Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
I close the door behind me, locking the handle. Then I drop my pack to the kitchen floor and walk farther inside.
When I reach the pantry door, I open it and peek inside. The shelves are lined with food and Mom’s aprons hang from the dragonfly hook on the wall.
“Mom? Dad? Are you here?”
I cling to a few seconds of hope that one of them will answer. But there’s silence. When the sun-filled family room comes into view, my stomach sinks.
The books that lined the floor-to-ceiling shelves on one wall are scattered on the floor. The cushions on the furniture are in tatters, all of them looking like they’ve been cut open with knives.
I take in a slow, deep breath, my finger hovering over the trigger of my gun. Making sure my back is covered by walls, I slowly creep toward the hallway and into one of the guest bedrooms.
The bed is perfectly made, covered with a colorful quilt made by Grandma Nadine. Nothing seems out of place.
I go to my mom’s office next, my throat tightening.
It’s destroyed. Every book is on the floor and her desk has been cleared of nearly everything. Her computer is gone, and so are her trademark notebooks. She fills them with drawings, field notes and journal entries, and there are always stacks of filled notebooks on her desk and shelves.
I open her desk drawers and only find pens and other office supplies. The drawer where she keeps every card Dad, Mae and I give her is empty.
Outwardly, I’m cool and alert, but inwardly I’m seething. Someone violated my mom’s sacred, personal space. They took her belongings. The pit in my stomach just keeps growing.
My parents’ bedroom is next, and I’m dreading it. I fear finding their bodies side by side in their bed, their hands clasped and their eyes eternally open.
I steel myself and walk into the room, tears springing to my eyes when I find the neatly made bed empty. I make my way to their walk-in closet, scented with the sweet smell of the cedar that lines the walls.
Everything goes still when I see it. My dad’s worn leather holster is hanging from its hook, his 1911 tucked into it. My shoulders slump because now I know.
I don’t have official confirmation, but my dad doesn’t leave the house without his holster and 1911. He keeps it locked in his car’s trunk when he’s going somewhere he can’t bring it in, but he always, always takes it with him.
Either Dad didn’t leave the house on his own, or something happened to him here. I feel it deep inside, just like I know that wherever they are—alive or not—they’re together.
I’m not giving up hope, but this is a huge blow. Their house was ransacked by someone, and it wasn’t typical looters. The food and Dad’s gun wouldn’t be here if that were the case.
Why would someone want my mom’s computer and her notebooks? It doesn’t make sense. The world is literally on the brink of collapse, and she’s a college professor.
I continue searching the house, going through every closet in every room. When I unlock Dad’s gun safe and find it stocked with weapons and ammunition, I cry with relief.
He’s not here, but I still feel him. I imagine him telling me to stay strong and be aware of my surroundings. I’m sleep-deprived, and that makes people slow and sloppy.
I load two guns, then close and relock the safe.
My bedroom closet is much wider than the doors indicate. After eating some peanut butter and a can of ravioli, I make sure I’m locked inside the house and crawl into the hidden space in my closet with the guns, a pillow, and a blanket, rearranging boxes to hide myself.
I’ll stay here for now, in case Mae or my parents come. And if they don’t, I’ll leave a note and set out to search for them.
It’s like looking for a single grain of sand on a vast beach, but I don’t know what else to do. My dad prepared all of us to survive a situation like this, but all his plans assumed we’d be together.
I’m not giving up on any of them, but for now, I’m in this alone.
13
“I couldn’t check in sooner because I embedded myself as a recruit for the Robo-wives program. I freed eight women and took out two guards. Not my assignment, I know, but don’t expect an apology.” - Decoded message from ILF undercover operative Nightingale to ILF handler Hiro Tanaka
Briar
Poe does not look well.
The rat has blood caked in his fur from throwing himself against the door to his metal wire cage and clawing wildly at it, trying to escape. I hoped he’d settle overnight, but he’s worse today.
“I guess it’s good you’re in there alone,” I say to him, sighing softly. “If there was a female in there, I’d be hosting a rat baby shower.”