Devastation Erupts Page 18

  We’ve had a head start on grieving, although we’re nowhere near done. Our aunt teeters between relief that Riley and I survived and mourning that her sister and brother-in-law did not. Before our eyes, she crumbles into wracking sobs.

  We give her time to grieve, silently offering comfort through closeness. After several minutes, she swipes the tears away and pulls us even closer. Her eyes narrow as they sweep across my sister’s face. “Riley, honey, what happened to your cheek?”

  Riley’s hand shoots up to cover the scar. I’ve gotten so used to it, I nearly forgot it’s there. I wonder if she did too. She traces a finger along the healing skin gingerly and motions toward the sofa. “Can we sit? It’s a long story,” she says simply. With false hope, our aunt questions, “Your parents?” Closing her eyes, Riley slowly shakes her head side to side.

  Completely oblivious to the conversation, Snickers yips at my shins. I drop to my knees, sitting on my haunches so he can maul me with stinky dog-breath kisses.

  We explain everything that happened over the past weeks, breezing over the details. We’ll have plenty of time for detailed discussions when we’re hiding out underground for weeks. Aunt Robin fills us in on what’s been happening here—the weather, local news, and advisories.

  When we tell her the plan to hide out underground for a few weeks, her forehead crinkles and her eyes narrow. “They said on the news we’re supposed to shelter in place. That was before the power went out, but that’s what they said to do.” She looks back and forth between us.

  “But the people we met, they know a lot about what’s happening, they know what we should do to stay safe until the ash clears at least somewhat,” I try to explain. Riley nods, encouraging me to continue.

  “And it’s not just the volcano. Everyone out west has to go somewhere. The ones east of Yellowstone will come this way, looking for shelter and food. It’s only a matter of time until infrastructure crumbles and resources dwindle.” I guess I paid more attention than I realized when Aidan droned on and on about the impending disaster. Despite my words, a small smile tugs at my lips. He’s only been gone for a few minutes, but I miss him already. His long, boring speeches and his messy hair that stands on end most of the time.

  “Girls, I know you were out there in…this,” she waves a hand toward the door. “But I’ve got to do what feels right. And if the local authorities are saying to stay home, then that’s what I’m doing.” Disbelief courses through my veins, fraying my nerve endings. Riley’s hands twitch, aching to twist and turn away her worry.

  Snickers settles at my feet and leans against my legs, sensing the room’s anxiety-charged energy.

  “But Aunt Robin, things are going to get worse, and the ash is really really bad to breathe. That’s why we were wearing dust masks and you should wear one too if you go outside. Everything outside is or will be covered in it, it damages crops and…” Riley’s words rush from her lips like a tidal wave of warning, but they do no good.

  “I love you girls like daughters,” Aunt Robin says, swiping a tear from her cheek, “and I…I just can’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. Your parents…they’d want me to keep you safe.” Her voice cracks on the last word. She tousles Riley’s hair affectionately, but the nonchalant gesture doesn’t disguise the distress buzzing within her. She retrieves her hand and buries her face in her palms. Tears glisten, trailing a path from her covered eyes to her trembling chin.

  Riley looks to me, her shoulders sagging as her spirit withers. I never want to see my sister broken again. Her sadness fuels my motivation.

  “But Aunt Robin, we will be safe.” It takes every ounce of energy my cells can muster, but I hold my voice steady. “The people we’re going with, they’ve been preparing for this. They say that the only way the ash will clear is with time. That’s why they’re going underground. They want to wait it out and stay somewhere safe until the atmosphere has some time to clear.”

  My words seem to calm Riley’s nerves slightly. She rests a palm on our aunt’s arm and adds, “I agree. Mom and Dad would want us to stay together and they’d want us to have food and shelter. Our friend Aidan’s family is offering us that. And I think Mom and Dad would want you to come with us.” Check, mate. We’ve made our case.

  Silence descends over the charged air. After several minutes of Riley and I staring at her expectantly, Aunt Robin tugs her lips into a half-hearted smile. Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she defeatedly concedes, “If you were my kids, I’d make you stay right here.”

  She takes a deep breath, as if the words she’s about to say physically pain her. “But I know you’re almost adults now and you won’t listen even if I forbid you from walking out that door. You’re both strong-willed, like your mother.” Her eyes glisten once again, and she releases a humorless laugh.

  “Girls, this is all temporary. Maybe just a week or so. And whatever comes, I’ve got to face it on my terms. I’m staying right here in my home and I’ll take my chances. I won’t deny you that same right. If you feel that your best bet is going to this cave, then so be it. I won’t stop you. I’ll worry about you and I’ll miss you, but I won’t stop you from doing what you believe is right.”

  We all lean in for a slobbering group hug. Riley and I don’t even need to discuss our plan. We know this is goodbye, for now. Our best bet is staying with the “family” we formed this summer. They seem to know what’s happening and how to best survive it.

  Chapter 56

  We leave our aunt’s home with one win and one loss—our plan to meet the guys is still intact, but our aunt isn’t coming with us. Packing into her car, she drives the three of us, and Snickers, to our house. As she follows the path she’s driven hundreds of times, she alternates between glancing at Riley, in the passenger seat, to meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Since I’m staying here, that means you’ll have a place to go if this cave of yours doesn’t work out. Just promise me that if you have any doubts, you get yourselves right back here.” A stern motherly tone emerges in her words. We both nod sharply. She means business.

  “Now I can’t give you my car or my cell phone,” she continues. “But I’m going to drive you to the cave after you get what you need from your house. That way I’ll know exactly where you are. And that way, if I change my mind, maybe I can catch up to you!” A hint of a smile plays across her face. Chewing her bottom lip, she mutters under her breath, “I just wish I had a way to get in touch with you.”

  The car falls silent. I glance out the window and study what awaits on the other side of the glass. The ash seems to be creeping closer to the Earth, or maybe I’m just imagining it. It feels like no matter which direction we face the clouds follow.

  My stomach turns cartwheels at the thought of stepping through that door once again. The last time I walked through it, I was a selfish teenager complaining about having to wake up early for a family vacation.

  Now half my family is gone and I’m pretty psyched at the luxury of having a working indoor bathroom to use. For a few minutes anyway. Riley glances in the backseat at me, trepidation lurking in her gaze. I know she’s facing the same hesitance at returning to our once happy home. I say a silent prayer that we can stay focused and grab just a few personal items and survival essentials before a wave of memories drowns us.

  When we reach the house, all three of us spring to the front door. Snickers rushes past us, twirling in eager circles on the front step. Our aunt produces a spare key and promptly unlocks and throws the door open. Thank goodness she thought to bring it. Riley and I lost more than our parents in that car crash.

  Stale, dusty air reaches my nose, threatening a sneezing fit. My eyes sweep across the foyer and past it, to the living room. The gray walls are shallow husks of what was once a vibrant space. Frozen moments in time line the hallway—formal school portraits, Riley’s first theater performance, and a still-frame of me crossing the finish line at a track meet. Now each smile looks hollow. Riley brushes my shoulder
, startling me.

  “Come on, let’s gather our things and go.” She’s right. There’s nothing here for us anymore. We part ways, launching to our respective bedrooms. I tear into my closet, digging out as many old backpacks and cinch sacks my fingers can grasp. Shoving clean sweatshirts, pants, and underclothes in the bags, I toss each one to the door when it’s stuffed to capacity.

  Lingering at my desk, I grasp the silver guardian angel charm, turning it in my hand. It fits perfectly within my palm. One continuous, smooth metal wire curves into wings, a halo, and a body. It’s been there as long as I can remember. I think our parents got one for me and one for Riley. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I set it on my desk, figuring I could use the most help when I was slogging through homework. No matter how much I prayed, the answers never magically appeared, though. I slip it into my pocket before dashing down the hallway to our parents’ bedroom.

  A shiver races down my spine and goosebumps send every hair on my arms standing. Wasting no time, I swipe a silver-framed photo from the dresser. It was taken the day we adopted Snickers. My dad set the timer and we all crowded around the cowering dog. His fearful eyes latched onto Riley as she tried to comfort him while plastering a ridiculous smile on her face. Facing the camera, she didn’t notice that her hand was actually blocking Snickers’ eyes when the picture snapped. It looks like she was trying to surprise him or shield him from the camera. I allow myself one brief sentimental smile before cramming it into the only bag with a smidge of space left in it.

  Stepping into the middle of the room, I slowly turn, memorizing each crack in the plaster and every snag in the carpet. It helps to focus on the menial details when the unflattering glimmers of my teenage self threaten to reappear. My eyes pool with hot tears as I hear echoes of myself, from just weeks ago, unable to respond to my parents’ questions or observations without injecting frustration:

  “Why can’t we go somewhere else for vacation just once? It’s always the same boring place.”

  “Yes, the shoes fit but you got the wrong color. I can’t wear those!”

  “Can’t I go out with my friends again tonight? It’s so lame at home.”

  Of course, now that I have sincere apologies to offer, there’s no one to hear them. I’ll carry a thousand sorrys in my heart until it no longer beats.

  Shaking away the pain, I swipe the salty tears from my cheeks and take one last look. Wherever you are, if you’re maybe watching over us right now, please know that I can see now how awful I was. So many times. If I could take it all back, I would. If I could just talk to you one more time, for even a few minutes, I’d trade anything.

  There’s no point. My pleas will go unanswered and time is slipping away. I’ve got to grasp the positive and let go of the bad for now.

  My arms loaded with memories I can’t leave behind I barrel down the stairs to the front door. Aunt Robin stands sentinel, Snickers now leashed and assaulting a pile of treats. Just the sight of my aunt, or rather her physical similarity to our mother, washes a renewed wave of guilt over me. If I didn’t look closely, or saw her first thing on a groggy morning, I’d probably mistake her for the parent I’ll never see again. Just that thought pierces my heart. I have to look away from her.

  Black trash bags line the entranceway. An appreciative smile crosses my lips when I notice Snickers’ belongings peeking out from the cinched sacks. A cushion from his favorite bed. The corner from an unopened bag of his kibble. My aunt hitches a shoulder, tilting her head toward it.

  “He can’t exactly pack for himself, right?” I allow the bags weighing me down to drop and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whisper into her hair.

  Riley’s footsteps echo down the hallway, slowing as she nears us. “Everything okay?” she asks, eyebrows raised in concern. Aunt Robin and I nod while Snickers skirts around our legs, tail wagging now that he’s consumed the last crumbs of his snack.

  Repositioning our masks, we brace for the ash and begin the relay of depositing as many bags into the trunk as possible in the least number of trips. Once we’re loaded up, Aunt Robin nudges the vehicle onto the road, and we proceed through the tiny dark flecks coasting on the breeze.

  She knows where the cavern is, so now we just need to know exactly where to find the guys once we arrive. She passes me her cell phone and I dig out the paper Aidan gave me with his number written on it.

  Chapter 57

  I unfold the paper to find more than just a series of numbers scrawled on it:

  In case you second-guess joining us, I thought I better include a “fail-safe” to convince you...

  Why is being with a geologist your best option?

  Because I’ll never take you for granite.

  Call me as soon as you’re on the way!

  All eyes land on me when a giggle escapes my lips. I shake my head. If I had any doubts about what to do, they would have dissolved the moment I read that note. My nerves flutter, reminding me that, even in the midst of disaster, I’m still a teenage girl nervous about calling a cute college guy. I hesitate for just a moment before plugging in the digits.

  The conversation is short. Voices in the background vie for Aidan’s attention. The initial relief in his tone is quickly replaced by urgency. “Follow the signs to Gate B. If you park in that lot, follow the small paved path to the entrance. There’s a big NO TRESPASSING sign covering the gate. Ignore it. I’ll be there to meet you and help you carry your stuff.”

  “Jeff might want to come too,” I say. “We kind of have a lot of bags.” Between the food, mine, Riley’s, and now Snickers’ stuff, it’ll take multiple trips, and I don’t want to add to Aidan’s stress more than we have to.

  “Jeff’s...not here yet,” he mutters. “He’ll show up soon, though. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I relay the details to our aunt. Riley serves as navigator, peering out the window to see as far ahead as possible. Turning Aidan’s words over in my mind, I wonder where Jeff is. His parents knew about the plan, so what’s he doing other than grabbing a few personal items?

  I fold and pocket the note, hoping that it stays intact so I can read it whenever I need a smile. Scrolling to the recent calls made in my aunt’s phone, I save Aidan’s number. I doubt his phone will work underground, but if there’s any way to keep a lifeline open, I’m taking it. Maybe it’s a fail-safe, as Bowen called it.

  Reaching over the center console, I stuff the cell phone into my aunt’s purse. “One of the people we’ll be with is Aidan. I saved his number in your address book.”

  Her grateful eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Quinn.”

  As we approach Gate B, our tiny space weighs heavy with emotion. I know we’re doing the right thing, but it feels wrong to leave our aunt behind. Riley must feel the same. Already knowing the answer, she asks, “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  With a sad nod, she confirms her decision. She parks the car and turns toward us. “It won’t be too long before I see you again. I love you girls and I’ll miss you, but as soon as it’s safe to come up, you find me. Your parents would want you to be safe. And I know they’re watching over you.”

  Riley crashes into her for one more hug. I reach over the backseat and squeeze Aunt Robin’s arm.

  A sharp knock on the window startles us all. Aidan’s bright blue eyes penetrate the safety glasses he now sports. An unspoken burden seems to have aged him in the short time we’ve been apart. His lips quirk into a forced smile when my aunt waves at him. She moves to lower the window, but Riley quickly stops her.

  “Don’t! You’re not wearing a mask. He’ll lecture you if you put the window down without wearing one,” she explains. Aunt Robin turns to me for confirmation. “She’s right. He’s a total nut about this stuff,” I nod.

  “Well, I guess you really are in good hands then,” our aunt concedes. “Now don’t keep him waiting. Go, but call me as soon as you come back aboveground. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
With a heartfelt promise and dejected smiles, we unload the car. With her last reach for belongings, Riley scoops up Snickers. Without even discussing it, neither of us trusts him to follow us when there’s all kinds of new scents to distract him here.

  As Aidan tosses the last bag onto our pile of possessions, I slam the trunk closed. Positioning ourselves by the driver’s side window, we wave a final farewell. I hope this isn’t the last time we see our aunt. She watches, the car immobile, probably waiting to make sure we make it inside alright.

  We load up as much as we can carry, but a mound of bags still remains on the ground. As I turn toward the car, a burst of color in the distance catches my attention. The red and blue lights flash, reflecting off the hovering contaminated clouds. It’s a police car. And it’s headed our way.

  Chapter 58

  Aunt Robin must see it too because her car’s engine churns to life. The tires spin, spitting gravel as they struggle to gain purchase. They quickly catch a grip and the car tears away from us, heading directly toward the police car.

  Riley and Aidan stop mid-step, bumping into each other, simultaneously turning toward the sound. Snickers growls as if expressing his annoyance with the collision. Aidan’s eyes widen and his voice erupts from beneath the mask.

  “Grab the other bags! We need to get underground! NOW!” We converge on the pile, overloading our arms and backs. Riley can’t hold much but she does her best to swing some bags over her shoulder while still holding the dog.

  Aidan dashes down a winding path that leads to the cavern’s private entrance. We struggle to follow closely, gawking at the parking lot through the small army of skeletal trees that block our view.

  My shoulders scream from the strain. Aidan leads us down three flights of concrete steps enclosed by a rusted railing. The last step spills onto a concrete platform, cracked and crumbling around the edges. A rundown wooden structure serves as the shaky doorway to the depths below.