Baz was sitting in his third period math class, daydreaming about lunch, when he felt the floor rock back and forth underneath him. He sat up straight, eyes wide, and looked around the classroom, but no one else even seemed to have noticed; most of his classmates were sprawled out on their desks, asleep or nearly there. The teacher hadn’t paused in the equations he was writing on the board; the writing itself wasn’t smeared or jerky. Breathing hard, Baz scooped up his backpack and his coat and left the classroom, ignoring the teacher’s startled commands for him to come back. He ducked into the nearest bathroom and splashed his face with water, then grabbed at the lip of the sink as the floor shuddered again.
The PA system crackled to life, startling him so badly that he cried out, then clapped a hand over his mouth. The principal came on, informing them of a natural disaster on the Indonesian island Baz vaguely remembered as being in the news recently. There was no mention of earthquakes in their own area but the principal announced that school was being closed early and all students should go home to their families. Baz made a face at himself in the mirror and slowly picked up his bag again as he heard the rising chatter outside in the halls. He went out and joined the tide of students flowing out of the building but broke away from them on the sidewalk outside, shrugging into his coat as it started to rain.
As he walked he watched cars pulling in and out of the school’s parking lot and picking up students along the streets. Every facial expression he saw was tense and worried, and the parents herded their kids into the car with quick, hurried motions. More than one car squealed as it pulled back out onto the road, and he saw a pair of minivans just barely miss a head-on collision down by the lights at the end of the street. Somewhere in the dark clouds up above, thunder muttered.
By the time he passed the elementary school that marked the halfway point of his walk, the rain had soaked right through his coat and plastered his dark hair to his skull. The playground was empty and grey under the cold rain and he had no doubt that the students there had been sent home early as well. A few cars passed him as he turned onto his own street ten minutes later but his own driveway was empty, though the door was unlocked and opened under his hand. He shrugged off his coat and hung it up to dry on the coat rack, kicked off his wet sneakers, and went upstairs with his backpack.
He dropped the pack on the floor and flicked on the radio as he passed by it to find some dry clothes. He paused in the act of pulling on a clean hoodie when the DJ interrupted the music to pass on a breaking news bulletin: a supervolcano had erupted underneath Lake Toba, on the Indonesian island of Sumatra, and was spewing volcanic ash high into the air. It had already destroyed the island with the force of its eruption, and caused an enormous tsunami to wash over the land for miles around. The DJ wrapped up her report by reading out safety instructions for the anticipated bad weather to come and asked them to remain tuned to the station. Her voice cracked a little as she began to repeat the report, and Baz turned it off with more force than was strictly necessary.
He pulled the hoodie on completely, absently flipping the hood up over his damp hair, and went to open the window a crack, feeling the need for some fresh air in the stuffy house. It was still raining outside, the clouds heavy and ominous in the remnants of the weak afternoon light. Thunder rumbled again and he saw a brief flash of lightning but other than that it only rained, a steady downpour that had turned the roads slick and shiny.
Baz paused for a moment to watch the rain come down in silvery sheets, then went back downstairs to grab himself a drink and a snack. Five minutes later he was sitting at his desk with a can of pop at his elbow and a bowl of dry cereal within easy reach, working on his homework. The radio continued to play in the background until it went staticky and distracted him with a low, annoying whine. He marked his place in the book he was reading and got up to go turn it off, pausing again on the way back to look out at the rain.
As he leaned on the sill to look out at the street below, he caught an odd scent; a bitter smell that made him wrinkle his nose and automatically straighten up. He hesitated then pushed the window up further, sticking a hand out into the rain then sniffing at his wet palm. The smell clung to his skin and he shuddered suddenly, wiping his hand off on his jeans. Shutting the window tightly, he turned back to his desk, still absently scrubbing his hand against his jeaned thigh.
The rain and clouds brought dark creeping in even earlier and he found he didn’t want to be upstairs alone with night pressing against his windows. He packed up his books and went downstairs for an early supper, creating something edible from the meagre supplies with the ease of long practice. A glance at the clock showed it was just past 4:30 in the afternoon. He thought for a moment then made enough for his father as well, though the man was unlikely to eat it. He had learned early on that it was less trouble to make more than it was to deal with his father when his father wanted food and couldn’t be bothered to make his own.
He sat at the kitchen table to eat, unconsciously seating himself side-on to the big sliding glass doors that led out to the backyard so that he neither had to look at them head-on or have them at his back. The sound of the rain had taken on a sinister tone, like a thousand snakes slithering past him. He gave a violent shiver at the thought and shoved it to the back of his mind, concentrating on eating; but the food was as tasty as sawdust in his mouth and he soon gave up, wrapping it up and putting it in the fridge next to the beer his father had bought that week instead of groceries.
Feeling lost, he busied himself cleaning up the kitchen then went upstairs to watch TV on the little set in his bedroom. The sound drowned out the rain and he pulled the curtains so he wouldn’t have to see the rain glowing orange in the light of the lampposts outside, feeling a little ashamed of himself as he settled on his bed. He found a mindless comedy to lose himself in, and soon drifted off to sleep.
A loud bang startled him out of sleep and he sat up straight, his breathing ragged and his heart hammering against his ribs. His thoughts felt scattered and dull but he vaguely thought that his father must be home, drunk and stupid as usual. The TV was still on but showing only static; the clock said 1 am. He swung his feet to the floor and got up, rubbing at his eyes as he made his way towards the door.
The smell hit him as he eased the door open, the same bitterness now mixed with an earthy, rotting scent. He gagged and pinches his nose shut with his fingers, wondering what could cause such a stench. From downstairs he heard another loud bang, then the sound of glass shattering. It took him a moment to realize the noise was coming from the kitchen and he wondered if it was his father after all as the bangs continued; his father was a mean drunk but he was too possessive to randomly destroy his own belongings.
Baz hesitated on the landing, rocking back and forth on his toes as he debated whether he dared to go downstairs. The sounds of destruction from downstairs got louder and he suddenly turned on his heel and went back to his room, fear tightening his chest. Too frightened to be ashamed, he got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the bed, curling up into a ball with his face turned towards the door.
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs only moments later, then a hunched shadow appeared in his doorway. The rotting smell intensified, threatening to make him gag again and forcing him to breathe in quiet, shallow pants. The shadow came closer in an odd, stilted walk, and he recognized his father’s beat-up old construction boots. There was dirt ground into the hems of his jeans and dark stains on the boots themselves.
His father stood there for a long moment, swaying slightly and breathing in a snuffling gasp, as though through a broken nose. He was holding something at his side but the angle of his body prevented Baz from seeing it clearly. The soft shh-shh of the rain seemed to drill its way into Baz’s head, until he felt like screaming and only digging his nails into his palms kept him from doing so.
With a grunt his father hefted the object he was holding and Baz had a moment to see it was the long-handled ax from the woodshed. He cringed back as far as he could and pressed himself down against the floor, only a moment before his father brought the ax whistling down on the bed. It bit deep into the mattress with a heavy thunk, breaking springs and causing the entire bed to sag downwards around the point of impact.
Baz crammed a fist in his mouth to block the scream rising in his throat, struggling against the urge to break and run. His father’s shadow stayed in place for another long minute, then it turned and walked out of the room in its limping gait. Baz heard his footsteps going down the stairs, then the slam of the front door, followed by the tinkle of glass as the thin panes in the door shattered and fell out on the concrete of the porch.
Pressing his forehead against the rough carpeting, Baz bit his bottom lip against sobs that threatened to turn into hysterical laughter. Silence descended on the room except for the faint sound of a car alarm in the distance, until a loud, nearby shriek shattered it into pieces. Through it all Baz could hear the sound of the rain falling, though part of him insisted it was all in his mind. His surroundings started to fade away around him and he had to pinch himself hard to keep from passing out.
He crept downstairs, the muscles in his shoulders tense and stiff as he listened for any sound. He could hear what sounded like a riot outside but the house itself was silent in the darkness. He hesitated in the doorway then made his way through the living room to the basement stairs. It took him a few moments to fumble on the light switch then he went down the steep stairs, turning the light off again once he’d found the flashlight by the furnace. He used it to pick his way through the mess of cardboard boxes and shoved himself into the crawlspace beneath the stairs, pulling an old couch cushion into the opening in an attempt to hide himself. Burying his head in his arms, he surrendered himself to the darkness.
When he woke again the house was still silent and still. He pushed the cushion aside just enough to peek out and saw a few weak beams of sunlight coming in through the small window high up on one wall. He listened a few minutes longer, then climbed out of the crawlspace, grimacing as he brushed old dusty cobwebs from his clothes. Keeping one hand on the wall, he climbed up the stairs, wincing when the second from the top creaked under his weight.
He turned into the living room and a shudder went through him; the room looked as though a tornado had gone through it. The TV had been thrown into the corner of the room and the handle of the ax protruded from its dark screen. It seemed to have been the last thing his father had done before leaving again; the ax had obviously been used on the furniture and shelving, and there was so much debris blocking the doorway to the kitchen that he didn’t want to try climbing over or through it. The rotten smell was much stronger there as well, and something deep inside told him to stay away. Instead he went around the other way and up to his bedroom, unsurprised to see that the destruction was even worse here. His desk, bookshelves, and bed had been turned into kindling and both the window and the ceramic bowl he’d been eating cereal out of had been smashed on the floor, littering the carpet with shards. He stepped around them carefully in his bare feet as he searched for anything he could salvage, stuffing it into his backpack, which had miraculously escaped destruction.
Heading back downstairs, he paused to grab a butcher’s knife that had been driven into the last step, then went down the hall to put on his shoes and go outside. The street was as empty and silent as the house had been, and just as much of a mess. A car sat haphazardly on the neighbour’s lawn, all its windows and lights smashed, and two of its tires shredded. Someone had dug something into the driver’s side door and dragged it all along the side of the car, tearing off strips of paint and metal like wallpaper. All the houses he could see around him had broken windows and a few were missing doors; opposite his house his neighbour’s prize-winning flower garden had been dug up and scattered all over the sidewalk. Debris littered the street and he couldn’t help wondering if a severe storm had gone through the area while he slept dreamlessly.
Taking a deep calming breath he picked his way across the front lawn to the closest neighbour’s house. Their door was still intact but it fell over with a loud crash when he knocked on it. The sudden sound made his heart leap into his throat and he shot a wild glance over his shoulder, not even entirely sure what he expected to see. Only the empty street met his gaze.
The neighbour’s house was as silent as his own had been, though usually there were two yappy dogs that barked night and day. Baz hesitated then stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at a heavy, coppery smell. His voice cracked as he called a hello and he cleared his throat, unconsciously curling his fingers into fists. When no one answered he walked further into the house, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him to get out before something got him. He told himself someone might be hurt, or hiding as he had been.
He started to call again as he turned into the living room but his voice died in his throat. He recognized the woman lying spread-eagled on the floor, though only by her clothing. Her face had been smashed into an unrecognizable pulp, matting her greying hair with sticky blood and bits of brain. One leg bent at an unnatural angle; the other was missing completely below the knee, the flesh of her thigh terminating in a shattered mess of bone and muscle. One of the yappy dogs lay at her side, its head twisted almost backwards. The other one had been torn in half and thrown into the ashy remnants of the fireplace.
Baz spun away from the sight as though on strings. His feet slid on the smooth floor and he felt his stomach turn lazily over, then he bolted. His feet slid again and he hit his shoulder against the doorframe, though he didn’t notice it until later, when he had time to inspect the massive bruise. He leaped over the front steps in his hurry to get away and took off down the sidewalk, his sneakers slapping against the asphalt and his backpack jouncing around on his back. He ran heedless of what direction he was going in, his breathing coming in whooping gasps. A stitch started in his side but he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to.
He skidded around the corner and only just realized there was someone there before they collided. His nose connected with the stranger’s shoulder and they both went down in a tangle of limbs. Baz struggled to free himself, throwing his elbows wildly until he managed to fight his way free. He lunged past the stranger, only to fall to his knees hard enough to tear his jeans as a hand grabbed his ankle.
“Baz, wait—” The stranger cut off with a yelp as Baz kicked backwards, barely missing his face. Baz tried to take advantage in order to get up again but only found himself flat on his face as the stranger tackled him. The second brief struggle ended with Baz flat on his back by a tall, familiar-looking young man about his own age.
“Can I get up without you trying to take my head off again?” the young man asked, breathing as hard as Baz was.
Baz nodded, still trying to catch his breath, and waited until the other youth had gotten to his feet before gingerly sitting up. He took the offered hand and let the young man pull him up, wincing at the aches and pains in his body, especially in his nose. He reached up carefully to touch it and his fingers came away red and wet.
“Here.” The young man handed him a clean, if wrinkled, handkerchief. “I’m sorry for startling you.”
Baz shrugged, pressing the handkerchief to his nose. “Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize me? We’re in the same math class.” He sighed at Baz’s blank look and stuck out his hand. “I’m Severin Poole.”
“The church kid?” Baz ignored the attempt at a handshake and after a moment Severin dropped his arm back against his side.
“I guess.” Severin’s slightly slanted green eyes darkened briefly, then he put on a smile even Baz could tell was forced, though his tone was sincere when he added, “You have no idea how glad I am to find someone else al—around.” His smile flickered then came back full-force, reminding Baz strongly of a politician.
“There was... Someone killed my neighbour.” Baz was surprised to hear himself say it, and even more surprised to find himself suddenly near tears. “She, uh, and the dogs... There was blood everywhere.” He gave a weak and slightly hysterical laugh. “And my dad tried to kill me with an ax.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, a slight lift and drop of his shoulders.
Severin looked at him for a moment, smile fading, then glanced away. “I’m sorry. We should get off the street. The library’s just down here and it’s not too damaged.” He reached out to put a cautious arm around Baz’s shoulders, tugging him gently in the direction of the library. Baz allowed it, glad for any comfort.
The big glass front doors of the library were somehow still intact, though the plant pots that once sat in the corners of the overhang had been smashed on the street. The decorations left over from Halloween a few nights before were still up, and Baz shuddered to see a skeleton hanging in the corner, though it was cartoonish. Still, somehow he felt better inside the building's airy front hallway with the sun shining through the domed skylight, casting stripes of pale light across the tiled floor.
“Do you know what's going on?” he asked, a little ashamed of the slight, childish pleading in his tone.
Severin shook his head. “I came here first thing this morning, and you're the first person I've seen all day.” His tone was convincing, but Baz could see the lie in the shadows in the other boy's eyes.
“Maybe people panicked about that volcano erupting.” Baz looked around and spotted what he was searching for behind the librarian's desk. He hopped over it and set the miniature TV on the counter, turning it on and flicking through channels. All he found was static and messages asking him to please stand by. “Guess it's interfering with the signal.” The explanation sounded weak to his own ears and he quickly flicked the TV off.
“The phones don't work either, I tried calling the police earlier.” Severin stared down at his hands, curled into fists on the polished top of the counter he was leaning on, and shook his head. “It's probably just temporary. How's your nose?”
“I think it's stopped bleeding.” Baz carefully dabbed at his nose with the handkerchief, then gave the blood-splattered cloth a rueful look. “You've got a hard shoulder.”
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Severin straightened up. “There’s a bathroom downstairs. You can go wash your face.”
“Come with me.” Baz shrugged at Severin's slightly surprised look, feeling his cheeks go hot. “I'd... just feel better. If I wasn't alone.”
“Sure, no problem.” Severin lead the way through the back hallway and down the stairs, gesturing to the bathrooms on the right. “I'll wait out here, unless you want me to come in with you.”
“No, I'll just be a few minutes.” Baz pushed open the door and stepped into the small, dim bathroom.
He flicked the light switch but no lights came on; only a small window set high in the wall provided enough illumination to see, and then only just. He walked over to the double sinks against the wall and started running hot water, then inspected his face in the mirror, grimacing at the blood on his skin and the bruise already forming over the bridge of his nose. He glanced down to check on the water, and when he looked up again, the mirror reflected a filthy, bedraggled man standing behind him.
He whirled around and then dropped to his knees to avoid the fist aimed at his face. His nose filled with the scent of rotting meat, garbage, and wet dirt. He heard the mirror shatter behind him, but he was already lunging for the door, his shoulder hunched in anticipation of a blow. His hand just grazed the handle then fingers tangled in his hair and yanked him backwards, bringing tears of pain to his eyes. Hot breath gusted against the side of his neck and the sensation broke the barrier keeping him silent. Screaming for Severin, he threw himself to the side, breaking the grip on his hair and kicking out at the same time.
His foot connected solidly with the man's stomach, knocking the man back a step. He heard the door bang open but didn't dare to look away, his eyes fixed on the man's face. There was something familiar under the dirt and blood caked on the man's skin but it wasn't until Baz saw the big class ring on the man's finger that he recognized the school's football coach.
The man watched, head tilted slightly as Severin helped Baz to his feet, then suddenly lunged at them again. He moved like a video sped up to twice its normal speed, one moment halfway across the room, the next so close Baz had no time to react. He saw hands with cracked fingernails reaching for him, then Severin shoved him back and roundhouse kicked the coach in the face. The crunch of the man's nose breaking was very loud in the enclosed bathroom.
Baz might have stood there still, his mouth hanging open, but Severin shoved him back out into the hallway and propelled him towards the stairs until his brain engaged and he started moving on his own. They heard the bathroom door open again and started running, but Severin caught Baz back when he headed for the front door.
“What are you doing?” Balthazar tried to free his arm but the other boy was surprisingly strong. “We have to get out of here.”
“This is a safe place. That down there... it's an anomaly.”
“You are out of your mind.” Balthazar tried again to free himself but movement over Severin's shoulder caught his attention. The coach had come up the stairs and was standing in the entrance to the hallway, head swinging back and forth slowly like an animal searching for a scent. His eyes were narrowed into slits and Balthazar was suddenly sure that he was blind in the brighter light.
They stood there in silence, hardly daring to breathe, until the coach sniffed the air and swung his head towards them. Balthazar stumbled back, pulling Severin with him, as the man rushed them with the same uncanny speed. They stumbled into one of the bands of sunlight laying across the floor and the coach abruptly stopped and snatched his hands back with a snarl. He shook his head and growled at them, then his head went up and he appeared to be listening to something. With a last snarl, he turned and slammed his way out of the fire exit, bending the steel bar in the middle with the force of the impact.
There was silence for a moment then a high-pitched shriek that made Balthazar and Severin clutch at each other and exchange wide-eyed glances. It was followed by another, then a third that trailed off into a gurgling, choking noise. Severin closed his eyes and after a moment Balthazar realized he was praying. Unable to resist rolling his eyes, he let go of the other boy and cautiously made his way over to the fire door to look outside.
The coach lay face-down on the sidewalk, wisps of smoke curling lazily up from his exposed skin. The skin itself looked red and shiny, and even as Balthazar watched the man's forearm split open with a sickening pop. Balthazar spun away from the sight and barely made it to the trash can before throwing up so hard he could feel the muscles in his stomach strain. An image of the coach's entire body splitting apart like a hot dog on the grill rose in his mind and he vomited again, until nothing but bile came up.
He gradually became aware of Severin's hand on his back, rubbing in slow circles and offering some comfort. Baz managed to sit back on his heels and wiped at his mouth, feeling weak and unsteady, and gratefully accepted the paper cup of water Severin brought him. With the other boy's help he got to his feet and let Severin lead him up to the reading area on the second floor. More sunlight came in through the second skylight here, and Balthazar made sure to sit in a patch of it, turning his face up to its warmth in an attempt to ease the shivers shaking his body.
“You okay?” Severin handed him another cup of water and sat beside him.
Balthazar nodded. “Sorry.”
“You really don't need to apologize. And it's safe up here, I checked. Maybe you should try and get some sleep.”
“No, I should stay awake.” Balthazar drained the cup and set it on the low wooden table in front of the couch. “Keep an eye out.”
“I can do that.” Severin laid the inside of his wrist against Balthazar's forehead, a no-nonsense gesture that Balthazar found oddly comforting. He was beginning to feel sleepy and hardly protested as Severin made him lie down. His head hurt and it felt good to close his eyes, knowing there was someone else there to keep watch, though a part of him still didn’t completely trust Severin. Before he could think about it any further he drifted into a deep sleep.
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