The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (The Road to Nowhere 1) by Elison Meg

Author:Elison, Meg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2016-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen books. Two iPods that I left behind for obvious reasons. One battered Discman and five batteries, none of them the right size. But maybe if I keep looking. A basket of knitting and a booklet on how to do it. Never knitted in my life. Got invited to stitch ’n’ bitch a thousand times, but it sounded pointless to me. Right now it sounds like an excellent idea.

Was really glad there aren’t any houses nearer, but now I realize that raiding anything is going to be an all-day affair. Only hit two, and I can’t go back out again soon. Want a fucking snowmobile.

Firewood is going slow. At least it’s good stuff, fallen hardwood and not a bunch of pine. Burns for a long time.

Wish I had an almanac. Wish I had the SF public library. Wish I had the right batteries for this CD player, even if the only thing I have to listen to is this Destiny’s Child CD in it. Wish I had a prime rib and a chocolate cake. Wish I had Netflix. Wish I had a friend. Wish I had Jack. Wish into the fire, burn it like a djinn. Wishes into the fire. Fire.

She had been completely alone for twenty-seven days. She had read every book she could find and failed twice to try to start knitting a scarf. After the second attempt, she threw the bag out into the snow and watched it get buried. She sat at the window, scowling.

She was purely miserable. She slept long and late and ate listlessly, when it occurred to her. Her hair was growing out, she could feel it on the back of her neck. It had always grown fast. Every day she debated with herself what risks were the smarter ones to take. Stay here, take off the binder, be comfortable, and take long baths. Reread the books she had liked. No one was coming. She could walk around the house naked if she wanted.

She had spent a few hours outside, practicing to shoot the rifles. She found that she preferred the bolt action to the larger caliber break action, although it had a scope, which she kept in mind in case she needed to take a long shot. She felt competent and didn’t want to waste ammunition, so she quit.

When she was lonely, she tortured herself with the idea that it could be worse. She thought of the men at the lake house, the men in the mall. She thought about getting caught in Nevada and living out her days on a chain, burning inside. She thought about her apartment in San Francisco and could come up with not a single memory before she killed a man in her own bed. There was no before. The world had always been ending.

She had stopped talking. She had stopped singing, humming, whistling. She felt like a wild animal, like a raccoon that had cleverly burrowed into a house for the winter. She was a silent, thoughtless thing.

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