I try to push away the thoughts of my family, but then I’m thinking of Hailey and Gianna, my closest friends and then there’s Jaxson, who I’d only started seeing.
All of them live in this town.
My fear and horror are choking me up.
Please God, don’t be that cruel.
The trip back to my house is quick, but my panicked thoughts make it feel like an eternity. The scattered remains of so many dead don’t help. Dread is already mixing with my fear.
My lungs burn and my legs are threatening to give out when I catch sight of the pea green house that I’ve always called home. It’s always been a bit snug for the seven of us siblings that grew up in it. Add to that all of the friends and neighbors we had coming and going through that front door over the years, and it was always a noisy, boisterous place where you could kick your feet up and hang—if you didn’t mind the fact that we all basically lived on top of each other.
I dash up the front walkway and barrel through the door. The first thing I notice is the smell of something burning, but the thought is quickly eclipsed by the sight in front of me.
A scream slips out. My brother River sits on the couch, his body slumped over his guitar, his pick on the ground next to him.
“No,” I moan, running over to him. There are more bodies—Nicolette and her husband Stephen are in the kitchen, their younger daughter in the highchair my mom keeps around for her grandkids.
At the sight of my tiny niece, I have to press a hand to my mouth to keep my rising sickness at bay. A horrified tear slips out.
I can’t bring myself to touch the bodies. I know they’re gone, but feeling their cool flesh will make it real, and I … I can’t do that just yet.
My brother Ethan lies on the ground in front of the stove, and there is the source of the smoke—the breakfast he was cooking sits charred in the pan.
I don’t know why I go to the trouble of removing that pan from the stovetop. Everyone here is already dead.
I stagger down the hallway, into my bedroom. Robin is inside, splayed out on the bed she used to sleep in before she moved out. Briana, my niece, is slumped against her, the picture book they must’ve been reading pinned beneath her small body. Their eyes stare sightlessly out and I choke on my horror.
We were supposed to be celebrating Briana’s birthday today, not … not this.
Owen and Juniper and their families haven’t arrived yet, so the only person still unaccounted for is— “Mom!” I shout.
No answer.
Nononopleaseno.
She can’t be dead.
“Mom!” My heart feels like it’s trying to leap out of my chest.
I run from room to room like a madwoman, searching for her. She was here when I left this morning, already prepping for the birthday party, but now I don’t see her.
Gone is better than dead, I try to tell myself.
But then I glance out the living room window into the backyard. First I catch sight of the long wooden table already prepped with plates and utensils and some birthday decorations. Beyond that I notice the big oak tree that I used to climb as a kid. For a moment I’m able to trick myself into thinking that she was an exception, just like me, before my eyes land on the raised garden beds.
No.
My legs fold.
“Mom.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s too hoarse, too agonized.
She lays next to the raised beds, some gathered herbs strewn next to her.
I force myself to my feet and stumble towards the back door. I don’t know how I get it open, I can’t see clearly, my tears are obscuring everything.
I don’t want to believe this death. This woman saved me and took me in. She showed me what grace and bravery and compassion and love look like. To quote my second grade writing prompt, my mother is my hero.
And somehow, her incredible life is just gone.
I don’t know how I manage to get the rest of the way to her. Nothing feels right. I fall at my mom’s side. This close to her, I can see that her eyes, too, are open, sightlessly staring up at the sky as though it holds the answers.
A choked cry slips from me as I drag her body into my arms. Her skin feels wrong—warm where the sun has been beaming down, but cooler where it’s rested against the grass.
I still press my fingers to her neck; I can’t bear not to.
Nothing. No flutter of a pulse—nothing to challenge what I can so obviously see.
I close my eyes, bowing my head over her. Tears now freely slip down my face.
My entire family can’t be gone. They can’t.
I’m weeping and broken and I can’t process any of it.