Free Sunrise by Mike Mullin Page B

horde from Warren, but we still had a breeding pair of goats.
    Dr. McCarthy didn’t move back to Warren right away. Several of his patients, Mayor Petty included, were too sick to move. So Belinda returned to Warren to staff the clinic, and our living room continued to serve as a rude hospital.
    Uncle Paul moved into Max’s room with the rest of the guys, because he said he couldn’t sleep in the master bedroom. So Mom theoretically had the master bedroom to herself. She hardly ever slept there, though—or slept at all. She spent most of her time in the living room, helping
    Dr. McCarthy care for the last of the patients, particularly Mayor Petty.
    Ed hadn’t left either, even after almost everyone else had moved back to Warren. Finally I asked him about it while we were chopping wood. “You headed to Warren soon?”
    Ed lowered his axe, leaning on the handle. “Well, uh . . .” “Well, what?” I held the hatchet I was using midswing, waiting for him to answer.
    “Been meaning to ask you. Couldn’t find the right time. Or words. You know.”
    “No.” I set my hatchet down. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Ed.”
    “Thought I’d stay here. If you don’t mind, that is.” Ed leaned over farther, putting more weight on the axe handle. “I mean, you know, figure I owe you—”
    “You don’t owe me anything, Ed.”
    “That’s not true. But even if it was, I’d want to hang around and help. Seems like, well, stuff happens around you.” “That’s a great reason to leave—not stay,” I said.
    “But still . . .”
    I thought about it a moment. “That’d be fine,” I said finally.
    Ed straightened up and hefted his axe. “That’s set, then.” I picked my hatchet back up. “Hey, why’re you asking me? It’s Uncle Paul’s farm.”
    Ed checked the swing of his axe. “You want me to ask him?”
    “No, I will.”
    “Thanks.”
    And with that, we both returned to work.
    I caught Uncle Paul later that day as he carried water into the kitchen. We stood at the sink, slopping water on our hands, trying to scrub off the grime of a day’s hard work.
    “Ed wants to stay here,” I said.
    Uncle Paul grunted.
    “On the farm. With us.”
    “Didn’t he used to be a flenser?”
    “Yeah. And I used to be a high school student.”
    Uncle Paul turned toward me, a sad smile creasing his cheeks. “Same thing, but with less cannibalism?”
    I snorted. “Yeah, pretty much.”
    “So what’d you tell Ed?”
    “I told him he could stay, but I thought it should be your decision. It’s your place and all.”
    Uncle Paul rubbed his hands on a dishrag in silence for a moment. Then he turned toward me, looking me dead in the eyes. “Max and Anna ate today because of decisions you made, Alex. You think Ed should stay, that’s good enough for me.”
    Uncle Paul turned away, walking toward the kitchen table. I dried my hands in a surreal silence, not really feeling them. What exactly did this new responsibility mean?

Chapter 13
    Ed and I trekked to Apple River Canyon State Park about every other day to cut wood. We couldn’t afford to let our woodpile get low in case something went wrong—say, some of us got sick—and we had to have enough wood on hand to keep all the fires burning until we could cut more.
    We filled the toboggan we used for hauling wood faster than usual one morning and wound up back at the farm about an hour before lunchtime. As we were stacking wood near one of the greenhouses, I had the nagging feeling that something was missing.
    “There’s no smoke,” I said.
    “Whatcha mean?” Ed asked.
    “The hypocaust vent. There’s usually smoke coming from it.”
    “Huh. I’ll check on the fire.” Ed slid down into the hole that allowed access to the fire shelf, which was a small, stone-lined space where we kept a fire burning continuously. Smoke and heat from the fire rose along the sloping shelf and was funneled into tunnels under the greenhouses to warm the soil. I could see