“I’m taking you home,” he says. “But we have to go now.”
Sophie laughs abruptly. “Now? Have you seen the morons he keeps around this place? Their only job is to make sure we stay put.”
Sophie looks at him, and he can tell she wants more than anything to believe that he can do it. He reaches for her hand. “I have a plan.”
“A plan?” she asks. “What about you? What about the bunker? Don’t you want to stay?”
Caden feels a quick drop in his gut. He knows there’s a part of him that wishes it were an option. It’s the same part that wishes he really did have a dad, a dad who was trying to get to know him, trying to protect him, because he cared. But that’s not Arthur. Arthur is exactly the person Caden thought he was, an egomaniacal control freak, determined to get everything he wants, whatever the risk, whatever the cost.
“I’m leaving, and I want you to come with me.” Caden shakes his hands impatiently, like he’s trying to dry them off. “Okay?” He grabs her hand and pulls her toward the door. Luisa’s cries are getting louder, and it sounds like more people have joined them in the kitchen.
Sophie wiggles her small wrist free as he opens the door. “Caden,” she whispers forcefully. “I can’t. Even if we make it out, he’ll know where I’m going. He’ll come after us…”
“Let him come.” Caden shrugs. “There’s nothing he’ll be able to do once we’re out of here. I won’t let him.”
Sophie searches his face, her big brown eyes simultaneously hopeful and already disappointed, as if she’s been here before and she knows how it ends. Caden takes her hand again. “Trust me,” he says, in somebody else’s voice. Somebody brave and experienced in the art of rescues and quick escapes. Somebody to be trusted. “Can you do that?”
Sophie looks back at her open suitcase. Tiny red splotches have spread across the tops of her cheekbones. She bites the cushiony corner of her pink bottom lip and turns back to Caden. “Okay,” she whispers. “Why not.”
He squeezes her fingers and leads her out into the hall.
They manage to slip through the front door without anybody noticing. The kitchen still buzzes with activity, and as they leave, Caden hears Luisa’s broken voice, calling out a prayer.
Sophie pulls her keys from her purse and unlocks her car, disabling the alarm and emitting a series of jarring beeps. Caden’s hand is on the passenger door when he hears a deep voice, behind them.
“Going somewhere?”
Arthur stands with his arms crossed at the open front door. Caden feels a tingling in the bottoms of his feet, like they’re begging him to run. He glances quickly to Sophie. “Get in the car,” he says.
Sophie eyes Arthur warily before climbing into the car, slamming the door shut behind her.
Caden paces the stone path back to the house. He stands a few feet in front of his father, watching as Arthur’s green eyes widen, then narrow into steely slivers. His lips purse until they’re invisible. Even his hat looks embarrassed, unevenly tilted at the very back of his lumpy, balding head.
“You weren’t even going to say goodbye?” Arthur asks, only he doesn’t sound hurt, or even angry. He sounds, Caden realizes, amused.
Caden stands with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Sophie wanted to leave,” Caden says. “I promised I’d take her home.”
Arthur squints at the sun, as if it’s an eavesdropping nuisance. “She doesn’t need you to take her anywhere, Caden,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. “She has a car, see? She’s free to do whatever she likes.”
“You know that’s not true,” Caden says. His voice is getting louder and he’s suddenly afraid of Sophie hearing them. He plants one foot on the bottom step.
“It is true,” Arthur insists. “We had a deal, which I’m sure she’s told you all about. She could break it at any time. I wasn’t holding her hostage.”
“You were going to let her mom die,” Caden yells. “Of course she couldn’t break your deal. What is wrong with you? Can you possibly be this evil?”
Arthur looks at him. There’s something in his eyes that Caden at first reads as shame, or alarm. But after a while he realizes it’s neither. It’s pity.
Sick-tasting bile rises in the back of Caden’s throat. He feels his forearms thrumming with his pulse as he folds them tightly over his chest. “We’re leaving,” Caden says. “Together.”
Arthur smiles. “We’ll see about that,” he says, looking over Caden’s head toward Sophie in the car.
He moves to sidestep his son, but Caden turns, blocking him with the broadest part of one shoulder. “No,” Caden says. “You won’t. We’ve made up our minds. You have to let us go.”
Arthur takes a step back and smiles again. “I don’t think you’re quite understanding what’s happening here, son,” he spits. “I’m not interested in you anymore. I did what I set out to do. I’d hoped we could spend some time together, and we have. I’d hoped we’d get along, that you’d realize I’m not the bad guy you imagined me to be…”
“You’re right,” Caden interrupts him. “You’re not what I imagined. You’re way, way worse.”
Arthur rolls his eyes and tries to push past Caden again. Caden holds his ground in front of the car, this time shoving Arthur back with his chest.
“Caden, don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur says quietly. “What are you going to do? Take her home, and then what? Seduce her?” He laughs, bitter and dry. “After your little performance with Camille, I can assure you that Sophie won’t be impressed.”
Caden clenches his fists tighter, his heart drumming against the knobby gate of his ribs.
“Oh.” Arthur smirks. “You think I didn’t know?”
Caden steadies his breath. “I don’t care what you know,” he seethes.
Arthur shakes his head. “I guess this is what I get for trying to show you a good time,” he continues. “Not to mention trying to save your life.”
Caden unwraps his arms and lowers them slowly to his sides. He feels his lungs expanding with every cool breath he swallows.
“And here I thought your mother might have raised you to be a bit more grateful,” Arthur sneers.
“Grateful?” Caden balks. “You left her. You left me! I don’t care what your reasons were. If I really meant anything to you, you could have been around. I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t do anything wrong. And every day you weren’t there, every day you didn’t call, you let me think that I did. You want me to be grateful for that?”
Arthur’s smile fades and his eyes grow smaller and dark. He pauses for a moment, then straightens, standing as tall as he can. “All right,” he mutters. “You’re a big boy, Caden. If the idea of being around me is too awful for you to stomach, that’s your business. But Sophie is my business, and she is staying with me.”
Arthur flattens one hand against Caden’s chest and presses him against the concrete railing. Caden tumbles backward into the garden, and Arthur takes two giant steps, crossing high over Caden’s tangled legs, and walks briskly toward the car. “Sophie!”
Caden looks at Sophie, her eyes wide with fear as she fumbles with the key in the ignition. Caden springs to his feet, grasping after Arthur’s legs. Arthur swipes him away, but Caden ducks. Arthur loses his balance and Caden slams into his father’s waist, heaving him back against a row of hedges.
Arthur struggles in the shrubs to catch his balance, lunging back at Caden. Again, Caden ducks. This time, Arthur stumbles forward, landing on his knees in the gravel.
All Caden can hear is the whistling of his breath in his nostrils. Arthur looks like he’s breathing heavy as he slowly stands. He’s facing the door, and for a moment Caden thinks he’s going to walk back inside, close the door behind him, and pretend that this—none of it—ever happened.
Then, in a flash, Arthur spins around, barreling toward the car. Caden pulls back his arm, balls up his fist, and swings it against Arthur’s jaw. There’s an awful clicking sound, all teeth and bones and loosened joints, a
nd Arthur falls back once again. He grabs his face with one hand and crumples from his shoulders to his waist, leaning against the concrete steps.
Sophie has started the car and pulls it up beside him. Caden is breathing so hard that it hurts. He watches as Arthur checks his hand for blood, and snaps his jaw open and shut.
“You know,” Arthur says finally, catching his breath. “The funny thing about you, Caden—and I mean this as a compliment: we’re a lot more alike than you think.”
Arthur adjusts his hat on his head and turns toward the house.
“She’s all yours.” Arthur waves with one hand on the door. “Good luck.”
Caden climbs into the car and Sophie peels out, a cloud of dirt and gravel rising in their wake. Sophie doesn’t stop at the light at the end of the driveway, screeching around the sharp corner and speeding away.
SIENNA
Sienna and Owen had camped far off in the woods, away from everyone, away from the coming news—good or bad—about the rocket. She had turned her phone off after saying goodbye to her father, and when she powered it on this morning there were no messages. This seemed like good news. But as Sienna and Owen hike back in to the brickyard, where most of the others have slept, she can tell something is up.
People are standing straighter, and some are crying; others have an empty, shocked look about them. By the time Jeremy runs back from the barn, Owen’s face is already hard and set, his shoulders pushed back and prepared.
“It didn’t work,” Owen guesses, before Jeremy has even said a word.
Jeremy nods, his eyes tired and his skin pale beneath the scraggly mess of his beard.
Owen looks frantically around the campsite, as if waiting for somebody to tell him what to do next. Sienna feels suddenly hot, and trapped in her own skin. She looks to Owen, expecting him to hug her, or tell her it will be all right.
There’s a commotion nearby, and Sienna grabs automatically for Owen’s hand. She needs him near her and doesn’t want to lose him to anybody else.
But this time it’s not a drunken disturbance. It’s a heated discussion between Rex and a couple of other men Sienna had seen the day before, building a set of stairs with their young sons.
“There’s just no way,” one man is saying, throwing an arm around his sons’ shoulders. “Maybe if we had another week…”
“Who knows what we have?” Rex yells, throwing up his hands. “You really think they know anything about when or where this thing will hit? Could be tomorrow, could be next year. Could be never.”
“Yeah.” The other man nods slowly. “But it’s a risk. And I got other kids, you know. My wife, she thinks I’m nuts. I can’t just leave them like this.”
“Tell you what,” the first man says, gripping Rex’s arm in his square, builder’s palm. “If nothing happens, we’ll be back tomorrow night. We’ll work until it’s finished. But for now, we’re going home.”
The men lead their sons over the ridge and toward the trail. Jeremy’s father spits into the woods behind them, tugging at the roots of his dark, curly hair. He seems so small from far away. Sienna wants to look away, but can’t.
She hears Owen’s breathing get heavy and rough. “What did people expect?” he says with a half-crazed grin. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? I mean, if everyone thought it was all going to just go away, what were they doing busting their asses for the last three weeks?”
Owen forces a harsh-sounding laugh. Sienna can hear the masked fear in his voice. She knows he’s only trying to stay focused, to keep himself, and everyone else, from sinking into a spiral of panic, or worse, despair. But still, she wishes he would take a moment to look at her, at least. She needs to know she’s still there.
He works quickly to stow the rest of his belongings in the tent before clapping his hands together and starting out toward the barn.
“Ready?” he calls to Sienna without turning around.
Sienna wants to say yes. She wants to be back up on the rafters, holding his hand, talking about what’s left to do before time runs out.
But the truth is that time is up. And it isn’t about what she wants anymore. It’s about what she needs to do, and where she needs to be. “Owen,” she starts.
He must hear it, something, in her voice. He stops and turns to face her slowly.
“Don’t say it,” he whispers.
Her arms hang loose at her sides and she wishes she could do something useful with them, wrap them around him, or pull him down the mountain and make him come with her, make him understand.
“I have to go home,” she says. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
Owen runs his long fingers through his thick, dark hair. “This is the only thing that makes sense,” he says. His body looks tight and condensed, like he carries a charge. “Don’t you get it?”
Sienna shakes her head. “I miss my family,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. And I know that you want to believe that this is going to work, but…”
“I don’t want to believe it,” he says. “I believe it. That’s the difference between you and me.”
Sienna crosses her arms. She feels her breath getting choppy and hard. “What?”
“You can’t let yourself hope for anything, can you?” he asks. “You think that just because you’ve had some shitty luck, just because some bad things have happened to you, you can just close your eyes to everything good in the world. It’s like you’re afraid to imagine a happy ending, even when you have no choice. Even when it might save your life.”
Sienna lets his words hang, waiting to see if they’ll feel any different the longer they echo between them. “Shitty luck?” she repeats. It sounds almost like a bark.
“Yeah.” Owen nods. “Your mom died. And you won’t talk about it, but I know you’ve had a hard time. I’m sorry about that. It’s really awful. But really awful things happen all of the time. Another big one might happen tomorrow. And you can either stand up against it, prepare for it, put yourself in the best possible position to meet it head-on … or you can give up. Those are your choices.”
Sienna crosses her arms and looks farther along the ridge. A new crop of kids is taking down their tents, shouldering their bags, and starting for the trail. If she hurries she can join them, maybe hitch a ride into town.
“Sienna,” Owen says. He reaches for her hands, but she pulls them away. “Sienna, I’m sorry. Please. Don’t do this. You have to stay. I need you. I love you,” he says. “Please don’t give up.”
The words land like bullets, piercing her skin, burrowing into her heart. “I love you, too,” she says. “And I’m not giving up. I’m going home. I know you don’t think there’s a difference, and yesterday I probably would have agreed with you. But not today.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
Sienna waits for a moment, wondering if there’s more for them to say. Owen looks at her, his eyes wounded and searching, before throwing up his hands. He walks quickly, each step more determined than the last, down the trail toward the barn. She waits until she can’t see him anymore, until he’s a speck on the sand inching toward the horizon, before she starts to cry.
ZAN
Highways are always the same. Even with so much traffic, there’s a comforting familiarity to a well-traveled route, the signs always in the same place, marking the same turns and towns, the landmarks and bridges and tolls. But as Nick turns off at their exit and they wind along the smaller roads through parts of Falmouth and into the harbor village of Woods Hole, it’s clear that a great deal has changed.
Everything is closed—the bank, the historical museum, the bagel places and seafood shacks—but that was to be expected. What Zan hadn’t expected was the dense cloud of panic that has crept out into the streets, seemingly overnight.
There’s something about the word tomorrow, she thinks. Tomorrow is the day they’ve been hearing about, every day, for the past six months. Even before there was an actual date, when it was a day that nobody could believe would ever com
e, it was still a day. An event. A moment in time that existed somewhere in the near-but-distant future, looming over their every thought, move, and prayer.
Today, that day is tomorrow. And tomorrow is definitely real. Too real. As soon as they pass the first gas station, Nick is forced to slow the car to a crawl. Not because of more traffic, but because of the hordes of people flooding the sidewalks and spilling out onto the road. It’s sort of like a parade except that nobody is moving. People stand outside of their houses, hugging each other, sitting on curbs or stoops. It could have had the same free-for-all, festival feeling that they saw in the city last night, but somehow, it doesn’t. There are too many tears, too much hand-holding and hard-set eyes. Even the kids look frightened. They’re doing their best to “play,” set up by well-meaning parents with toys and games, but it’s clear by the way they look over their shoulders that they, too, know something isn’t right.
“Jesus,” Nick whispers as they inch carefully forward. Every so often people glance at them through the windshield, confused, as if motor vehicles are a thing of some long-ago past. They shuffle slowly out of the way, too distracted to notice or care that their toes are inches from being run over. Zan feels the urge to wave, or roll down the window and apologize, as if they are the ones out of line.
Which, in a way, they are. What are they doing, so far from home? What did home even look like, today? Were people they knew doing the same thing that people were doing here? Milling around in the middle of the streets, just to not be alone?
Main Street is too much of a circus to drive down, so they park at the docks and walk. The stores here are closed, too, all except for one: a flag quivers in front of the jewelry store at the end of the block, yellow and white with a big blue moon at the center.
“Ready?” Ever since Zan listened to Amelia’s message Nick has spoken only in one-word sentences. At first, she tried to bait him with harmless conversation, but she could feel something charged and tense radiating between them, from the angle of his jaw, the death-grip of his long, freckled fingers on the wheel.
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