The Survivors by Will Weaver Page A

“Aren’t board walls going to be cold this winter?”
    â€œWe’re going to insulate the walls,” Miles says.
    â€œHow? With what?” Artie asks.
    â€œThe old way,” Miles says.
    Artie scratches his head and looks around.
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll show you,” Miles answers.
    After an hour they take a short break and sit down. They inspect their work, which is most of the outside wall. “Now we have to do the same thing on the inside wall,” Miles says.
    â€œThat will leave an air space,” Artie says.
    â€œExactly,” Miles says.
    â€œHow are we going to get insulation inside there?”
    â€œYou’ll see,” Miles says.
    â€œAnd what about windows?” Artie asks.
    Miles pauses. He actually hadn’t thought about that. “Windows let in the cold,” he answers.
    â€œWe—you and Sarah—need a window,” Artie says.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Miles says.
    It’s a half hour of work, but he boxes in a square big enough to escape through if they had to.
    â€œI still don’t see how we can insulate the space now,” Artie says.
    â€œHere,” Miles says, handing his father a shovel and an old pail.
    â€œWhat’s this for?”
    Miles points to the sawdust pile. “We have plenty of insulation!”
    Atop a homemade ladder, with his parents providing a bucket brigade, he pours sawdust down into the channels between the walls. Bucket after bucket. As it sifts down, it fills all the cracks.
    â€œWhat’s for supper?” Miles says later.
    â€œChili and rice,” Nat says.
    â€œVeggie chili, I suppose,” Miles says.
    â€œYes, sorry,” Nat says.
    â€œWhen it gets colder, we’re going to eat venison,” Miles says.
    â€œNot me!” Nat says.
    â€œWe’ll see,” Miles says to his mom.
    â€œForget it,” she says.
    â€œRemember when you hit that deer with your BMW?”
    â€œPlease. That was horrible and expensive.”
    â€œI’m just saying—if somebody had eaten that deer, you wouldn’t have hit it with your car.”
    â€œWell, we don’t have a car, so no need to worry about hitting a deer,” she answers.
    â€œSpeaking of which, we’ll need a snowmobile for this winter,” Miles says.
    â€œHuh?” Nat says.
    â€œA snowmobile? I thought you wanted to be green,” Artie says.
    â€œThere’s green, and there’s getting to town once a week when the snow comes,” Miles says.
    â€œGood point. I guess your motorbike won’t work,” Nat asks. Miles convinced his parents to spring for one not long after they arrived at Mr. Kurz’s cabin.
    â€œNot in deep snow,” Miles says. I’ve seen it snow at least a little every month of the year up north. Some winters it was halfway up the cabin wall. But snow is a good thing in deep winter. Keeps the ground warm—the critters, too. Deer curl up to sleep. Partridge fly right into it and bury themselves for the night. Sleep like babies....
    Artie looks at Nat. “A snowmobile might be a good idea—especially for emergencies,” he offers. It’s the first time he’s actually made a suggestion or had an opinion.
    â€œLike a run to town for pizza,” Miles adds.
    They continue lifting pails of sawdust. Working together is something they never did back home in the suburbs. There, everybody was always heading off in a different direction.
    â€œBy the way, I saw that dog,” Nat says.
    â€œWhere?” Miles quickly asks.
    She gestures to the edge of the woods. “He was just sitting there, watching us. When I looked at him, he got all scared and disappeared. I took some scraps up there for him to eat—he looked really hungry.”
    Miles kicks the ground. “Do not feed him! The last thing we need around here is a stray dog.”
    â€œSorry,” Nat says quickly. “But I couldn’t help myself.