Mrs. Hawes looked out over her class. Timothy was teasing little Anna again, tossing ball after ball of crumpled paper at her even as she shrieked in annoyance. The other students were clustered into their own little pods. Threes and fours, chattering loudly, playing games the rules of which were lost to an adult. Except Anita. As usual, she sat quietly, a rock amid the storm of noise. Her history textbook was open on her desk but her eyes were glazed over. Not for the first time, Mrs. Hawes wondered what she looked at when her focus drifted into space like that. She really should have a word with the child. But not now. For now she reread the email glowing on her tablet.
“We know the last days have been hard, but we all greatly appreciate your service. We expect the situation to be resolved in the next few days, and will update as developments occur. Please continue putting your best face forward, for the sake of the children we all love.”
She sighed. She loved her kids, that was true. But she also loved other things, like her home and her husband and the garden they had started together in the spring. Her eyes drifted to the drawings plastered over the windows. Colorful crayon traced out crude sketches of every day life. No light shone through from behind. She wondered if the children remembered the boards blocking them in from the outside. A few had commented on it when they first went up. She had told the first lie that came to mind:
“It is to keep the snow out. We’re expecting a huge snowstorm soon, and they don’t want the weight to break the windows. It won’t be safe to drive, so we’ll all be having a sleepover here tonight. Isn’t that exciting!”
She had smiled when she delivered the lie, despite the nerves causing her pudgy fingers to tremble so much that she had gripped the edge of her desk to calm them. Back then, it had only been expected to last a few days. She grinned, and they had cheered. Noise rose in the room as the children excitedly quarreled over who was going to sleep where. Except Anita. She simply stared. Could she see the lie? Could the others and they simply did not care?
Her eyes had again drifted over to the girl. Her stare had shifted up and their gaze met. Despite herself, Mrs. Hawes shivered. The brown orbs were like wells, dark and mysterious and hinting of ancient secrets. That was silly though. She was just a girl. The stress was getting to her.
The clock struck eight and she stood. “Children! Calm down now. Roger, sit on the chair please. That’s better. Now, if you would all please pass forward your homework from last night…”
***
The teachers were tired, that much they could all agree on. It had been almost five days without proper sleep. At night they locked the doors to their classrooms from the inside. Mrs. Hawes always jammed a chair under the handle as well. The children laughed like it was her nightly joke, part of the ghost stories she told them to make sure they didn’t start wondering what was really outside. She smiled back, but she wedged the door in place every night regardless.
It took some time before they all fell asleep. Some would cry as they drifted off. They were young to be away from their parents this long. She was proud of how well they handled themselves, and comforted where she could. Finally, once Jeremy’s last sniffles had died off in the dim light, it was her turn. She never joined the children on the floor. Their gym mats would probably be more comfortable for her back, but certainly not for her nerves. Instead she sat in her creaking leather desk chair, one hand resting on the bat she had taken quietly from the gym.
At every sound she jumped, checking the room before uneasily returning to sleep. Once the clock finally struck seven it was business like usual, with a few additions. Take the kids to the cafeteria for breakfast, bring them to the gym to shower every other day, tidy their clothes as best she could. Then it truly was business like usual: time for school.
Mrs. Hawes looked around the tired faces cluttering the teacher’s lounge. The kids were at recess, held in the big gym these days. Two of their number were missing, on duty supervising. They had left the lounge door open just in case, and occasionally could hear the happy shrieks drift down the short hallway separating them from the playing children. All of them jumped when one reached their ears. She knew the others were also quickly analyzing the sound, making sure it really was a scream of joy.
Nobody spoke. The prior argument had died down. They were all tired, that they could agree on. But little else. Should someone go outside and check on the state of the world outside? The last message from the superintendent was three days ago. Everyone wanted to know more, but was it worth puncturing the sealed – and presumably safe, they hoped – world of their school? One group said yes, the other disagreed vehemently. No agreement had been reached.
Tomas Diggory stood. He was old, barely a year from retirement. Rising was quite a production. First he bent creakily at the waist to retrieve his cane from its nook under the seat. He stabbed it at the ground angrily before appearing satisfied with the grip of the rubber end piece. As he levered himself to his feet, his knees popped arthritically. The teachers watched him in silence.
“We must sleep.”
The room nodded in agreement with his raspy voice
“We will move the students into the gym tonight. Lots will be drawn for watch shifts. The rest will sleep.”
He lowered himself back to his chair as the room broke into argument. How would they time shifts? Would classes be split or allowed to mingle? Would the teachers sleep in the same room or separate?
Mrs. Hawes watched as a smile spread across Tomas’s face. The argument roamed across all matter of details but none challenged his base idea.
He loved being right.
She hated his smug grin.
But, then again, what was there to do about it? He was, after all, right.
She looked away and threw herself into the fray.
***
It was lunchtime. Charlotte and Lettie were watching the cafeteria while the others were on break. Some read, some ate, some just sat and stared at the wall, eyes glazed as they let their minds go blank. Mrs. Hawes walked. The school was small, only a dozen classrooms plus the peripheries. She fantasized that her feet would wear a groove in the brown formica floors, like in the old monasteries she showed the children pictures of during history class. Each day the same loop, over and over. Down the hall towards the gym, up the stairs, past the classrooms and lounge and bathrooms, down the stairs, repeat.
She started with five loops but now, twelve days in, she was up to eight. Her wedding band had loosened slightly on her finger. They had plenty of food, but little appetite. She spun it idly on her finger as she walked. What was he doing now? Was he okay? She hoped he was not worrying too much, though of course he would be just as much as she was. He would be okay though, the school board said it was almost over.
She didn’t believe them.
A sound snapped her out of her thoughts and she paused. Her feet had brought her around to the second floor as other images filled her minds eye. The sound came again. A thud. Another. Splintering wood. Her heart raced. More splintering. A shaft of light cut across the hallway from one of the open classroom doors, bright, incandescent white glaring off the polish and drilling into her eyes. Its shine blurred the halls, projecting scenes into her eyes.
Her husband was out there. Certainly he was worried, but what if he was also in danger? She should help him, before —
Pain brought her back to herself. It took her a moment to figure out where from. Her fingernails, driven into her palm. The light called to her, pulling her back seductively. She shut her eyes. Her eyelids glowed red but they also blocked the effect, allowing her to think.
Classroom doors only locked from the inside. They opened in as well; her chair trick would do no good. Boarding up the window would be difficult and dangerous without looking – and besides, who knew what was out there. Her classroom was on the left, perhaps something there would help. She fumbled for the knob and let herself in, only cracking her eyes when the door was firmly shut behind her. A tear started trickling down her cheek but she ignored it. Now was not the time.
A wild search of the room turned up a length of rope. After a few minutes of fighting, the closet yielded its metal pole as well. She glanced at the clock. The children would be coming soon; this had to be quick. Her father had taught her to sail as a child and she dredged through the memories to pull up suitable nots. Muscle memory was always better than the normal sort, and he fingers tied them quickly. On last thought she grabbed one of the playroom blankets before firmly shutting her eyes and returning to the hall.
She scythed the pole in front of her as she walked, unsure what she might find but certain she would rather encounter it with the pole first. The light pried at the curtains of her eyelids, growing brighter and more painful as she reached the door. She raised an arm to shield them as well, questing for the doorknob blindly. There. She slammed the door shut.
Still she did not open her eyes. In literature they talked about the Greeks. Half their stories centered on the consequences of hubris and she had no intention of following their lead. She dropped one end of her rope around the knob and tightened the noose. The other she spooled out as she crossed the hall to the opposite door. It was a supply closet, seldom used. Her hand found the knob and she quickly wrapped the rope around it before tying firmly. It anyone – any thing – tried to open the door across the hall, they’d find it firmly stuck.
One last thing. She crossed the hall again, feeling along the rope with one hand as she went, and shoved the blanket up against the thin gap under the door. Finally, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
The light was gone, blocked successfully by her handiwork. She peered closely around the door frame, searching for any gaps. Nothing. Her rope arrangement stretched awkwardly across the hall, but there was nothing to be done about it. They could tell the children it was limbo; it was around the right height.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment. Adrenaline was fading, leaving behind exhaustion and loss. Her husband’s face floated in her mind’s eye and she almost found herself wishing she had gone to him. But no, that was silly. The light, whatever madness it was, was clearly meant to lie and deceive. To serve as bait. She shivered. Hopefully she never had to find out what exactly was hunting.
***
Class was canceled, the students given extra recess so they could discuss. Everyone wanted to be present so they all stood together in the corner of the gym instead of moving to the lounge. Well, almost all. Tomas was gone.
After Mrs. Hawes had explained about the light, they all surmised what had happened. He had caught a glimpse – maybe the boards weren’t tight enough, or something on the other side had made a slit – regardless he had seen the light and torn the window open to join it. Perhaps its affect was weaker when reflecting off a surface, or perhaps Mrs. Hawes just had a resistance to it. Either way, one of their own was gone. The only small blessing was that his students had not been in the room at the time.
As the next most senior, Jeremy took responsibility for communicating to the school board. Their calls had gone unanswered since the beginning but he rang anyway. No response. He sighed and pulled out his beat-up HP to type up and email. Informative, to the point. Only the facts of the situation, except one line at the end:
“Please send assistance. We need a way out of the school.”
They read it, agreed, it was sent.
And they waited.
***
It was time to talk to Anita. Mrs. Hawes could hardly remember the girl in her class before they shut down the school. Those times often seemed so far away, longer than just nine days. Her quiet must have hidden her then, like a still rock under the frothing sea of other students. Now it just made her stand out. Something was clearly wrong with the girl.
Mrs. Hawes took a sip of coffee to calm her nerves and then called out across the noisy class room, “Anita? Would you come here please?”
The chattering did not pause. These days it was hardly uncommon for her to call someone to the front. Some she reassured after watching their eyes mist while doodling cartoonish houses, others she asked to be brave for her and kind to the other kids, just a little longer. “Be one of my little angels please? They need you.” No amount of reprimanding would make some children behave, but a sense of pride and duty would work wonders.
Anita rose, folding her book under her arm. She picked a new one off the shelf in the corner every day and carried it around like Linus with his blanket. Mrs. Hawes wondered briefly if she would be similarly lost without the block of paper. The girl paused when she reached the big desk Mrs. Hawes sat behind. As usual it was piled with papers and craft supplies, all the detritus of life in a classroom. Mrs. Hawes motioned for her to come around. Most of the other children looked away when they got close, either in shyness or embarrassment or fear. Not Anita. Her doe eyes met Mrs. Hawes’ calmly, almost challengingly. Mrs. Hawes shivered and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
The other children were still making a ruckus but she kept her voice quiet as she spoke regardless. “Is everything alright Anita?”
A faint smile twitched the girl’s lips. Her voice was calm and prim as she responded, “Of course not.”
Mrs. Hawes frowned and asked carefully, “What is wrong dear? Can I help?”
The smile widened. “You know the answer to that one as well, Mrs. Hawes.”
Mrs. Hawes’ brow wrinkled. Yes, quite a bit was wrong in the world right now. But what was the child referring to specifically? Was she missing her parents? Mrs. Hawes wracked her mind but could not pull up an image of either of the girl’s parents, or any other sort of guardian. Had anyone ever come to a parent-teacher conference on her behalf? She did not think so. Perhaps the girl was a ward of the state. The dark eyes bored into her and she asked to relieve the pressure, “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”
Her voice came out more confrontational, more strained than she wanted it to. Still the girl smiled. “Why, the world is ending Mrs. Hawes. Soon you will all go with it. It is time to make peace with your gods and prepare yourself for the end before – “
Mrs. Hawes cut across her sharply, “Anita!”
The class fell to silence. She had risen from her chair without noticing, hands still clamped onto the tweed arms so tightly that her knuckles shown white.
Anita laughed. Amusement cracked the calm of her voice as she said, “I’ll go to time out, don’t worry about me. You have bigger things on your mind.”
The heels of her boots clicked across the floor to the chair in the corner. Mrs. Hawes stared. The students stared. Anita lowered herself gracefully to sitting and opened her book, paying their eyes no attention as her nose sunk back into the pages.
Chatter slowly sprang back up as the class realized the show was over. Mrs. Hawes forced her fingers to release and sat back in her chair as well. She pulled some papers towards her, pretending to busy herself in grading while in reality all she saw was Anita’s calm smile. It perhaps should not be a surprise that she knew something was terribly wrong outside of the school’s safe walls. But the calm, almost joy, with which she had proclaimed it…
Her skin prickled and she raised her eyes to peer over the rim of her glasses at the corner. Brown eyes met her own. The girl smiled and raised a finger to her lips. Mrs. Hawes hastily returned to her papers.
***
The school board still had not answered. Each day when they met, the teachers threw out more ideas for Jeremy to try. Perhaps the fire department? They had rang last week but he tried again at their urging. No response. The police, the mayor, the garden club, the public library, any phone they dialed just rang until finally they gave in.
Mrs. Hawes had never been one to read the news in the good times. Her husband spent his mornings with the paper and his coffee and would read out headlines he deemed interesting enough to share. Now she missed his voice as she poured through the internet, searching for something, anything to tell them what was going on. Regardless what source she checked, they all simply cut off. It was as if news had ceased to be created the morning they were blocked in.
She spun her wedding ring around her finger as yet another debate raged around her. It was quite loose now, so much so that she worried it would fall off and become lost. The safest thing would be to slide it onto the chain which held her grandmother’s cross around her neck. She could not bring herself to do it though. It felt too much like admitting what she already believed deep in her heart.
They were gone.
All of them.
Their little island of a school was all that was left, for however long it lasted.
***
It had been two weeks. Life had a new rhythm, the kinks in the schedule were all worked out. Each day had a plan. Controlled, prepared.
It should have made it easier. Instead it was worse.
The last two days had bled together and today looked likely to do the same. Mrs. Hawes paused her lesson to rub her eyes tiredly. They were learning out the ancient Romans, a subject she normally took great pleasure in. Today the material felt heavy as stone, crushing her under the weight of a future stuck in these rooms. For how long? The cafeteria larder had long since run out of fresh foods, but there was a mountain of cans stacked in the pantry. Leftovers from a sale at Cosco no doubt, or whatever the institutionalized-food equivalent was. They would not starve, not soon.
She slid her glasses back onto her nose and resumed teaching, trying to force some enthusiasm into her voice. The children felt it too. They were restless and fidgety, only paying her half their attention. Except Anita. Her eyes drilled into the map hanging behind Mrs. Hawes head, much as she wished they would look away.
In her heart, Mrs. Hawes knew she was wishing for something to happen. It was a terrible thing to want. Whatever happened would likely be worse; they had a reprieve from the storm of uncertainty and likely death occurring outside the brick walls. Still, she just wanted it to be over.
***
The first sign something was wrong was the wind. A warm wind rushed through the open door of their classroom, smelling of wet dirt and rain. Mrs. Hawes found herself smiling. She had always loved the rain, especially in spring time. Her heart plummeted as she realized what the wind meant. Someone had broken a window. They were in danger.
Many of the children had risen to their feet. Mrs. Hawes shot to hers as well, crossing the room quickly to slam shut the door and lock it firmly. Her voice shook as she ordered, “Everyone, under the benches. Quickly now. We’re going to make a fort okay?”
The children were scared now. Few seemed to believe her lighthearted excuse but they scurried under the lab benches which lined the back wall obediently. She pulled the nighttime blankets off their shelf hastily and draped them over the countertops, pinning them in place under heavy tomes of the encyclopedia.
“How is that? Are there any cracks?” A small hand poked out of a seam in the blankets and she hurried over, adjusting the folds so it too was covered. “Anyone else?” Nobody answered. “Alright, good. Now then. Stay in the blanket fort, okay? You can play games, but don’t leave the fort. Understand?”
A chorus of “Yes Mrs. Hawes” rose from behind the multi-colored walls.
“Thank you children. I will be right back, and if you’ve all behaved, I’ll bring everyone a treat to eat.”
She hurried over to the door. Hopefully the mix of fear and desire would keep them in place. The leftover rope was coiled over the handle where she had stored it after the last incident. She grabbed it and closed her eyes firmly before opening the door.
The glare shone brightly against her eyelids. She shut the door hastily behind her in case one of the children was peaking. Her questing arm felt across the hallway as she walked forwards blindly. There, another door. Laurie’s classroom. The glare was coming from the left so they were safe, for now. She looped the rope around the knob and felt her way over to her own door, tying the two firmly together. The knot would be easy enough to undo, but if there was an emergency she could always cut it with the kitchen knife she had stolen a few days ago.
For now, she turned towards the glare. The breeze blew her bangs to the side. It smelled lovely, somehow reminding her of rain and the sea and fresh cookies all at once. She forced herself to ignoring it, breathing through her mouth instead. Whatever was trying to trick them outside wasn’t getting her that easily.
Two doors down, she found an open door. The light was blinding through it, a painful glow that lit up her vision in red. She squeezed her eyes tighter against it, feeling around for the door knob. Nothing. She frowned and felt around the frame slowly. Nothing. The door was gone.
Her fingers found the hinges and explored them carefully. They were undamaged. Whoever had remove the door had done so calmly and deliberately, simply pulling the pin which held the two halves and lifting it out of place. Perhaps it was still in the room somewhere. She shuddered, not liking the idea of going further towards the light. What was the alternative though? They had already lost – she cut herself off quickly, not ready to think about the children who had been in this classroom, or poor Miss Melanie Brigs. No, there was nothing else to it.
Better to be smart about it though. She pulled off her shawl and quickly wrapped it around her eyes. To her relief, the thin fabric was able to block the light with enough layers. The glow faded, leaving after images hovering in her vision. She stepped forward slowly.
As she advanced, she wondered where the other teachers were. Had the come to help and, through accident or lack of preparation, been sucked into the light? Or had they hidden in their rooms, praying it did not come for them as well? She thought of her children, left alone in the dark. Guilt wrinkled her brow and she hastened forwards as fast as she dared.
Her feet tapped against something and she crouched. A chair, laying sideways on the floor. She picked it up and set it to the side. A few feet later, another chair. A desk. All strewn wildly, books spilled to the floor. Finding a door in this mess would be difficult, especially as she dare not peek a glance. This close, she could even feel the light. It was like sunlight in summer, warming the skin but broken up by the leaves of an old tree so as not to burn. She sighed. It would be so easy to just let it be. Could something that nice really be bad?
Her fingernails digging into her palm brought her back to reality. If she lived, and he had also lived, she was going to find the nail dresser who had glued on the long fakes and give him a hundred dollar bill. The thought made her smile and she advanced the last few steps confidently to reach the window.
She felt around the hole with one hand, other drawn back in case she needed to punch something or grab hold of the frame. It was a small hole, jagged around the edges. Just big enough for a person to clamber through if they had no concern about splinters in their clothes. She backed away, trying to remember the layout of the room she found herself in. The crafts cabinet should be to the right, along the wall. If she shoved it over the window, it would at least block some of the light while she hunted for a better solution – and the door.
Her questing hands brushed the cool metal of the cabinet sides. She traced her way around it and pushed. It was heavy, but then again, so was she. Slowly it scraped across the floor. The screeching protest of metal on formica filled her ears, deafening them to all else. Suddenly a hand closed around her wrist.
She yelped, pulling it back sharply. Her eyes instinctively snapped open for a moment before she came to her senses. Thankfully the gentle glow shining through the cloth wasn’t enough to prevent her from shutting them again immediately as she strained to figure out what was happening. A girl’s laugh in the sudden silence. Anita? Mrs. Hawes cursed her blindness, reaching out for the girl. She couldn’t let her get sucked outside. A small hand curled around her own.
“It’s alright Mrs. Hawes. It’s time. Come on, let’s go outside. They’re waiting for you.”
The hand pulled. Mrs. Hawes stood firm and forced her quavering voice to do the same as she replied, “Anita, stop. It isn’t safe. We’re going back inside. Now.”
Again the laugh, lilting and happy. Mrs. Hawes cursed. She needed to close the hole, but if she let go of the girl, she would lose her. She would have to come back. She pulled the girl in close and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground. The laughing continued but she ignored it. Something puffy and soft squished into her arm – what on earth was the girl wearing? It didn’t matter. Mrs. Hawes hastened across the room as quickly as she could without tripping on the furniture and out into the hall.
The rope was still stretched across. Anita had put it back after she left? Well that was a small blessing at least. The others were hopefully still safe. She undid the knot awkwardly with one hand before pulling open the door. Blissful darkness greeted her eyes as she slammed it shut again behind her. The room was safe. The children were safe. She opened her eyes.
Anita was still laughing. She looked down at the girl with a frown, taking in the fluffy mass on her back. Feathers? Had she destroyed one of the pillows? Other children were climbing out from under the tables, drawn by the noise. Their eyes were wide, scared. She set Anita down gently and then stopped. Her hair. Instead of the normal neat cornrows, it was twisted into long dreads. Her eyes raised again just in time to see Anita clamber out from under the table and meet eyes with… herself. Both girls smiled.
Mrs. Hawes took a step back. The two walked towards each other, meeting in the middle. Feathers swirled around them, resolving into brilliant white wings curving around to frame their small frames as they hugged. The other children watched in fascination. Little Richard applauded, clearly thinking this was part of some show. His claps died into silence as no one joined. The two Anitas released each other from their embrace, hands sliding to lock together as they turned to face Mrs. Hawes. She took another step back.
Her Anita spoke. “As I said before, it is time to die. Don’t worry though, that isn’t a bad thing. It just means the end has come, and something new will start.”
Some of the children were getting scared now. Mrs. Hawes knew she should do something to reassure them, but she couldn’t even calm the trembling of her own body. She took another step back. The knife stuffed in her skirt pocket bounced against her leg. An idea formed. A terrible, terrible idea. But she would try. To protect the children. No, if she was honest, not because of them. Because of herself. She was not ready to die.
Her voice quavered as she commanded, “Children. Under the table. Now.”
Thankfully, they obeyed. Her tone did not have its normal commanding ring, but even at their age they had years of experience obeying authority figures. Soon it was just her, staring at the two Anitas. They still smiled. She slid her hands into her pockets and started walking forwards slowly. Their grins widened, mirroring each other perfectly like in a horror movie. They thought they were winning. Fine. That suited Mrs. Hawes nicely. She would need to get close.
She was grateful for the wings. Whatever they were, it was clear they were not children. Not human. She wasn’t sure she would be able to do it if they were human. At least, that is what she told herself as she walked. A nasty part of her suspected she would, that she would kill anyone if it meant she got to live. She shoved it away. Now was not the time.
The two waited as she approached until she stood right before them. Other Anita spoke, joy cascading through her voice, “You have changed your mind? That is lovely, we-”
She froze as the knife plunged into her stomach. Mrs. Hawes pulled it out quickly. Both seemed to be in shock. She stabbed Original Anita as well, stepping back this time as she ripped out the blade. She had never stabbed someone before. In the movies, blood always went everywhere and the victim died immediately, or perhaps after giving a long speech if it was plot relevant. They did neither, just stood there, staring at each other.
Blood began to weep through their shirts around the jagged holes. Still they didn’t move. Did wounds not hurt… whatever they were? They looked like the angel figurines her grandmother had kept on the mantle, but no angel in Amma’s stories had ever tried to kill people. Pretender angels then? Demons? She shook her head free of speculation. Focus on the danger now, speculate later.
Finally they moved, turning to face her once more. Red had begun dripping onto the floor. It’s stain did not come close to their eyes. They burned like coals, red fire snapping furiously in its cage. Her Anita spoke, voice trembling with rage. “You reject us.”
Mrs. Hawes lifted her chin against her fear and replied, “Yes. You will not kill these children.”
Other Anita laughed, harsh and unpleasant. “We will. And as before they will die with you. But this time it will be far, far less pleasant.”
Before Mrs. Hawes could reply, they fountained up into a pillar of flames. Smoke curled across the ceiling as the tiles blistered and began to burn. The two disappeared with a whompf but it didn’t matter, their flames had given birth to plenty of others. Out in the hall, the fire alarm went off. It’s blaring drowned out her words as she called for the children to come, evacuate. She ran through the haze, tearing down the blanket under which they were hidden. Scared eyes peered up at her from the darkness.
“Come!” She screamed. Her words or her frantic gestures worked and they followed.
The middle of the ceiling was well on fire. She led them around the edge of the room. It was a longer path, but her caution was rewarded when a section of tile collapsed in a shower of sparks off to their side. She opened the door. Light glared against her retinas for a split second before she slammed it shut again. Right, she hadn’t successfully plugged the hole yet.
The black smoke was rising though, they could hardly stay here. “Children. Take off your shirts and wrap them around your face. Quickly!” They were confused, but too scared to disobey even her bizarre request. “Now, hold hands! Form a chain! Don’t let go, we don’t want to lose anyone now do we?”
The chain they were at least more familiar with. Sometimes she would use it to navigate crowded places on field trips. She took Madaline’s hand – somehow the girl always managed to be first – and squeezed her eyes shut before reaching for the knob. On last thought she called, “Close your eyes! And no peaking!” Hopefully the shirts would make her last instruction redundant, but better safe than sorry.
The light seemed brighter than it had before as she pulled her chain slowly down the hall. Had other windows been broken in as well? She dare not look. The safest place to go would be the gym. It was a bit offset from the other buildings. Cinderblock walls would not burn, hopefully. They should be safe.
The crackling behind them faded, but not as quickly as she would like. The flames must be spreading. The stairs would be just ahead. Her foot tapped empty air. There. Suddenly the chain behind her stopped. A child’s voice, wonder and awe saturating its tone as it said, “Oh, it’s so pretty!”
Was it one of hers? She could not tell. Footsteps started running. She called out in alarm, “Children! Don’t! Stay in your chain!”
None responded to her. Madeline started wiggling, tugging against her hand. She closed it tighter, ignoring the girl’s cry of pain. The girl bit her, hard. Mrs. Hawes cried out as well and dropped the hand involuntarily. Pattering feet receded.
For a moment she stood frozen. The class was gone. Sadness should have filled her, but instead she only felt relief. Without them slowing her, she might survive. Smoke knocked her out of her guilty reverie and she turned to hasten down the stairs. Even blind, she had done this route many times in the past. The cool metal handle of the gym door felt nice in her hand. She yanked it open, slamming it shut behind her and turning the lock.
Here was darkness. She opened one eye a peak. The gym had few windows, all high up and all untouched. Safety. She flicked on the light switch and walked out into the center. The room felt so much bigger with nobody else there. The sleeping bags were put away for the day and the floor clean and empty. It could almost be a normal day if you did not know better. She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself imagine it was.
She was so tired. Part of her envied those who were gone to their eternal rest. She would not though. She refused to give up.
***
The day passed, and the night as well. No sunlight told her time, but the clock still functioned. She wondered what had become of the rest of the building. True to her hopes, the gym had proven a haven. Not even smoke had disturbed her rest.
Her stomach growled. She had neglected to bring food, and the small snacks kept around for children hungry in the night would not last. At least there was water from the bathrooms. There was no where safe to go get more food, so she ignored her gut’s complaints.
***
She had long ago stopped feeling hunger. How long had it been? The clock showed the time, but A.M. or P.M. or day she knew not. Sometimes she sat with her ear pressed against the door. Nothing. Just silence and the rush of her own blood.
***
Moving took more strength than she had. Her eyes would not stay open. Part of her wanted to scream against the dark, fight it off. It lost. She was tired, so tired. She gave in and let the night take her.
***
Her husband was holding her. She knew it was him; he had worn that same cologne since before the day they even met. His strong arms cradled her close and she smiled. His hand stroked her hair as he whispered, “You should have come when I asked.”
Her eyes snapped open. It was not his face leaning over her but one of the Anita’s, older, more fearsome than before. She screamed. Its laugh still sounding like a child’s, the angel sounded its mirth across the desolate wastes.
Floofiest Nine 