Chapter 10 : The Big Haul

Ada's POV

"I ordered a bunch of stuff yesterday. Someone's delivering them to the storage unit today. Ray, keep an eye on it for me."

Before I pulled out, I gave Ray that one instruction. He was staying at the house today, which put him close enough to the storage unit to get over there and open the gate when the workers showed up to unload.

I got in the car and ran today's route through my head: clothes, seeds, medicine. None of it could be skipped.

After our mother died, that bastard Frank spent every day drunk somewhere and only came home to beat us or curse at us. He never once asked how we were living. The three of us stuck together and raised each other. Going hungry was normal. Having just enough clothes to change into was normal.

Even with money now, we didn't own much. Buying enough for three people meant hitting more than one store. I ran the route again in my head: University Village first, then REI for outdoor gear, then swing through Ballard and hit a couple of local shops to finish.

At U Village I went through every brand store along the way. Basics piled up into several huge bags including tees, hoodies, jackets, flannel shirts and so on. I grabbed a few pairs of sweatpants and some quick-dry tees while I was at it.

My brothers had never been picky about what they wore. Comfortable, durable, worth stockpiling.

Next stop was the REI flagship in South Lake Union. I didn't waste time browsing — went straight to the clothing section and cleaned the shelves of wool socks, quick-dry base layers, waterproof gloves, and warm hats, then picked up a few pairs of hiking shoes for each of us.

On my way to the register, I took a detour into the camping gear.

We had a base now, but things in the apocalypse changed by the minute. Better to have field gear on hand. We'd need it when we went out scavenging anyway.

I picked the biggest tent they had. It would fit all three of us with room to spare.

Sleeping bags and inflatable pads went in by the stack, plus two folding tables and chairs. I grabbed a few headlamps and camp lanterns for light.

Also, I chose a hand-pump filter for water. The box said it would screen out most bacteria and parasites, and as long as the source wasn't contaminated, it would earn its keep.

Passing the first-aid aisle, I stopped and took two large kits, sweeping hemostatic dressings and elastic bandages into the cart.

I pushed two overflowing carts to the register. When the cashier finished ringing me up and handed over the receipt, her face was pure disbelief. Apparently people who bought outdoor gear by the cartload weren't an everyday sight. I smiled at her, didn't explain, paid, and had them help me load everything into the car.

I crossed clothes off the list, shut the car door, made sure no one was around, and moved everything from the trunk into my space.

Then I called the farm, confirmed today's delivery time, and asked them to add ten live head of livestock and ten head of poultry to yesterday's order. For now, send it all to the storage unit first, and Ray would inspect and handle it.

It was just past ten. Time to pick up seeds.

The seed section at Swanson's was in the back of the store, and the fruit seeds filled their racks end to end.

I took strawberry and melon seeds. Next to them, a thin row of watermelon seeds made me hesitate — then I tossed a packet in anyway. Seattle wasn't exactly watermelon country, but the space probably didn't care. Worth a gamble.

The wooden rack against the wall, the one with the "Vegetables" sign, didn't look nearly as respectable. Winter was close. Most of the pockets were empty, and what was left was fall-planting stock: garlic, fava beans, plus a few packets of beets that had been sitting there God knew how long.

"Can I help you with something?"

I'd been hovering in the vegetable section long enough that a woman in a green apron came over.

"Do you have any other vegetable seeds?" I said. "Leafy greens, ideally."

She glanced at the rack, a mild smile on her face. "You're late. Most vegetable seeds don't go up until spring. Even if you planted now, they'd just stunt."

"I'm not planting now but stockpiling." I shook my head. "If I wait until next year, the varieties I want will already be spoken for. I know how growers pre-order the popular ones. By then I'd be picking through whatever's left."

She studied me for a few seconds, her eyes stopping on the packets I'd set aside, and then asked, "Do you know how to save seed?"

"A little," I said. "Open-pollinated, you can save. Hybrids, no. The second generation degrades. Planting them is a waste of time."

Something in her expression loosened. "Wait here a minute."

I waited maybe four or five minutes. When she came back, she was carrying a big kraft box.

"Last batch in the back," she said, setting it down and brushing the dust off her hands. "It was headed for disposal. If you really want it, take it at half price."

I looked inside. Seeds for every season, each packet labeled and stacked in neat rows.

"Germination might be lower. Some of it's been sitting six months. But it's all open-pollinated."

"I'll take the whole box," I said. Then I had her pull another dozen or so packets of fruit and vegetable seeds off the rack. She muttered something about whether I was starting a farm, but her hands never stopped moving.

On my way out, I saw a mother and daughter picking out Halloween pumpkins. The little girl tried to lift one bigger than her head, landed on her butt, and sent it rolling across the lot. Her mother doubled over laughing.

I got back in the car and put the big bag of seeds into the folded space.

Seeds can grow in there whenever they like. People have to stay alive to see spring.