48
“GET READY…” Gazzy said, lighting the waxed rope.
Iggy stuck his fingers in his ears.
There was a low, nervous clucking sound, and then a big bang. Feathers rained down, snagging on the pine trees, and when the smoke cleared, three wild turkeys were no longer very wild.
“Most excellent,” Gazzy said, beaming, his face covered in black film.
“Well, that’s one way to cook a turkey,” Iggy laughed.
It was hard not to be giddy. After the miles and miles of mass destruction they’d flown over these past couple of weeks, they’d found the forests of Appalachia somehow untouched. Now they were sitting on the cement platform of an old campsite, chowing down on the first hot meal they’d had in what felt like years.
“Ig, no kidding, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Juice ran down Gazzy’s chin as he devoured the meat. “You should have your own postapocalyptic cooking show or something.”
“Oh, totally. ‘Tune in next week for Seasoning the Squirrel, Blowing Up the Bird,’ ” Iggy said in an announcer voice. Then he pursed his lips. “I was actually thinking it tastes a little funky.”
Gazzy tore off another big hunk, considering. “Maybe you went a little overboard with the rosemary?” he suggested.
Iggy paused with a turkey leg halfway to his mouth. “Rosemary?” he repeated skeptically. “You don’t think it might have something to do with the fertilizer you used?”
“Hey, I got a fire going, didn’t I?” Gazzy pointed out. “I didn’t see any gunpowder or ice packs in that farmer’s shed, did you?”
Iggy shrugged. “Well, it’s definitely a step up from bugs and rats.”
“Are you kidding?” Gazzy said, poking the charred birds with a stick. “This is a regular Thanksgiving feast. Hey, maybe we should say what we’re thankful for!”
“I’m thankful I’m not currently eating bugs and rats,” Iggy said immediately.
Gazzy nodded. “I’m thankful for the stupidity of wild turkeys.”
“Since this is supposed to be Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the memory of garlic mashed potatoes drenched in butter. Or yams with marshmallows.” Iggy sighed.
Gazzy’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, man. Remember when Nudge wanted us to celebrate Thanksgiving like normal people, and we went all out trying to cook, but the marshmallows caught on fire?”
Iggy chuckled, remembering. “We almost burned down Dr. Martinez’s kitchen!”
“And then Ella ate all the burned yams to make Nudge feel better, insisting that she just really liked the smoky flavor?”
At the mention of Ella, Iggy went silent and stopped eating. The lines around his mouth deepened in pain.
“Ig?” Gazzy whispered after a few minutes.
“Hmm?”
“I miss the flock,” Gazzy said even more quietly.
Iggy nodded, but his milky, blind eyes were like a concrete wall.
“But Ig?”
“Hmm?”
Gazzy reached a tentative hand out and squeezed Iggy’s shoulder. “I’m thankful I’ve still got you, though. And that we’re still alive.”
Iggy turned his head in Gazzy’s direction, his face softening. “Me too, little bro. Me too.”
And just as the moment started to feel a little too heavy, a low, hornlike sound rippled through the air. The fire flared up in response.