lips.
Water . . . where could I find water?
The ice cube trays. I yanked open the freezer door and slid out both trays. The little pools of water rocked back in forth. I dipped my tongue in one of them and swished it around my mouth. Somehow, it managed to taste both wet and dry.
Not water.
My empty stomach cramped and tightened in on itself, telling me it would eat itself soon. This called for desperate action.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slashed my eyes, burned my cheeks. I hauled my bike up and rolled it to the driveway, just as another wave of fatigue slammed my body. I fell against the handlebars, panting like a dog. Finally, I willed my leg over the frame and stood up on the pedals, and sluggishly, the bike carried me into the street.
Two blocks to the corner 7-Eleven. The bicycle coasted on the downhill, and a warm breeze lifted my hair across my back. I searched the neighbors’ houses for signs of life.
By now, if this was real, people would be returning from work and starting dinner. Lights would be coming on in the windows. Kids would be playing hide and seek in their yards, yelling and laughing.
Instead, the houses were empty, the windows dark. No one was playing.
No one home.
What if I never saw another human again?
I couldn’t process that, couldn’t even wrap my mind around it. My entire life wandering alone on a deserted planet. It still hadn’t sunk in. It was too big, too abstract, and the whole thing just made me feel numb.
Then an icy realization cut through it all.
Emory.
My heart plunged.
I couldn’t confess anymore.
Not if he was gone. I could never tell him the truth, never make up for what I’d done, never atone for my sins. For the rest of my life it would eat away at me, and I’d go straight to hell. Without Emory, there could be no salvation, no redemption, no forgiveness.
I had lost my one chance.
Stop it! I was overreacting. Of course I’d see him again. I’d see Megan again, and my parents, and my teachers . . . I’d see them all again. This was all temporary. It had to be. Just like being stuck in that white no man’s land was temporary.
I’d wake up in the morning and everything would be back to normal. I was sure of it.
Still, the ache in my chest didn’t fully go away.
I unsaddled in the 7-Eleven parking lot and stumbled to the door, relieved to find it wide open.
No one at the register.
But the sight from the doorway made me pause. Pastries spilled across the main aisle from an overturned rack, most of them shredded and ripped apart, grease-stained tissues lying in crumpled heaps.
The curved glass around the taquitos and hot dogs had been bashed inward, the food inside ravaged. The jagged edge of the glass was smeared with something black, which had hardened and flaked off—my eyes narrowed— dried blood .
I shuddered and moved inside, carefully stepping over a torn carton of Oreos.
Something else had gotten here first.
A tangy, smoky odor hung thick in the store. Food going bad? My nose wrinkled instinctively. I drifted down the first aisle, trailing my finger along packages of beef jerky. Something that wouldn’t make me puke . . .
A box of crackers, a package of string cheese, and a giant bottle of water. I plucked items at random, every so often wiping dust off on my shorts.
A strange thought tugged at my mind. The food in my fridge had gone bad too, like it had been sitting in my fridge not for days, but for weeks. Food didn’t go bad right away. And Salamander the snake. How long had he been dead? Then there was the thin layer of dust coating everything in sight.
Whatever this place was, it had been deserted for ages.
I was balancing an armload of food by the time I rounded the final aisle—
My gaze dropped to what lay on the ground, and a shriek escaped my throat. With a crash, all my food ended up on the floor.
Sprawled across the aisle was a dead seagull, its feathers matted and limp. A putrid gray goo leaked from its
Water . . . where could I find water?
The ice cube trays. I yanked open the freezer door and slid out both trays. The little pools of water rocked back in forth. I dipped my tongue in one of them and swished it around my mouth. Somehow, it managed to taste both wet and dry.
Not water.
My empty stomach cramped and tightened in on itself, telling me it would eat itself soon. This called for desperate action.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slashed my eyes, burned my cheeks. I hauled my bike up and rolled it to the driveway, just as another wave of fatigue slammed my body. I fell against the handlebars, panting like a dog. Finally, I willed my leg over the frame and stood up on the pedals, and sluggishly, the bike carried me into the street.
Two blocks to the corner 7-Eleven. The bicycle coasted on the downhill, and a warm breeze lifted my hair across my back. I searched the neighbors’ houses for signs of life.
By now, if this was real, people would be returning from work and starting dinner. Lights would be coming on in the windows. Kids would be playing hide and seek in their yards, yelling and laughing.
Instead, the houses were empty, the windows dark. No one was playing.
No one home.
What if I never saw another human again?
I couldn’t process that, couldn’t even wrap my mind around it. My entire life wandering alone on a deserted planet. It still hadn’t sunk in. It was too big, too abstract, and the whole thing just made me feel numb.
Then an icy realization cut through it all.
Emory.
My heart plunged.
I couldn’t confess anymore.
Not if he was gone. I could never tell him the truth, never make up for what I’d done, never atone for my sins. For the rest of my life it would eat away at me, and I’d go straight to hell. Without Emory, there could be no salvation, no redemption, no forgiveness.
I had lost my one chance.
Stop it! I was overreacting. Of course I’d see him again. I’d see Megan again, and my parents, and my teachers . . . I’d see them all again. This was all temporary. It had to be. Just like being stuck in that white no man’s land was temporary.
I’d wake up in the morning and everything would be back to normal. I was sure of it.
Still, the ache in my chest didn’t fully go away.
I unsaddled in the 7-Eleven parking lot and stumbled to the door, relieved to find it wide open.
No one at the register.
But the sight from the doorway made me pause. Pastries spilled across the main aisle from an overturned rack, most of them shredded and ripped apart, grease-stained tissues lying in crumpled heaps.
The curved glass around the taquitos and hot dogs had been bashed inward, the food inside ravaged. The jagged edge of the glass was smeared with something black, which had hardened and flaked off—my eyes narrowed— dried blood .
I shuddered and moved inside, carefully stepping over a torn carton of Oreos.
Something else had gotten here first.
A tangy, smoky odor hung thick in the store. Food going bad? My nose wrinkled instinctively. I drifted down the first aisle, trailing my finger along packages of beef jerky. Something that wouldn’t make me puke . . .
A box of crackers, a package of string cheese, and a giant bottle of water. I plucked items at random, every so often wiping dust off on my shorts.
A strange thought tugged at my mind. The food in my fridge had gone bad too, like it had been sitting in my fridge not for days, but for weeks. Food didn’t go bad right away. And Salamander the snake. How long had he been dead? Then there was the thin layer of dust coating everything in sight.
Whatever this place was, it had been deserted for ages.
I was balancing an armload of food by the time I rounded the final aisle—
My gaze dropped to what lay on the ground, and a shriek escaped my throat. With a crash, all my food ended up on the floor.
Sprawled across the aisle was a dead seagull, its feathers matted and limp. A putrid gray goo leaked from its
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