Part 14 (1/2)

The lights of Nashua were straight ahead, and Tricia found herself swallowing over and over again as dread filled her. What about the germs--the stench? Whatever had possessed her to ask Ginny to take her along on one of their scavenging outings? Oh, yeah, she wanted to talk to Pammy's new friends.

What kind of friends picked through trash and then ate it?

Good grief, she'd almost forgotten she'd been on the receiving end of two meals made with trash, although, much as she hated to admit it, the food had been good, a testament to Pammy's culinary abilities.

Brian pulled the car into the parking lot of a convenience store.

”Is this where we're going to start”--Tricia struggled to find an appropriate word--”picking?”

”Nope. I came here to get a sub. If I get a foot-long, we can share it. What do you like, Tricia, turkey or ham?”

”Turkey, please. Although I'm really not very hungry.”

”What do you want to drink?”

”Water.”

”I'll have a c.o.ke,” Ginny said.

Tricia dug in her f.a.n.n.y pack for her wallet. ”Let me give you some money for--”

Brian shook his head. ”Nope. You've helped us a lot in the past year. This is on us.” He opened the driver's-side door and hopped out of the car.

”This is a big night for us,” Ginny said, watching Brian enter the store. ”It's the only night of the week we eat out anymore.”

”Eat out?” Tricia repeated dully.

”Yeah, it's a big deal for us to even get a sub these days.”

In minutes, Brian was back, holding a paper sack cradled in his left arm. He opened the car door and handed the bag to Ginny, who began doling out bottles and little packets of mayonnaise and mustard.

”I had the clerk cut it up into several pieces.” He eyed the rearview mirror, looking at Tricia in the backseat. ”Maybe it's the lighting, but Tricia looks a little green. I don't think she's too hungry, babe.”

Ginny laughed. ”Tricia, you're not going to get poisoned. And you won't get sick. And you won't have to go into the Dumpster. I don't.”

”You don't?”

”I do the dirty work,” Brian said, and pulled at the shoulder of his sweats.h.i.+rt. ”I wear layers. If I get grubby, I can just peel them off, and into the laundry they go.”

”We've got gloves and a big bottle of hand sanitizer,” Ginny said. ”Brian hands us what looks salvageable and we hold on to it until we get back to the car.”

Tricia let out a whoosh of air. ”Thanks for the heads-up. I feel a lot better about this.”

Ginny laughed. ”I thought you might. Now, have a piece of sandwich. It could be a long evening.” She handed Tricia a couple of napkins and a slab of the sub.

Minutes later, Brian collected the papers, stuffed them into the sack, and deposited them in the trash receptacle outside the convenience store. Soon after, they were back on the road.

”We're meeting up with our friends behind one of the smaller grocery stores. The bigger stores are open twenty-four hours, and they don't like us poking through their garbage.”

They pulled down a side street and parked. ”We walk from here,” Brian said.

They got out of the car and locked it. Brian stepped around to the back of the SUV, unlocked it, and took out two big backpacks, several canvas shopping bags, and three pairs of gloves, handing them around so that they each had something to protect their hands. He and Ginny donned the backpacks. ”Follow me,” he told Tricia, his breath coming out in a cloud.

He turned and headed back to the main thoroughfare, leading the way, leaving Ginny to walk side by side with Tricia. Up ahead, Tricia could see several people standing under a light pole on the far side of the street, two of them with battered helmets and bicycles that sported canvas saddlebags on both front and back.

”'Bout time you guys got here,” said a familiar female voice from the shadows.

As they approached, Tricia realized with a start that the voice belonged to Eugenia Hirt--Libby Hirt's daughter. No wonder the head of the local Food Shelf hadn't wanted to talk about the freegans. Her own child was one!

Eugenia looked androgynous. She was dressed in black slacks, a black jacket, and black shoes, and a black-and-white bandana covered her blond hair, which was apparently pinned up. She might've pa.s.sed for a cat burglar. ”Hi, Tricia,” she called brightly. ”Bet you're surprised to see me here.”

”A little.” Okay, that was a big, fat lie. She was shocked.

”Have you met my dad?” Eugenia asked.

Good grief! Her father was a freegan, too?

A slim, balding man with graying blond hair, probably in his late fifties and also dressed all in black, stepped forward with his hand extended. ”Hi, Tricia. Joe Hirt. Eugenia's told me all about you--or at least your dining preferences. The cold tuna plate or cottage cheese with a peach half, right?”

Tricia shook his hand and managed a feeble laugh. ”We are what we eat, eh?”

Tricia noticed the bicyclers standing behind him. ”This is Lisa Redwood, and Pete Marbello,” he said.

They chorused a less-than-enthusiastic h.e.l.lo, and Tricia nodded in greeting. She had never met Lisa before, but Pete looked familiar, though she couldn't place where she might've met him.

”What's the game plan for tonight?” Brian asked.

”We hit this Dumpster,” Joe said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, ”and then we try the Italian market down the street.” As the oldest, Joe was obviously their leader. The others fell into step behind him, with Tricia and Ginny bringing up the rear.

”Is there some significance to everyone wearing all black?” Tricia asked.

”Doesn't show the dirt,” Ginny said. ”It does give us a little anonymity, too.”

They stepped from the sidewalk into a parking lot. A mercury vapor lamp overhead cast a bluish glow over the large green garbage receptacle. Tricia wrinkled her nose and sniffed, grateful for the chilly night. She caught an unmistakable whiff of something vaguely sour, but not entirely off-putting.

”Who wants the honors?” Joe asked.

”It's my turn,” Pete said. Brian stepped forward and gave him a leg up, as though he was about to mount a horse, and Pete climbed into the Dumpster. He landed on a pile of black plastic trash bags, piled high, sinking down so that only the top half of his body was visible. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, grabbed a bag of trash, and loosened the twist tie that held it closed. Next, he shone the light into the bag. ”Jackpot!” he called, and lifted a loaf of bread into the air. ”The sell-by date is tomorrow.” He tossed the bag down to Brian, who distributed the booty among them all, including Tricia.

”I really don't want--”

”Shus.h.!.+” Ginny warned her.

Pete had already opened another bag, wrinkled his nose, and twisted the tie once again. ”Paper trash.” He grabbed another bag, and another, until he'd gone through most of them. By the time he was done, they'd collected the bread, nearly two dozen potatoes, several heads of what Tricia would have said was questionable lettuce, eight or ten jars of pickles, eleven boxes of crackers, and half a dozen soft tomatoes.

Pete jumped down from the Dumpster and joined Lisa. ”Not bad for the first hit.”

Joe pointed toward the other side of the lot. ”Come on. The evening's getting away from us.” Everyone followed.

”This is your chance to talk to the others,” Ginny whispered, giving Tricia a poke.