Free Jonah Havensby by Bob Bannon Page A

this point, his mouth watered. He unzipped the backpack. He could have the last can of beans, or the last can of peaches, or he could have a peanut butter sandwich.
    He took out his bottle of water and the spoon he had saved from the caves and plopped himself down on his nest.
    He took one of the loaves of bread, turned it this way and that, examining the packaging. It didn’t seem like it had been tampered with. He opened it and found that it had an inner plastic wrapping which had not been opened. He judged the package to be safe.
    He put down the bread and looked at the peanut butter. It was the crunchy kind. His favorite. This did nothing to quell the urge to rip it open. But he did the same thing as with the bread. He examined it closely for tampering. He slowly opened the lid and found the safety seal intact. He very carefully rubbed his finger all over it, looking for any small holes. When he found none, he peeled back the safety seal and the smell overwhelmed him.
    He opened the bread and took out a piece and then smeared peanut butter all over it. He practically devoured it without chewing. After a week of nothing but canned fruits, this almost felt like the best thing he’d ever eaten, except maybe chocolate mousse cake.
    Soon enough, the peanut butter began sticking in his moth as he tried to eat the whole piece of bread at once. He stopped, gulped some water and got back to it.
    Once he’d finished it, he waited. Waited for death. Waited for his stomach to explode. He waited, anticipating the worst.
    He began to feel foolish after a few minutes. Sitting stark still with only his eyes roaming around the office as his brain made constant checks for discomfort of any sort. When nothing happened, he tore at the bread packaging and made himself a peanut butter sandwich. When that was done, and after another few more minutes of fearing the worst, he made himself another.
    He couldn’t remember meals with his father ever being this satisfying; although he was sure they had been that and more. The fullness made him relaxed. Being relaxed made him feel tired. He slumped against the bookcase.
    His eyes fell upon the electric blanket.  He was sure it was stolen from the hardware store.
    “Well,” he thought, “we are a family of thieves, after all.”
    He got up, and pulled off his coat, and then he emptied his stolen change from his pocket without even a second glance. He took the blanket and laid it over the nest. He plugged it in and sat down on it while he sealed up the loaf of bread and screwed the cap on the peanut butter. The blanket began to warm, making him feel even more tired.
    VI
    He awoke with a start the next morning, sitting straight up. He had been so tired and so full it had made him feel too relaxed and he had let his guard down. He looked at the office door, it was closed. He looked to see if anything new had been brought in and he found nothing.
    Jonah had been having a vivid dream of flying through the trees of the surrounding forest. From branch to branch and then diving down and running through the brush. An entirely freeing feeling, like he could go anywhere. He felt his hands dig into bark and hold tight. He could feel the wet leaves on his feet and hear the crunch of twigs.
    He thought for a moment that what had awakened him so suddenly was that it was too quiet. He looked at the large clock on the wall and found that it was after two-o’clock in the afternoon. He had not woken up to the ten A.M. truck pounding its way down the road full of potholes. He had come to rely on that as a sort of alarm clock, but he hadn’t even heard it this morning.
    His vision blurred and then the pain came. The sharp dagger of pain, drilling its way through his left eye. He grabbed at it and cried out in pain. He sat in the nest doubled over in pain, both hands over his eye now. And then he threw his head back and cried out again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be screaming so loud.