Sam said, “Okay, what is it?”

No answer.

Sam leaned over Jack’s shoulders to look. Pallet after pallet of heavy cartons. Each carton was emblazoned with the Apple logo.

“Computers?” Sam wondered. “Or iPods?” Neither would be of any use.

At last Jack moved. He rushed to the nearest pallet, then hesitated. He carefully wiped his hands on his pants. Then he tore away the shrink-wrap and gently, cautiously, opened the first carton.

It was with trembling fingers that he lifted out a white box. On the box was a photo of a laptop.

“That would be great if we had internet,” Sam said. “Or electricity.”

“They ship them fully charged,” Jack snapped, angry at Sam’s interruption. Like Sam had started talking in church. “It’s been so long but . . . but they may still have some charge.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “So you can play some games. Let’s move on to the next—”

“No!” Jack cried, his voice somewhere between anguish and rapture. “No. I have to . . . I have to see.”

He spent five full minutes carefully opening the box, lifting out Styrofoam packing pieces like they were fragile works of art.

It was like watching some unfamiliar but profound religious ritual. Sam found it almost moving. He’d never seen Jack so emotional.

He picked patiently at the small piece of tape that held the laptop’s thin foam sheath in place.

And finally he held up the silver laptop as if holding a baby in his trembling hands.

He turned it over. By now the suspense was even getting to Sam.

Jack closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, turned the laptop over, and pressed the battery indicator light. Two tiny green lights blazed.

“Two!” Jack exulted. “Two! I was afraid it’d be one blinking light.” Then, in a whisper. “Two. That’s maybe an hour and a half. Maybe two hours even.”

“Dude. Are you crying?”

Jack wiped his eyes. “No. Jeez.”

“He’s lying, he’s crying,” Toto called out unhelpfully.

“You need some time?” Sam asked. He doubted any power on earth could convince Jack to move on yet.

Jack nodded.

“Okay. Dekka and I will get the next one.”

The eleventh container was more lawn furniture.

The twelfth container was filled from bottom to top with the greatest sight Sam and Dekka had ever seen in their lives.

This time it was they who stood, awestruck. Overcome by emotion.

There was no mistaking that logo.

“Can you put Pepsi in Cup-a-Noodles?” Dekka wondered.

They leaped at the shrink-wrapped pallets and ripped cans free.

Crack psst!

Crack psst!

Crack psst!

The sound that had not been heard in the FAYZ for months was heard once again. Pop-tops were popped, and Sam, Dekka, and Toto drank deep.

“Oh,” Dekka said.

“So good,” Toto said.

“It’s . . . It’s like life is all right again. Like the universe has finally decided to smile at us,” Sam said with a huge smile.

Burp.

“Oh, yeah,” Dekka said. “Soda burp.”

The three of them were grinning. “Jack!” Sam yelled.

“I’m busy!” he called back.

“Get over here. Now!”

Jack came running like he was expecting trouble. A grinning Sam held a can out for him.

“Is that . . . ?”

“It is,” Sam assured him.

Crack psst!

Burp.

Jack started crying then, sobbing and drinking and burping and laughing.

“You going crazy on us, Jack?” Dekka asked.

“It’s just . . .” He couldn’t seem to find the words.

Sam put his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Yeah, dude. It’s too much, isn’t it? I mean too much like the world before.”

“I eat rats,” Jack said through his tears.

“We all eat rats,” Dekka said. “And glad to get a good juicy one, too.”

“True,” Toto muttered with some concern. “They eat rats. They didn’t mention rats before, Spidey.”

The sun was well past noon. Sam said, “We need to check the last containers. Then get moving. Just because we’re living large doesn’t mean people at home are.”

“We don’t need to find water, we have Pepsi!” Jack said.

“Which is great,” Sam said. “Might last a few days. If we could get it back to town.”

That sobered Jack. He nodded briskly and said, “Yes, you’re right. Sorry. I was just . . . I don’t know. For a few minutes there it was like maybe it was all over.”

Just to do something different they went to the boxcar. The instant they rolled back the door they were assailed by a sickly sweet smell.

The boxcar had been full of oranges. But this was only obvious because of the perky labels on the flats. The oranges themselves had long since rotted in the heat. A sticky liquid covered the floor of the car. Some of the crates sprouted fantastic growths of furry mold.

“A little late on this one,” Sam said regretfully.

“Oranges would have been good,” Toto said.

The very last container was a mixed load: Stanley brand screwdrivers and saws and assorted hand tools, and exercise equipment of various types.

But by then no one cared, because it was the next-to-last container that weighed on their minds.