The Rains (Untitled #1)

Once we’d gotten back to the gym, we’d circled up the kids and reported what we knew. Or at least what we thought we knew.

At the mention of the eyeball, terror rippled across the room, stiffening the spines of the kids. Now we weren’t just talking about parasites and altered adults. We were talking about aliens, advanced technologies, government conspiracies. The room buzzed with theories.

It quickly became clear that our questions would find no answers right now, so Dr. Chatterjee took charge, focusing our efforts. We’d sprung into action, setting schedules for lookouts, checking that all lights and appliances were in the off position, then getting the backup generator up and running. The generator was supposed to supply three weeks of power, but with everything turned off aside from the water heater, refrigerators, and freezers, we were hoping to stretch out that time frame much longer. Patrick and Ben ran sneak missions to the chained-shut perimeter gates, switching the school’s locks for thick padlocks from our PE lockers.

After my lookout shift watching the northeast quadrant from a perch atop Mr. Tomasi’s desk, I spent the afternoon and evening talking to as many kids as possible to start piecing together the story of what had happened—what was happening—to Creek’s Cause. Everyone seemed to have a different bit of information. Through bouts of tears, JoJo and Rocky bravely described the events of the last week around their house. Dr. Chatterjee and I sat down and figured out how a parasite like Ophiocordyceps unilateralis might have worked its way through Hank McCafferty’s distended gut into the frontal cortex of every adult in our county.

By the time midnight rolled around, my hand was cramped from writing and I had caught up to myself here, now, in the gym.

I clicked off the Maglite I’d checked out of the supply station that Eve Jenkins had been given the job of running out of the storage room. Then I leaned back on my cot, staring up at the high ceiling. Pennants overhead announced various sports titles. It had seemed so important last year when our baseball team won regionals.

I turned my head, looking at the cots lined neatly in rows. Most kids were sleeping, but a few were crying, some more quietly than others. Patrick was on lookout atop the bleachers, his big form barely visible against the casement window, watching over everything like a guardian angel. Less than a week until he turned eighteen. If we didn’t get help or if the spores didn’t magically dissipate, he’d turn into something unrecognizable. The thought stole the breath from my lungs.

He was my best friend. He was my only family. He was the only person left who’d known me since I was born, who’d held me when I was a baby.

What would you do if you only had seven days left with your favorite person in the world?

Cassius lay beneath my bed, sleep-breathing with a faint whistle, but that only reminded me of my other pups and made me feel more alone. I thought of Zeus out there somewhere. I’d been eight when he was born; I’d known him half my life. I’d delivered him myself, the biggest boy in the first litter that Uncle Jim had let me take care of. Zeus’s first act had been to yawn a puppy yawn in my face, his pink tongue curling. I pictured him now, grown and powerful, running through the forest, the other ridgebacks at his side. Were they hungry? Were they cold? Cassius whimpered in his sleep. Did he miss his father as much as I did?

Tears slid down my temples. With everything going on, I was crying over my missing dogs? And yet they seemed the only thing safe to focus on right now. When I thought of Mom and Dad or Uncle Jim and Sue-Anne or what was waiting for Patrick, I wanted to come apart.

Springs creaked on the cot next to me as Alex sat down, her hair twisted up in a threadbare gym towel. Fortunately, the locker rooms were right off the nearest hall, so we had easy access to toilets, sinks, and showers. Chatterjee had set a two-minute limit on hot showers to save energy, and Alex had been one of the first to jump on the offer. She smelled like soap and some girly shampoo, and if I hadn’t felt so embarrassed for crying, I might have been distracted. I wiped at my cheeks, hoping she couldn’t see my face in the darkness.

She lay back and shot a sigh at the ceiling. With Patrick on lookout and the kids around us asleep, it was almost like we were alone. That made me uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure why.

“I thought it was bad when my mom left,” she said. “Every day when school got out, I used to run to the oak tree out front. And I’d sit on that low branch—the one that dips down, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said.

Everyone knew that branch.

“And I’d wait and pray that her little Jeep would turn in to the parking lot. And she’d pull up and flash that huge smile and say, ‘I was just kidding, honey. I’d never leave you behind. I’d never leave you—’” Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth. “I guess I couldn’t believe I’d never see that smile again.”

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