it hard to breathe. She didn’t want to go. Not even a tiny bit. She would rather lie down here, next to her mother. Wrap her arms around her and stay with her. Even if it meant bad things would happen to her too .
Her father kneeled and wrapped strong arms around her. ‘You can, Kyn baby, and you must. We’ll meet up at the Parson’s Nose, you know the one? The rock where we used to fish. Meet there.’
Kyn’s body stiffened. Why? Why would he take the twins, and not her? She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be safe. She could only be safe with him .
‘You know the woods, baby, you can get away.’ Even in the dark, she saw something in his eyes then. Something that made it terribly clear he didn’t think he was going to meet up with her at the Nose at all. ‘Wait an hour. You got your watch?’ She nodded .
‘One hour. Then go to the Proctors. Okay? If they’re not in their house, they’ll be in the shelter. The old bomb shelter, you know, Kynny, out the back? Where you kids play sometimes?’ He shook her then, his eyes wide and white in the darkness. Her teeth rattled together a bit at force of the shake. ‘Okay?’
Kyn squeezed her eyes shut against it all. The sniffling twins. The blackness. Her mother, lying so still. And her father, telling her to go. One of the twins shuffled up to her and pressed a wet face against her hand. ‘Kynny,’ he wailed .
And she knew then. She was not a baby, like they were. She was eleven. Her father needed her to do this. She could do it. She squeezed him hard and then kissed the twins. She reached down one last time and touched her mother’s face, although as soon as she did it she wished she hadn’t. Cold, so cold .
Then she didn’t look back. She ran towards the black outline of the trees, leaping over the streaks of light that pursued her as though they were bars she was vaulting at Madame’s studio .
She was at the Nose within ten minutes. And at the Proctors, alone, an hour later. Alone .
Except for Symon. He sidled up to her in the shelter. ‘You okay?’
‘Yep,’ she sniffled, shaking her head at the cookie he held out to her .
‘Dad reckons it’ll be over soon,’ he proclaimed, his cheeks pink in his brown face. ‘We just need to wait out the noise and light. Then we can go check on your folks.’
Kyn thought about Symon’s father. Her own mother had always thought Mr Proctor was mad, with his apocalyptic fantasies and his bomb shelter. ‘No point,’ Kyn whispered. ‘They’re all gone.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Symon said, taking her hand and turning her face to his so she could see those soft brown eyes. ‘You don’t know anything, not yet. Not for sure.’
She nodded. ‘Maybe.’
The shelter was completely dark, and Kyn felt like she was becoming darkness herself, like it was seeping into her skin, populating her. How could she ever live in the light again, after tonight? After her mother, and probably her father. And the twins. The thought of their tiny, perfect faces was more than Kyn could take. She turned her face to Symon’s shoulder and pressed it against the softness of his sweater. She knew he would understand, better than anyone. Kyn never liked to cry. Not if she scraped her knee, not if she fell off her bike. Not if some kid called her a name. Symon didn’t say anything, just let her sob quietly, privately, against his jumper .
And then he was there. Mr Proctor. The one Mama had always called Paranoid Proctor .
‘Kyn.’ His voice was soft. ‘You okay? You need anything to eat?’
Kyn looked up, and suddenly Mr Proctor looked different. He didn’t look like the same foolish conspiracy theorist he had always seemed to her. His big, craggy face looked safe and welcoming. He was Symon’s father. And Tabi’s. He was keeping them all safe in his shelter, while the world went to hell outside .
‘I’m fine, thank you, Mr Proctor,’ she sniffed, pulling her face up from Symon’s sleeve and trying hard
Her father kneeled and wrapped strong arms around her. ‘You can, Kyn baby, and you must. We’ll meet up at the Parson’s Nose, you know the one? The rock where we used to fish. Meet there.’
Kyn’s body stiffened. Why? Why would he take the twins, and not her? She wanted to be with him, she wanted to be safe. She could only be safe with him .
‘You know the woods, baby, you can get away.’ Even in the dark, she saw something in his eyes then. Something that made it terribly clear he didn’t think he was going to meet up with her at the Nose at all. ‘Wait an hour. You got your watch?’ She nodded .
‘One hour. Then go to the Proctors. Okay? If they’re not in their house, they’ll be in the shelter. The old bomb shelter, you know, Kynny, out the back? Where you kids play sometimes?’ He shook her then, his eyes wide and white in the darkness. Her teeth rattled together a bit at force of the shake. ‘Okay?’
Kyn squeezed her eyes shut against it all. The sniffling twins. The blackness. Her mother, lying so still. And her father, telling her to go. One of the twins shuffled up to her and pressed a wet face against her hand. ‘Kynny,’ he wailed .
And she knew then. She was not a baby, like they were. She was eleven. Her father needed her to do this. She could do it. She squeezed him hard and then kissed the twins. She reached down one last time and touched her mother’s face, although as soon as she did it she wished she hadn’t. Cold, so cold .
Then she didn’t look back. She ran towards the black outline of the trees, leaping over the streaks of light that pursued her as though they were bars she was vaulting at Madame’s studio .
She was at the Nose within ten minutes. And at the Proctors, alone, an hour later. Alone .
Except for Symon. He sidled up to her in the shelter. ‘You okay?’
‘Yep,’ she sniffled, shaking her head at the cookie he held out to her .
‘Dad reckons it’ll be over soon,’ he proclaimed, his cheeks pink in his brown face. ‘We just need to wait out the noise and light. Then we can go check on your folks.’
Kyn thought about Symon’s father. Her own mother had always thought Mr Proctor was mad, with his apocalyptic fantasies and his bomb shelter. ‘No point,’ Kyn whispered. ‘They’re all gone.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Symon said, taking her hand and turning her face to his so she could see those soft brown eyes. ‘You don’t know anything, not yet. Not for sure.’
She nodded. ‘Maybe.’
The shelter was completely dark, and Kyn felt like she was becoming darkness herself, like it was seeping into her skin, populating her. How could she ever live in the light again, after tonight? After her mother, and probably her father. And the twins. The thought of their tiny, perfect faces was more than Kyn could take. She turned her face to Symon’s shoulder and pressed it against the softness of his sweater. She knew he would understand, better than anyone. Kyn never liked to cry. Not if she scraped her knee, not if she fell off her bike. Not if some kid called her a name. Symon didn’t say anything, just let her sob quietly, privately, against his jumper .
And then he was there. Mr Proctor. The one Mama had always called Paranoid Proctor .
‘Kyn.’ His voice was soft. ‘You okay? You need anything to eat?’
Kyn looked up, and suddenly Mr Proctor looked different. He didn’t look like the same foolish conspiracy theorist he had always seemed to her. His big, craggy face looked safe and welcoming. He was Symon’s father. And Tabi’s. He was keeping them all safe in his shelter, while the world went to hell outside .
‘I’m fine, thank you, Mr Proctor,’ she sniffed, pulling her face up from Symon’s sleeve and trying hard
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