One of Us Is Next(84)
Maeve gasps and screams again, loud and panicked. “Bronwyn?”
Jesus Christ. Nate and Bronwyn picked the worst time possible for a moonlight stroll in the garden.
Maeve lunges forward, and I wrap an arm around her waist to stop her. “Other way, Maeve! I’m sorry, but we have to go the other way!” I start dragging her backward, yelling toward the arboretum as I do. “This isn’t a joke, you guys! Run!”
Two people crash through the bushes hand in hand, and I catch the silhouette of a flowing skirt against the dim moonlight. I’m still pulling Maeve along the grass, not making nearly as much progress as I’d like. As the figures running toward us get closer I can see Nate doing the same with Bronwyn, trying to use his momentum to pull her forward. Somehow, despite Maeve’s best efforts, I’ve managed to get her more than halfway across the grassy space between the restaurant and the bike path.
“Come on!” I grit out in frustration. “Nate’s with her! This isn’t helping!” Maeve finally stops fighting me, and we race the rest of the way across the lawn until we’re a few feet from the restaurant. Voices rise as people start to gather at the railing, their confused faces lit by the twinkling white lights.
“Get inside!” I gesture with the hand that’s not holding Maeve’s arm. I still don’t trust her to stay put. And then, because nobody’s paying any attention, I pull out my trump card. “There’s a bomb in the arboretum! Everybody get inside!”
The words use the last bit of lung capacity I have left, and I pant painfully as shouts and gasps fill the air. Nate and Bronwyn are almost halfway across the grass now. Nothing’s happened yet, so I let myself feel a small burst of relief. Somebody who knows what the hell they’re doing can take over now. Maybe it’s not even as bad as we think, maybe we have plenty of time, or maybe the backpack was something else entirely—
When an explosion rips through the air, the noise is deafening. Maeve and I both throw ourselves onto the ground as an orange ball of fire erupts from behind the bushes. I reach up instinctively to cover my head, but before my vision is blocked I look across the grass to where Nate and Bronwyn were just seconds before. I see white smoke billowing high and fast into the air, fragments of God only knows what swirling within it, and nothing else.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Phoebe
Friday, March 27
“Careful, not so close. You’ll burn yourself.”
I’m eight years old, sitting between my father and my sister in front of a small bonfire on the beach. It’s a special trip, just the three of us. Mom’s staying home with Owen, who’s too little to toast marshmallows. But I’m good at it, holding my stick the right distance from the flames, rotating my marshmallow carefully until every side is bubbling brown. I’m better than Emma, because she’s too tentative and won’t get her marshmallow close enough to toast.
It’s kind of satisfying, that I’m better than Emma at something. That almost never happens.
“Mine is no good,” Emma says fretfully. She sounds on the edge of tears.
“Let me help you,” Dad says, putting his hand over hers and holding her stick in place. And then I feel upset that I have to toast my marshmallow alone, so I shove my stick too far in the flames and let it catch fire.
“I need help too!” I say.
Dad lets out an exasperated chuckle and takes the stick from me, blowing out the flaming marshmallow. He pokes the stick down in the sand between us so it stands upright, and the charred marshmallow on top instantly starts to droop. “Phoebe, you were doing fine,” he says. “Save the cries for help for when you really need it.”
“I did need it,” I say sulkily, and he puts an arm around me.
“Your sister needed it a little more,” he whispers in my ear. “But I’m always here for both of you. You know that, right?”
I feel better nestled against the warmth of his side, and sorry I didn’t let Emma enjoy her perfect marshmallow. “Yes,” I say.
He kisses the top of my head. “And make sure you’re there for each other too. All of you. The world can be a rough place, and you guys need to stick together. Okay?”
I close my eyes and let the flames dancing in front of me paint my lids orange. “Okay.”
* * *
—
The beeping wakes me up. A machine in Emma’s room whirs to life and I do too, sitting bolt upright in my corner chair. I shove my hair out of my face as my dream-memory fades and I remember why I’m here. “Emma,” I croak. I’m half on my feet when a nurse enters the room.
“It’s all right,” she says, fiddling with a knob on the machine behind Emma. “We’re going to give her a little more fluids, that’s all.” My sister remains motionless on her bed, asleep. The room is dim, and I’m alone except for my sister and the nurse. I have no idea what time it is, and my throat is paper dry.
“Can I have some water?” I ask.
“Of course. Come to the nurses’ station with me, hon. Stretch those legs.” The nurse disappears into the hallway. Before I follow, I take another look at Emma, so silent and still that she might as well be dead. Then I pull my phone out of my pocket and finally send the text I’ve been avoiding for weeks.