6
Rags and Bones stayed in San Jose for nearly five months, and in their own way, they became scavengers.
Of a kind.
True scavengers, as she saw it. Not psychopaths.
They didn’t hunt people. Not to rob, not to hurt, and certainly not to eat. Rags knew that with everything she’d been through she was probably more than half-crazy, but there was a lot of downhill road she’d need to travel before she let herself become that crazy.
The dog helped.
He was so smart. Weird smart, as Rags saw it. When she spoke to him, Bones listened. Not just heard her, but listened. As if he could understand her actual words.
It was strange, but even Rags had to admit that it was far from the strangest part of her world.
Rags had no idea what day of the week it was or what week of the month. She was pretty sure she was still thirteen, but that might not be true. If it was October, then she was fourteen. It still felt like September, though. Or the world wasn’t getting as cool as it should. It was usually in the high seventies in September. By October it dropped down to the sixties during the day and into the fifties at night. This year it was hot even at night.
That was a weird thought. Rags figured that with all those dead people—none of them warmer than room temperature—the temperature should have dropped. But no.
Maybe it was the fires.
Maybe it was from all those bombs they’d released.
She didn’t know. It was okay, though, because she was usually cold, and hotter days and warm nights weren’t too bad. If it got really cold at some point, she figured she could cuddle up with Bones. He was always warm.
Since finding the dog, Rags had learned how to sleep again. Really sleep. Like all night, which was something she had not done once since she ran away from home.
It took a while for that to happen. A few weeks. But over time she began to trust Bones completely. And to trust that he would hear or smell something long before she did.
Being with Bones changed things for Rags.
She smiled. She laughed. She played.
That felt weird, because Rags thought that those things were extinct concepts.
At first their play was only an accidental version of fetch. They were picking through the ruins of a clothing store, trying to find a good sweater because fall was coming. Rags found a funny little hat that she thought would be warm, but it was too small. It was the tenth hat she’d tried on that didn’t fit, and that annoyed her, so she threw it across the store.
Bones bounded after it and brought it back.
The world had changed so much that Rags didn’t immediately understand why the dog did that. But Bones picked it up and dropped it again, a few inches closer to her sneakered toes. Bones wagged his big tail.
Rags stared at the brightly colored hat and then at the dog.
“Seriously?” she asked.
The tail whipped back and forth. He lowered his head and used his nose to put it closer.
She bent and picked it up.
“Fetch?”
More wags.
“You’re weird,” she told the dog.
Bones had his mouth open, tongue lolling. It made him look like he was grinning.
So Rags threw the hat.