“I see it,” Emily said, and reached out to touch the fog. And just as her finger touched the gray, Peter yanked her arm back. She held her hand in front of her, waiting to see what the mist would do. The fog burned but did little more than seed an annoying itch. “It’s different than before, isn’t it?”
“Fog’s a lot weaker now,” her father said. “But we still have to stop that rain.”
“But why is it so dark?
“Is it?”
Emily looked at her father curiously, more confused than before. He glanced over to the fog, and she saw the brightness reflecting in his eyes. And before she could say another word, she began to see the light brightening up the tunnel. The walls came to life with shining greens and reds and yellows and blue—graffiti art with signatures as tall as she was. The colors glowed in the strange light.
“What is going on?” Peter asked. His expression had changed to one of amazement. In the light, she saw for the first time just how bad the punch from Tree-trunk had been. One of his eyes had been nearly closed shut, leaving behind a swamp of bruising that covered his entire cheek. “Is the fog lifting?”
“Not the fog,” her father answered. “It’s the tropical storm.”
Peter gave him a stout nod, understanding. Emily only shook her head, darting glances back and forth.
“What is it?” she pleaded, wanting to share in what they knew.
“Eye of the storm,” Peter exclaimed. “A rest. Break-time. If we’re going to do anything, we have to do it now.”
“I’ve only got a small window. Probably don’t need the neoprene after all.”
“But what if you get stuck when the eye of the storm passes?” Emily asked, unsure of how long they really had. Her father ignored her, rummaging through a duffle bag of gathered tools. “Dad, you don’t know how far the machine is. Do you?”
And when he said nothing again, she realized that he knew exactly how far the machine was. Her chest tightened again, the familiar taste of distrust rising in the back of her throat. But the feeling lasted just a moment.
An eruption of chatter came from behind them. The mouth of the service tunnel had revealed how far they’d traveled. She squinted, trying to see what was happening at the far end of the service tunnel. A small spark in the black turned on, bouncing up and down. She saw a second small spark, and then a third, and then finally a row of sparks.
Flashlights
.
“They must be seeing the same daylight,” she said.
“You guys have to hold them here,” her father said, and she could hear the urgency in his voice. “Send them back if you can!”
“But why?”
The sound of the duffle bag zipped closed in a rush, and her father stood, pecking her once on the cheek, warning her without saying a word. He turned and disappeared into the fog.
“Holy shit!” Peter shouted. “Why did he do that?”
Emily reached out and touched the fog again. She rubbed her fingers together and brought them to her lips. Peter slowly leaned back, grimacing and clutching his hands emptily as if she were holding a bomb.
“Don’t do it,” he warned, but Emily put her fingers to her tongue anyway.
“It’s different now,” she told him. “I don’t know if it’s the rain—you know, filtering or something—but the fog isn’t the same as before: quieter, if you get my meaning. We can follow him.”
The chatter of those approaching bounced from the walls, stealing the quiet. They watched as the nightlight sparks turned into individual shapes, and the shapes turned into a group of people. Ten or so had followed the storm’s eerie light, once the eye of the storm was upon them. Mr. Halcomb led the way, but Ms. Parks had stayed behind. Emily was thankful that she wasn’t there with them.
Justin shouldn’t be here.
“Your father?” Mr. Halcomb asked. Emily dipped her fingers into the fog again, causing the crowd to shudder and awe. “Emily, what are you doing?”
“It’s different now. But we’re not sure why,” she told them. “My father left for the machine. He wants us to stay back, and to keep anyone from going out there.”
A shimmer traveled up their legs. As if on cue, she watched as everyone spread their arms out.
“Brace yourselves,” Mr. Halcomb exclaimed, sounding annoyed by the interruption. “Just hope these tunnels are stronger than the—” But he never finished what he was going to say. A terrible sound swept over them like hail in a storm. At once, they all fell to their knees, covering their ears. Emily groaned and then tried to scream, but her voice was lost in the sound. For a moment, she was certain her father had failed and that the machine had exploded. But she’d heard explosions before, and this was unlike any sound she’d ever heard before.
The breakfast nook
, she remembered,
The first quake and that sound
. Only this was a hundred times more powerful than the sound they’d first heard.
Mr. Halcomb dropped onto the ground, sprawled out, stretching every limb, shaking.
A seizure?
But she was shaking too—they all were. She could feel the tremors rushing through her like sound ripping the air.
The wave of vibrations suddenly stopped, releasing its hold on them. Emily collapsed next to Peter, gasping for air. She shut her eyes, taking in the blackness, welcoming it, and stayed there until the trembling eased from her muscles.
“Oh my God!” Emily heard Mr. Halcomb shout. “Do you see that? Do you all see that?”
Emily rolled onto her side, holding back her insides. The vibrations left her dizzy, and she knew from before that she’d have to wait it out. The sound of someone retching confirmed how she felt.
“Emily?” Peter asked, and she felt his hand on her arm. “You gotta see this!” The excitement in his voice pulled on her, and she swallowed, trying to stave the nausea. If she was going to vomit then she was just going to have to vomit.
But before Emily opened her eyes, she felt something cast over her face, warming her.
I’m dreaming again
, she told herself. I’m dreaming again, and in a moment I’ll be a pile of glass. A tear crept into the corner of her eye when the bright sunlight bled through her eyelids, convincing her of what was the truth and what was not.
She opened her eyes, finding an image that she’d seen before, but hadn’t expected ever to see again. Emily blinked away the images, convincing herself that it wasn’t real. There was no mistaking the familiar touch of sunlight on her face.
“Is this real?” she managed to ask. Nobody answered. Instead, they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the ocean as the sun cut through the fog, parting the folds of gray, peeling back the clouds like a rind on some forbidden fruit. “This
is
real.”
They were like children again—shoes and shirts cast into a pile—running and dancing, chasing one another, kicking up the water in the surf. It was the laughing that made her heart swell the most, stealing the gloom of the tragedy and stuffing it somewhere far away.
“It’s over!” Peter yelled, taking hold of her hands and spinning her. “Your father did it!”
“He really did… didn’t he?” she said, throwing her head back. Around and around she spun, digging her feet into the warm sand, eating up every bit of sunlight. Emily pulled on Peter’s hands until they were face to face. And though surrounded by others, they were alone in the moment. “Not all things have to end,” she told him, letting the moment take her.
Peter leaned in and kissed her. Her arms melted into his, she held him, pressing her lips onto his.
“Emily!”
Peter pulled back, recognizing the authority in the tone. Her father joined them, and it was then that she saw how many more had come outside.
The sound.
While the sound may have urged them, the sunlight couldn’t be ignored. Nearly everyone from the mall had made their way to the beach.
“You did it!” she yelled.
“Thank you,” Peter said. “Thank you.”
“It’s only temporary,” her father said. His jaw slacked and his eyes emptied. “I stopped the reaction, but I can only hold it long enough for the storm to pass.”
“What? But what does that mean?”
“The machine,” he answered motioning behind him. “If I control the reaction, then the rain will pass. Might even pass without any more damage.”
“So why can’t you just turn it off?” she asked, wondering if there wasn’t more to what her father was saying. He shook his head, peering over at the machine. And she began to think that maybe he was simply unwilling to leave the machine he’d created, to turn off what he’d started.
“It isn’t that simple, Emily.”
“But it is that simple, Dad,” she yelled. “Just leave the machine off!”
As if to emphasize what her father was saying, the vibrations started. She saw the sands quiver, and then felt them shaking around her feet, burying her toes.
“I need to go back before it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“The reaction can only be turned off for short periods. I have to turn it back on, wait for a little while, and then I can stop it again.”
“So you mean the machine was never meant to be turned off?” she asked, and pinched the emotion creeping in.
“It—they—were designed to run perpetually,” he confessed, and in his eyes Emily saw the truth. She saw that this was forever. That it was always meant to be forever.
And before she could say anything more, a detonating sound trumpeted from the coastline, rushing through them like a bullet, causing her to fall back. Her insides rattled and shook. The clouds trembled, and the sunlight shimmered.
“What’s happening?”
“You’ve got to get everyone back inside!” her father screamed. He staggered away from her, racing around everyone until he found Justin. Emily watched them, seeing her family together for the last time in her life.
This is it
, she told herself.
We’ll never see him again.
Emily ran to join her father and brother, taking hold of them, throwing her arms around them. And at that moment the sound died down. She heard none of it, listening only to her father’s words to her and to Justin. His voice cracked amidst broken sobs, telling them to be good to one another, to be good people, and to survive. Justin kept his ears covered, but fixed his wide eyes on her and then her father, terrified by what was happening.
A shadow touched her arm.
Cold.
The blue sky began to fade, and the golden sunlight turned white, pushing gray rainbows high up above them.
“Look at that!” she heard Peter yell. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Gray rainbows jutted up from the ground, scarring the sky like a knife opening a wound. The colors vanished from the world, leaving behind stale shades that moved with the changing sunlight. The color of the sun was stolen too, becoming a white star perched on the end of a rainbow. The sightt was both beautiful and terrifying.
The pot of gold.
Emily glanced over in time to see Peter disappear in the fog. A blur of bright white rode the arch of a rainbow, their sun vanishing as more of the mist closed in. She glanced at the service tunnel, fixing her eyes on the direction.
I can’t lose where it is.
Commotion and chaos came with the sudden fog. Legs and arms flew in every direction, staggering, and trying to run in the loose sand. Her step was hastened by the screaming and crying, terrorized by the memory of the first time the clouds fell.
“I’ve got to get back!” her father screamed. “I’ve got to hold off the storm!” She didn’t know when she’d taken hold of his shirt, but Emily tightened her grip on her father, refusing to let him go.
“No. Please, don’t go, Dad,” she cried, but knew in her heart that he had to leave.
“Em, you’ll understand one day,” he told her and hugged her until the fog completed its return. “Please remember: I’ve always loved you and Justin… I’ll always love you!”
Her father pulled away, and immediately she lost him in the colorless cloud. Emily grabbed for her brother’s arm, gripping Justin until she heard him cry. Her father’s voice was suddenly in her ear then, startling her like a bee that had flown too close. The last thing she heard her father say was, “Whatever you do, don’t get lost in the fog!”
“I won’t, Daddy,” she answered, but thought he’d already gone. “I’ll get everyone back. I’ll take care of them.” And that is what she did. That is what she always did. With Justin at her side, she found Peter and then used her voice to guide the rest of the survivors back into the service tunnel.
Peter stayed with her, waiting in the remaining daylight, and again into the evening. Her father never returned. In the distance, they’d heard the great machine breathing, and she imagined her father working inside, twisting knobs and pushing levers. She imagined him watching a panel of blinking lights, his lips moving as he counted to himself, trying to keep the concentrations down so that their world might survive the storm.
Ms. Parks joined them once, bringing food, and offering Emily a blanket and another one of her huge sweaters. She gratefully accepted, snuggling as close to Peter as she could, sharing the blanket while waiting for the unknown. Hours later, it was Mr. Halcomb’s turn to visit. And by then, he’d surveyed the mall and started a move back inside. The mall survived the storm after all. A tiny thought came to Emily, one that she’d find comfort recalling in the years to come—the survivors would remember her father as the one who’d sacrificed his life to save them.