solid three seconds, followed by a split second of relief. And then it repeats itself all over again.
“How long has it been?” I gasp out to Eden. Dim blue light is slowly filtering in from the windows.
Eden pulls out a tiny square com and presses its lone knob. “Time?” he asks it. The device immediately responds, “ Zero five thirty. ” He puts it away, a concerned frown on his face. “It’s been almost an hour. Has it gone on this long before?”
I’m dying. I really am dying. It’s times like this when I’m glad that I don’t see much of June anymore. The thought of her seeing me sweating and dirty on my kitchen floor, clutching my baby brother’s hand for dear life like some weepy weakling, while she’s breathtaking in her scarlet gown and jewel-studded hair . . . You know, for that matter, in this moment I’m even relieved that Mom and John can’t see me.
When I moan from another excruciating stab of pain, Eden pulls out his com again and presses the knob. “That’s it. I’m calling the doctors.” When the com beeps, prompting him for his command, he says, “Day needs an ambulance.” Then, before I can protest, he raises his voice and calls out for Lucy.
Seconds later, I hear Lucy approach. She doesn’t turn the light on—she knows that it only makes my headaches that much worse. Instead, I see her stout silhouette in the darkness and hear her exclaim, “Day! How long have you been out here?” She rushes over to me and puts one plump hand against my cheek. Then she glances at Eden and touches his chin. “Did you call for the doctors?”
Eden nods. Lucy inspects my face again, then clucks her tongue in worried disapproval and bustles off to grab a cool towel.
The last place I want to be right now is lying in a Republic hospital—but Eden’s already placed the call, and I’d rather not be dead anyway. My vision has started to blur, and I realize it’s because I can’t stop my eyes from watering nonstop. I wipe a hand across my face and smile weakly at Eden. “Damn, I’m dripping water like a leaky faucet.”
Eden tries to smile back. “Yeah, you’ve had better days,” he replies.
“Hey, kid. Remember that time when John asked you to be in charge of watering the plants outside our door?”
Eden frowns for a second, digging through his memories, and then a grin lights up his face. “I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”
“You built that little makeshift catapult in front of our door.” I close my eyes and indulge in the memory, a temporary distraction from all the pain. “Yeah, I remember that thing. You kept lobbing water balloons at those poor flowers. Did they even have any petals left after you were done? Oh man, John was so pissed.” He was even madder because Eden was only four at the time and, well, how do you punish your wide-eyed baby brother?
Eden giggles. I wince as another wave of agony hits me.
“What was it that Mom used to say about us?” he asks. Now I can tell that he’s trying to keep my mind on other things too.
I manage a smile. “Mom used to say that having three boys was kind of like having a pet tornado that talked back.” The two of us laugh for a moment, at least before I squint my eyes shut again.
Lucy comes back with the towel. She places it against my forehead, and I sigh in relief at its cool surface. She checks my pulse, then my temperature.
“Daniel,” Eden pipes up while she works. He scoots closer, his eyes still staring blankly off at a spot to the right of my head. “Hang in there, okay?”
Lucy shoots him a critical frown at what his tone implies. “Eden,” she scolds. “More optimism in this house, please.”
A lump rises in my throat, turning my breath shallower. John’s gone, Mom’s gone, Dad’s gone. I watch Eden with a heavy ache in my chest. I used to hope that since he was the youngest of us boys, he might be able to learn from John’s and my mistakes and be the luckiest out of us, maybe make it into
“How long has it been?” I gasp out to Eden. Dim blue light is slowly filtering in from the windows.
Eden pulls out a tiny square com and presses its lone knob. “Time?” he asks it. The device immediately responds, “ Zero five thirty. ” He puts it away, a concerned frown on his face. “It’s been almost an hour. Has it gone on this long before?”
I’m dying. I really am dying. It’s times like this when I’m glad that I don’t see much of June anymore. The thought of her seeing me sweating and dirty on my kitchen floor, clutching my baby brother’s hand for dear life like some weepy weakling, while she’s breathtaking in her scarlet gown and jewel-studded hair . . . You know, for that matter, in this moment I’m even relieved that Mom and John can’t see me.
When I moan from another excruciating stab of pain, Eden pulls out his com again and presses the knob. “That’s it. I’m calling the doctors.” When the com beeps, prompting him for his command, he says, “Day needs an ambulance.” Then, before I can protest, he raises his voice and calls out for Lucy.
Seconds later, I hear Lucy approach. She doesn’t turn the light on—she knows that it only makes my headaches that much worse. Instead, I see her stout silhouette in the darkness and hear her exclaim, “Day! How long have you been out here?” She rushes over to me and puts one plump hand against my cheek. Then she glances at Eden and touches his chin. “Did you call for the doctors?”
Eden nods. Lucy inspects my face again, then clucks her tongue in worried disapproval and bustles off to grab a cool towel.
The last place I want to be right now is lying in a Republic hospital—but Eden’s already placed the call, and I’d rather not be dead anyway. My vision has started to blur, and I realize it’s because I can’t stop my eyes from watering nonstop. I wipe a hand across my face and smile weakly at Eden. “Damn, I’m dripping water like a leaky faucet.”
Eden tries to smile back. “Yeah, you’ve had better days,” he replies.
“Hey, kid. Remember that time when John asked you to be in charge of watering the plants outside our door?”
Eden frowns for a second, digging through his memories, and then a grin lights up his face. “I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”
“You built that little makeshift catapult in front of our door.” I close my eyes and indulge in the memory, a temporary distraction from all the pain. “Yeah, I remember that thing. You kept lobbing water balloons at those poor flowers. Did they even have any petals left after you were done? Oh man, John was so pissed.” He was even madder because Eden was only four at the time and, well, how do you punish your wide-eyed baby brother?
Eden giggles. I wince as another wave of agony hits me.
“What was it that Mom used to say about us?” he asks. Now I can tell that he’s trying to keep my mind on other things too.
I manage a smile. “Mom used to say that having three boys was kind of like having a pet tornado that talked back.” The two of us laugh for a moment, at least before I squint my eyes shut again.
Lucy comes back with the towel. She places it against my forehead, and I sigh in relief at its cool surface. She checks my pulse, then my temperature.
“Daniel,” Eden pipes up while she works. He scoots closer, his eyes still staring blankly off at a spot to the right of my head. “Hang in there, okay?”
Lucy shoots him a critical frown at what his tone implies. “Eden,” she scolds. “More optimism in this house, please.”
A lump rises in my throat, turning my breath shallower. John’s gone, Mom’s gone, Dad’s gone. I watch Eden with a heavy ache in my chest. I used to hope that since he was the youngest of us boys, he might be able to learn from John’s and my mistakes and be the luckiest out of us, maybe make it into
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