At the far end of the cluttered family room, a ten-year-old sprawled face down on the floor beside a closed door.
Nate crept up, grabbed both bare feet, and dragged him back.
The boy pumped his legs viciously.
Nate grumbled and let go. “That’s what you get for using my recon spot again, Maggot.”
The boy did a clumsy kick-up before pushing him away. “Next time you do that, Bumppo, you’re gonna regret it.”
Nate swatted the back of his little brother’s head. “Told you not to call me that.”
Tally flipped some of the boy’s rumpled hair back into place. “So Caden, does this mean you eavesdrop on my conversations too?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”
“Out of my way, Maggot, I’m on a mission.” He shoved him aside and crouched by the door to listen.
A man’s muffled voice growled, “—that culvert on his property, and the hack screws up my new crown. Nerve pain hurts worse than getting—”
Nate stood and rattled the handle when he opened the door. He sauntered into the narrow kitchen, whistling off-key. “Smells like Venison Stew Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Natty Bumppo Finley.” His mother’s stern delivery stopped him in his tracks. She held a vegetable knife over a scrawny carrot in the middle of a cutting board streaked with sunlight streaming through the bank of windows.
His father leaned back on a small antique hutch and pressed an ice bag against the left side of his face.
Tally strolled into the kitchen. “Greetings, Finleys.”
Nate’s mother pushed a strand of gray-streaked hair off her forehead as her voice softened. “Well, hello there. How’s our favorite virtuosa doing? You gonna work on that Scarlatti piece and join us for supper? You already heard what’s on the menu from the town crier.”
“Thanks, but Pop’s grilling the last of the salmon, so I gotta go. See you later. Hope you feel better, Scott.” She disappeared into the dining room.
They all stayed motionless until the front door clattered shut.
Nate slouched beside his father and glanced out the windows at Tally stepping off the porch and scurrying toward the street. “Looks like you’re hurting, Dad.”
His mother whacked the carrot in two. “Had a little chat with your coach at the store today.”
Nate tossed his hat onto a nearby lampshade. “I just got pissed about having to play indoor soccer and being cut off from the outside world like I’m living in a damn cave, that’s all. Remember those volunteers last summer? One of ’em said he felt sorry for me being stuck in the past and sounding more like his dad than a guy my age. Plus, I don’t even know how to swear right.”
She shook the knife at him. “We’ve gone over this way too many times. Bad enough you’re still having problems at school, but now soccer too? There’s only three weeks left till summer vacation, Natty, three weeks. Why can’t you just—?”
“What’s with pointing a knife at me, Elena?”
She cleared her throat. “How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”
“Nowhere near as many as I’ve asked you to quit calling me Natty.”
She dropped the knife onto the cutting board and crossed her arms. “Enough with the same old distraction routine, young man. You agreed to stay calm at practice and at—”
“How come you always—?”
A paralyzing shiver surged up and down his spine.
“Natty, what’s wrong? Are you—?”
The shrill whistle made them all scream and clap their hands over their ears.
A sleek shadow flashed outside.
Scott dove headlong into them, tackling both to the floor.
The horrendous blast rocked the house to its foundation.
The windows imploded, hurling a barrage of glass shards and splintered wood inches above their heads. The hutch toppled and crashed onto the floor. Plates and bowls flew every which way. Mammoth chunks of ceiling plaster slammed onto the counters and the stove. A swirling cloud of dust filled the air, and debris blanketed everything.
Scott bellowed through the deafening racket. “Caden, where are you?”
A faint voice came from the family room. “Here, Daddy. I’m stuck.”
Scott scrambled over the wreckage, dodging more falling plaster.
Elena yanked Nate to his feet and shoved him toward the dining room. “Basement, now.”
He lurched forward, choking and gagging.
Broken glass and crumbling drywall crunched underfoot. Mangled electrical wires snapped and arced. Unseen lumber cracked and groaned like dying monsters. Burst pipes spewed jets of water. Dull explosions reverberated all around.
Nate froze in the living room. He fought to breathe as he gawked through the haze at the shattered windows and shredded curtains, then at the demolished upright piano in the far corner of the room.
A dented red van door impaling the top board still wobbled from the impact.
He shrieked, “Tally, Tally!”
His father brushed past him. “I’ll find her. Get to the safe spot.”
Nate headed toward the hallway and ran into a pulverized door.
His mother whirled him away. “Basement, not your room.”
Caden fell against him, wrapping his arms around his waist. They stumbled together through another doorway and down the steep stairs leading to the undamaged daylight basement. Coughing and wheezing, they reached a dank storage room at the front of the house where they huddled under a small window set high on the concrete wall.
Nate suddenly rushed over to the freestanding utility sink, put his face under the faucet, and turned the cold water on.
His brother gulped for air. “Supposed to…stay over here. Hey, you got stabbed.”
Nate let the water trickle off his face while he looked down at the long, narrow piece of glass piercing his left pant leg above his ankle. He plucked out the shard and threw it into a dark corner.
Caden took a turn under the faucet. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“Don’t know.” Nate rubbed the wound with his right foot and lost his balance, bumping into a wooden crate under the closed window. He pushed the stack of framed photos to one side and straddled the crate.
After doing a fingertip pull-up on the concrete ledge, he peered through the smudged glass at ground level and gasped.
@Across the street, towering flames engulfed the one-story house, the pickup in the driveway, and the van along the curb. A ring of fire surrounded the deep crater in the park where the playground had been.
He craned his neck to follow the lineup of battered and burning roofs in the ravaged neighborhood, then noticed a flurry of movement near the van.
His father reeled toward the street, dragging something behind him.
The smoldering body was scorched into a hideous pose. One of its twisted forearms stuck straight up, the gnarled hand waving with each bounce over the rubble.
Scott covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief on his way back into the billowing smoke.
Elena’s steady voice came from the other side of the basement. “Boys, I’m here. Natty, what can you see?”
He gagged on the vomit in the back of his throat before it seared its way back down to his stomach. He tried to look away from the grotesque hand still in the air, but his eyes fixated on it.
“J-Jensen’s house…b-burning bad. Dad drug somebody out…dead. Can’t tell who it is. Park’s bl-blown away. Me and Tally were…”
His mother’s voice was only a few feet away. “God help us all. What’s he doing now?”
Scott reappeared hauling a second charred corpse toward the street.
“Pulling another body out.”
His father staggered their way, his clothes blackened and smoking.
Nate held himself up with one hand and jerked the hinged window open with the other.
Ashes and cinders poured in, setting off another round of coughing fits. Sirens wailed in the distance. A helicopter roared overhead.
Scott sank to his knees near the window, hacking and spitting off to the side. “Tally’s safe, but…Max and April…dead. Couldn’t find the baby. Cut off power…and gas and…”
Elena said, “Get in here right now before—”
“Damage is already done, babe.” He glanced back at the burning house. “Assholes can’t…launch any more with the…Guard after ’em. Least not tonight.”
Nate squeezed his eyelids tight, released his grip on the ledge, and collapsed beside the wooden crate. Pressing his forehead against the cool concrete floor, he moaned and shuddered as the ghostly afterimages of the gnarled hand and towering flames pulsated with each beat of his heart.