T W E L V E
The four of us are still in a daze as we walk north, through the woods, alongside the Hudson. We walk beside the river, on snow-covered train tracks, and I watch the water as we go. A part of me refuses to believe our boat has been stolen.
But it’s been hours, and it’s starting to sink in that it’s gone for good. That we are stranded, on foot. And our boat, our only means of transportation, is gone.
After we discovered the boat was gone, we all spent time brushing the snow off the shells of vehicles that lined the streets, some of them on their side, twisted, burnt out. It was a desperate move, and a waste of time. Of course, none of them had any keys, and most of them didn’t even have engines—just gobs of metal, vestiges of cars. None of them remotely worked.
We knew we co
