Chapter 7
Mac was cuddling the cat when we left. “Can you bring back a piano?” she called, only half-serious. “We’ll need music. I can’t live without music!”
“There’s a guitar in the attic, and maybe a mandolin or a lute as well!” I called back. “Make sure you lock this door and don’t let anyone in.”
“It’s eerie without airplanes and cars,” I said, noticing the silence.
There were noises, like maybe a car or two far away, but it could never make up for the sounds of the vibrant, full-of-life city Seattle had been, especially in my location on Capitol Hill. We stood still and listened for a few minutes, hearing what sounded like firecrackers in the distance, but was probably gunfire. Then we went down the stairs and through the alley to the hardware store. It was cold and empty, and the
