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She gasps, “Who are you?”

I know that voice. Aunt Janet. “I’m—I’m the Pirate.”

Aunt Janet stands up. It’s amazing—she’s not much taller than me. And almost as thin. An idea is forming in my head. I scoop up the pieces of tape.

She whispers, “You’re the Pirate? A girl? My God, you even have the eye patch.”

I whisper back, “We need to go.”

We slip out the door and close it behind us. I stop and listen. There are voices on the other side of the swinging doors. Someone coughs. Richie says, “Suck on a lozenge or something.”

“Like where am I going to find that?”

“Then suck on your damn thumb. I don’t care. I’m tired of you blowin’ your germs in my face.”

My eyes dart to the box on the shelf. Cassie is up there.

Richie says, “I’m thinking we haul her up to the roof, give the aliens some target practice.”

Aunt Janet says, “What are you looking for?”

I point to the shelf and say, “Can you help me get that box?”

She looks at me like I’m insane.

Richie says, “Mmm. Smell that Poodle Noodle soup!”

He can’t be more than seconds away. I leave the pieces of tape over by the door—it’s part of my new escape plan—and whisper, “Follow me!” Dropping to my knees, I lift the vent cover and crawl back into the LTT.

She says, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

But there’s grunting behind me as she squeezes into the
hole. I scoot forward, hit the T, and make the right turn. Her hands brush the bottoms of my feet.

We’re scooting down the straightaway when a tornado slams into the kitchen. Pots and pans tossed around, glass breaking—it shakes the walls and is so loud it echoes in the wormhole.

Richie yells, “THE LONGER YOU HIDE, BITCH, THE MORE IT’S GONNA HURT!” Then a short scream, followed by “YOU ATE ALL THE TOMATOES!”

And somewhere, underneath all that noise, is a box with a small kitten inside. A helpless, scrawny kitten that purrs me to sleep when I’m scared and shivering in the dark. No time to think about that now. I pull the fading glow stick out of my pocket and clamp it between my teeth.

If I bite any harder I’ll snap it in half.

We’re at the vent above the utility room. I didn’t make any wrong turns getting here, which is lucky and amazing since the glow stick is almost dead. Aunt Janet told me she was impressed with my sense of direction. I showed her the tape markings and she was even more impressed.

We stop and listen. The door is locked, plus there’s tape jammed in the key slot, so chances are good no one is lurking inside. The ladder is still there. It’s a little tricky because the room is dark and we come out headfirst, but Aunt Janet holds my feet while I climb on, and then I hold the ladder steady for her.

My escape plan was that Richie would find the pieces
of duct tape by the swinging doors, which would give him the idea that Aunt Janet was hiding around the kitchen. It was pretty lame, but I think he fell for it. Hopefully that bought us enough time to sneak into the parking garage and make it to the cave. The only problem is I should have Cassie with me, and I don’t.

Richie isn’t waiting in the utility room. He’s not on the other side of the access door. I have the pepper spray in my hand, just in case. We wait in the shadows of the stairwell, but the parking garage seems empty. It could be a trap, but I tell Aunt Janet to follow me. We stay low, run past the Nova and the SUV, around the corner, and up the ramp to Level 2. I crouch behind another car, look and listen. No Richie. This is feeling way too easy. What choice do I have? I tell Aunt Janet to wait here. I run to the Suburban, open the rear hatch, peel back the carpet, lift the trapdoor, wave for her to join me. She runs up, panting like a dog.

“Feet first, face up,” I say. “It’s easier to get out.”

She climbs in. I take one last look around, close the rear hatch, slip into the cave, drop the lid, and test the seal. Good. The carpet is back in place.

There are tiny drips of light leaking in through the airholes. They look like stars in a midnight sky. There really isn’t enough light to see anything, but looking at them makes me feel better. We’re both breathing hard, which makes the air feel hot and heavy. It takes a few seconds to get settled. The cave is tall enough for us to lie on
our sides, but only if we scrunch our shoulders. On our backs is definitely the best position. We’re like sardines in a can. I can’t get over how strange it feels to have another person around, someone who can actually talk. For the moment, though, neither one of us is talking.

After a minute or so, Aunt Janet whispers, “What’s your real name?”

“Meghan,” I whisper. “That’s with an ‘h.’ But everyone calls me Megs.”

“How old are you, Megs with an ‘h’?”

“I’m twelve. But I’ll be thirteen on July fourth.”

“You were born on Independence Day? That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Mom said I was her little firecracker.”

“Where are your parents?”

It takes me a couple of seconds to work this one out. “My father … Mom thinks he’s dead. She’s probably right, because he was a drug addict. He left when I was little. My mom drove off with some guy on a job interview right before the spaceballs came. I know she’s alive, I just don’t know where.”

“Where is home?”

“Erie, Pennsylvania.”

“Your mom had a job interview at five in the morning?”

“We were out of money. She said it would be a short job and then we’d eat breakfast at Denny’s and then go to the beach. I’ve never even seen the beach.”

“You’ve been living alone out here all this time?”

I wasn’t alone, but I don’t feel like explaining it, so I say nothing.

Aunt Janet waits, then says, “What happened to your eye?”

“I bumped it while I was hiding under a car four days ago.”

“Where did you get the bandage?”

“I found a first-aid kit. It’s right here behind me.”

“When did you last change it?”

“I haven’t. It really hurts.”

“I need to look at it.” She starts sliding toward the trapdoor. “There’s lots of swelling around—”

I grab her arm. “Don’t!” I whisper. The truth is, I’m afraid it will hurt too much just taking off the bandage. So I say, “It’s not safe yet. He’s out there. I can feel it.”

She stops, moves back next to me. She touches my arm and says, “You’re an amazing young girl, Megs.”

I say, “What’s your name?”

All of a sudden I shiver, like I’m cold from the inside out. But it doesn’t make sense since I’m sweating.

“Carrie. That’s with a ‘C.’”

“Can I call you Aunt Janet?”

She laughs. “Okay—if I can call you Pirate.”

It’s quiet again. I like it better when we’re whispering. That way I don’t think about how much my head hurts. I’m really feeling cold now. My teeth are starting to chatter.

Aunt Janet says, “Back there in the kitchen—what was in the box?”

I don’t want to say anything. But I can’t help myself. My throat tightens, like I’m going to choke. “Cassie, my kitten.”

Aunt Janet says, “Oh, no. My God—that was your cat? Oh, Megs. I’m so sorry.”

I’m crying now. It hurts, but I can’t stop. She reaches out, pulls me into her arms. She doesn’t smell that good, but I don’t care.

She says, “You saved my life, Pirate. Thank you.”

I choke out, “You’re welcome.” I can hardly talk I’m shivering so hard. But in the back of my head I’m already thinking. Thinking about tomorrow and the wormhole and the box.

Aunt Janet says, “My God, girl, you’re burning up!”

Then, in a swirling, falling instant, I’m not thinking at all.

Down the Drain

I catch Dutch in the bathroom, drinking out of the tub. But I’m too late. He must have bumped the drain lever with his head, because the tub is nearly empty. All our water, our survival, down the drain. It’s my job to keep him out of the bathroom and I didn’t and now I’m afraid to tell Dad, but he’s going to find out anyway. I take Dutch and put him in my room. Then I return the drain to the plugged position and call Dad.

“It was like this when I found it,” I say.

He’s staring at something. I follow his eyes. There’s fresh drool and water stains on the rug.

“Must be a leak,” I say.

“Must be,” he says quietly. He walks out the door.

“Maybe it’ll rain,” I say to his back.

“Maybe,” he says from the hall.

Dutch hears us and starts to bark.

Looking at the trail of drool on the carpet, Dad says, “You can let him out now, Josh. What’s done is done.” He slips into his bedroom and shuts the door.

Breaking Mirrors

“Shh. Megs, you have to be quiet. Do you understand?”

A voice in the dark whispers to me. It’s a woman’s voice. Why is she whispering? Where am I?

The voice says, “Richie is out there. I think someone is with him.”

My clothes are soaked. A blanket is over me, and it’s wet. My skin burns like glowing coals. But I’m shivering, shivering so hard my bones ache.

There are other voices beyond the dark. They are yelling. Broken words leak into this place, but I can’t understand them. A warm hand strokes my hair and pulls me close.

The woman’s voice says, “They’ll leave soon. Then we can get you out of these wet clothes.”

I want to say that my throat hurts, but the words get stuck.

She must know my thoughts because something cool and wet is pressed to my cracked lips. Two small sips and she takes it away.

The voices outside are close. They mix with a sound like thunder. It hurts my ears. Something is shaking this dark place. Is it the wind … ?

I give in to the blackness swirling inside my head. It turns into a gray fog that forms into a man. I recognize this man. I’m looking at his reflection in a big mirror. The mirror cracks, then shatters. I turn around. He’s standing in front of me holding something over a steaming pot on a stove. It’s a baby. The baby is crying.

This man—I know his eyes. At first I think it’s Richie. Then he laughs and begins counting down.

5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …

The man is Mr. Hendricks.

I try to scream but can’t because a hand clamps down on my mouth. I pull and scratch at the fingers, but they’re too strong and firm and won’t let go.

“It’s okay,” the voice whispers. “Shhh. Shhh. They’re almost gone, honey. It will be okay. Shhh …”

The outside voices fade, the wind stops, the thunder rolls away. The hand slides off my mouth.

Someone is stroking my hair. My mother strokes my hair.

I give in to the gentle tug of sleep.

The Delivery

Dad and I aren’t speaking to each other. Which, given our situation, means we’re not speaking at all. This isn’t because we’re mad or anything. I think it’s because, after all this imprisonment and impending doom, we’ve finally run out of things to talk about. The bathtub incident may have triggered this explosion of silence, but I saw Dad scratching Dutch’s ears today, so how mad can he be?

But here’s how crazy things are: