Emily caught a short breath and took hold of Peter’s shirt, reassuring him with her focus. She reached over, wiping the blood so that he could see. He jerked forward, swinging his arm, and punched away a bundle of falling magazines. The floor beneath them shook as the store tumbled and fell around them. And then there came a cry from somewhere outside the store. The screams were distant, yet close enough for her to think it could be one of the twins.
When the shaking slowed, a low rumble filled her ears. She winced when the pressure punched the air. Peter’s lips moved furiously, screaming words she couldn’t hear. The hollow sound grew and shook them in a very different way. Her body vibrated; assaulted by the sound.
A shockwave?
What she thought was an earthquake must have been part of an explosion. A huge explosion.
“Earthquake?” She managed to hear Peter asked. His words were muffled and hard to make out. She shook her head. “What then?”
“I think there was an explosion,” she answered, and knew she was screaming so that he could hear her. He shook his head, giving up on hearing anything. With her hands, she motioned an explosion, and then mouthed the word. Peter nodded. He was holding her again. She could feel him shaking, the adrenaline making his muscles twitch and quiver uncontrollably. Emily felt strangely calm. She understood then; Peter hadn’t experienced the outside. He didn’t hear his neighbors die, or have his house collapse around him, or crash in a car wreck that killed his parents. But what was outside was coming inside now. Whatever exploded, she feared may have ripped its way into the mall where they were supposed to be safe.
“We can move now,” she offered, trying to stand up in the wreckage of what was the store. She braced herself on Peter’s shoulders, pushing until she was upright. Peter held her hand as they stood. He brushed the remains of dust and pieces of ceiling from his shirt and hair. “How’s your head?” The bleeding from the gash had slowed, leaving red trails between his eyes and traveling down to his chin. Emily gently pressed paper napkins atop the cut.
“Thanks. What the—” he started to say, but his voice faded as he circled around the store.
“Explosion,” she offered. Their voices remained thin like talking into a tin-can. Emily tried blowing out air to pop her ears. “Must’ve been a real close one. Maybe a gas station?” Peter motioned his head up and down, agreeing while she spoke, but she wasn’t sure he heard much of what she’d said.
“Well, at least we didn’t lose too much in here.” Peter made his way around the debris, taking large steps, propping up some of what fell. “Lost a few of your tea drinks though.” When he motioned to the display refrigerator, she could see he was still shaking and stepped closer to him, taking his hand into hers.
“Come on,” she said, leading him from the store. “We should go see if anyone needs help.”
“Yeah,” he answered. His voice sullen, his gaze unfocused. “Probably a good idea.”
VIII
DEATH PLUS ONE
The mall had suffered some,
but fared better than the store. Trashcans had toppled over, spewing their insides onto the floor. Storefront windows had cracked or shattered, leaving behind sharp fingers or a pile of blue and white pebbles. The roofline of the smoothie stand—a favorite that she’d often frequented—had broken away from its beam, demolishing a set of fruit mixers. Her ears popped, and she forced a yawn as though she were on an airplane. Peter circled around her, dragging his feet while he studied the damages. He pressed a finger in his ear, shaking his hand, trying to clear his hearing.
Debris fell around them. She pushed a palm out, facing up, collecting some of the pieces. The bigger pieces ticked against her hand, bouncing. But the finer debris—filled with shards of white and yellow—fell like a light snow, drifting and following her hand when she waved it in front of her. These weren’t flakes of ice that had been miraculously shaped into miniature sculptures. The debris was paper and insulation and other building materials like she’d seen before in her garage when it collapsed.
“Here,” she said, offering a napkin. Peter motioned to the bloodied one still in his hand, but she shook her head. “Not for your head. Put this over your mouth.” He understood, following her instructions, copying her motions.
“Everyone okay over there?” a voice yelled out from the food court. A small figure of a man was clouded by the dust in the air, making him seem further away than he was. Peter waved a hand, pitching his thumb up above his head. “We’re checking this end if you can go check that end. Come back in ten to meet up.”
“Will do,” Emily found herself calling out. She looked to Peter, and added, “Let’s be quick though… I need to go check on Justin.”
“I think it’s just us and the twins down this far,” he answered her. She wondered if another explosion would come though. How many things had been left on, running? How many power plants? How many factories or industrial plants were crying out like babies, having been left alone, unattended. And if that was just a tantrum, how bad would the next one be? Like her house, the world around them could explode and collapse a little bit at a time.
Emily and Peter only needed to walk the length of a few stores before finding death. One of the twins had fallen from the second level, landing on the mall’s concrete and stone floor. The twin was flat on her back; one of her arms pinned beneath, disappearing, as if it never existed. Her legs were spread apart, clean of any blood, but Emily could see bone jutting under the skin of one leg, just beneath the twin’s knee; broken, nearly piercing through her skin. A halo of blood circled above the twin’s head, creating a crown of red spray against the bright stone. As Emily knelt beside the twin, she placed her hand on the girl’s middle, soft and attentive. Hopeful. A whimper from above them grew into a shallow cry.
“I tried to hold her, but she slipped,” the girl’s twin told them. “Is she… is she dead?” Emily saw no movement. The fallen girl was completely still. She moved her hand, laying it on the girl’s chest and waited, hoping to see a sudden breath erupt like you sometimes see in the movies. The blood from the back of Fen’s head continued to pool, and Emily realized that even if Fen were alive, she’d need a hospital, a brain surgeon or something, anything more than what they could possibly have had in the food court.
“What should we do?” she asked, whispering. “Should we just leave her here and get help?”
“I’m not sure,” Peter answered, kneeling down and pressing his fingers against Fen’s neck. His hands were like those of a football player, big, thick, and next to Fen’s slender neck; they looked giant. “Not sure if I’m doing this right, but I think I’m feeling something.” Emily rested her hand on his, pulling it away.
“Here let me try,” she said. Her hand was shaking, but it steadied when she touched Fen’s neck.
No thumb and just a soft touch
, she recalled, hunting for a pulse. Fen’s skin was warm, and didn’t feel dry and papery like the others had: dead.
Peter and Jin waited for her to say something. They stayed quiet and still, leaving only the song of falling debris to tick along in a solo chorus.
A bump.
Emily’s heart leaped: encouraged.
A second bump. Faint. Nearly missed.
Unsure, Emily thought it could have been her own heartbeat. She lightly readjusted her fingers. Another bump came, and then another.
“Fen’s alive! Her pulse is really weak though, but I can feel it!” Emily brushed back Fen’s hair, clearing the girl’s eyes.
Jin shrieked, and she took off without another word, running to the stairs, her shoes clapping on the floor. In the empty mall, the sound waned but never quite disappeared. They heard her coming down the stairs, and then running toward them, her shoes clapping louder, until joining them next to her fallen sister.
“Can you help me take her to the food court?” Jin asked, huffing her words as she tried to catch her breath. “We’re light—really light.” Jin motioned to her own body, implying that they should carry her sister.
“Should we move her?” Peter asked.
“I don’t think we can just leave her here,” Emily answered but was still uncertain. She glanced at the bloody crown and noticed the blood coming from Fen’s head had slowed. If there was any time left, it wasn’t much.
“Or maybe…” he began, but abruptly stopped. Peter raced away from them. He disappeared into a linen store, returning a moment later with a blocky plastic package containing a comforter. “Help me get her on here and we’ll drag her. Should slide on this floor like ice.”
Laying out the comforter, Jin was right, her sister weighed next to nothing. Rolling Fen to one side first, they pushed the blanket beneath her tiny frame. And doing the same on her other side let them pull the blanket through, creating a stretcher for the girl. They needed to hurry.
By the time the food court was in sight, Fen had started to show gray in her face and hands. Emily pressed her fingers on the girl’s wrist, hunting for a pulse, but only felt the cold.
Still not papery dead though.
The change in coloring was easy to see with Fen’s sister standing next to her. Identical, but their color had become grossly distant.
“Who’s that?” Justin’s tiny voice asked from behind them. Relieved, Emily let out a slight moan, turning to find her little brother. He approached, along with two other boys. “Is she dead, too?”
“NO! She’s not dead,” Jin snapped at him. She darted doubtful eyes from Emily to Peter, before settling them on her gray sister. “She’s hurt is all.”
“Well, she looks dead,” one of the boys blurted. “She looks like the others do… the ones in the back.” Emily realized that the boys must have been in the back where she and Peter put Mr. Rainer’s body. Justin would have never gone before. Not alone, anyway. But the mall was a large place, and as Peter had shown her, there was more to it than what she’d ever seen.
“Oh my! What happened?” Ms. Parks asked, her silver hair bouncing when she moved around the blanket. Emily’s old teacher was as round and jiggly as she remembered her being. “Quick, help me take her to the back.”
Emily stepped away, handing the corner of the blanket over to Ms. Parks. Blistery pink skin and burns with coin sized welts riddled the older woman's hands. Emily cringed at the sight. A wrapping of loose white tape mended the deeper openings, but the ends hung free, wagging back and forth as Ms. Parks moved to help with Fen. The sight added little confidence. Certainly Fen would need more than some white medical tape. But she couldn’t be concerned for Fen; she needed Justin, probably more than he needed her.
“Come over here you,” Emily demanded, but pushed up a smile for her little brother to see. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“No you haven’t!” Justin answered sharply. “You’ve been carrying people. Dead people. I saw you.”
“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” was all that she could think to say. But what bothered her was how easily he’d mentioned dead people, as though this—all of this—was somehow normal. She sighed, listening to him give her attitude, but at the same time, she felt thankful just to hear her brother’s voice. That’s what her father called it:
attitude
. Justin was hurting. And it wasn’t just his words. She could see it in the way he was fidgeting too. “Come here.” Emily knelt down and opened her arms. Justin peered over to the other boys, curious to see their reaction, maybe even looking for their approval, but then he left them behind and raced into her arms. The tugging in her heart, the pulling to be near him grew stronger, and she hugged him back until she thought she’d squeezed all the air out of him.
“Daddy never came,” Justin sobbed. Emily thought about her father and nodded, but couldn’t say a word.
I’ll cry if I do.
Was there anything she could say? How do I tell him that they’re dead?
Leave it alone?
Would he forget them? “He promised he’d come, but he never did.” She listened, but a million other questions flooded her mind.
“I know, Justin. And I know he wanted to be here with us.”
“Em… if Daddy doesn’t come, then who’s gonna take care of us now?”
She lost her words and pulled her brother close to her. Warm tears cut into her cheeks. Whatever her father had done had been hiding in her thoughts since she’d woken up. Having Justin in her arms pulled the horror from the shadows, and now she’d become afraid—they were alone.
IX
THE MEETING
Emily hardly noticed the people
gathering while Justin sobbed into her shirt. She ran a hand through his hair, trying to comfort him. A maternal instinct clicked inside, an unavoidable sense that made her nervous for him—for them—protective and guarding.
Those gathering would surely take interest in knowing the truth behind what had happened to the world. She could only hope that Justin said nothing to anyone about their father’s work. Emily stood up, holding onto her little brother’s hand.
“Come on, let’s go,” Peter said, his warm hand cradling the small of her back. With a gentle nudge, he encouraged her to follow him. “Bring Justin, too. Hey there little man.” Justin’s upturned face revealed a toothy smile beneath the shine on his wet cheeks.
“You sure?” she asked, wondering if the discussion might include anything that would be better left unheard. “On second thought… Justin, how about you and your friends get something to eat?” Her little brother’s face went rigid, caution wavered in his gaze.