, because that Batiste was an aggravating kid.
Then Batiste said it was a sin to punch someone in the stomach.
He cried for a while, and gradually his cries gave way to the shallow rhythm of sleep breath.
It was a relief to have them asleep. Astrid and I sort of looked at each other and smiled. The moment had a weird feeling of middle-aged family life, with the two of us cast just where I'd like us to be, in about twenty years, but, of course, with about five too many kids.
"You're good with kids," she said to me.
"Not really," I said. "You're good with them."
Good conversation, right? I was really connecting with her.
"Counselor of the year, Indian Brook Day Camp. Three years running," she said, brushing a loose tendril of blond hair behind her ear.
"That's really something," I said. Again, with the skills.
She shrugged and walked away, over to the broken television, where the rest of the big kids were sitting and listening.
Everyone looked up when we came over, except for Josie. She was sitting with everyone, but was just staring ahead. There but not entirely "there."
"He's talking about the compounds," Alex told me in a whisper.
Whoever the anchor was, he had a very deep, reassuring voice. Nevertheless, what he told us was terrifying.
"Residents of the southwestern region of the United States," he told us. "Please be advised: There has been a breach of the chemical-weapons storage units located at NORAD in Colorado Springs, Colorado.
