Someone’s screaming.
At least, I think that’s what I hear before there are a series of hard clapping sounds. The screaming is almost too high-pitched and at first I think it is a small child, but the volume seems impossibly loud. It’s eerie, inhuman … and besides, there are no children here, not anymore. Whatever it is, it wakes me from a sound sleep. Now my heart’s thundering in my chest and I’m trembling with the kind of intuition that seems to accompany this kind of interrupted sleep. Something’s very wrong.
The raid.
Can they have come for us this quickly?
I look out my open window. The screaming’s stopped. There’s nothing now but the sound of the trees shushing together in the breeze and the singing chatter of the crickets. The moon’s bright and flat enough to look unreal. I wrap my arms around myself. My oversized nightshirt seems too thin; the air’s finally turned cold.
The street is empty. It’s still the middle of the night. I’m sure that everyone else is sleeping and yet there’s an undercurrent of energy riding the wind outside, making the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen and rise. I squint out at the darkest shadows, sure that I’ll see men with guns and uniforms, but everything’s still. The shadows are empty.
I tiptoe to my parents’ room. Mom’s there, but Dad’s not. I don’t wake her up to ask her where he is. Whatever’s woken me up and put me on edge feels urgent. She might try to keep me close and stop me from investigating on my own.
I throw on some clothes and creep downstairs. I check the few rooms there just in case, but Dad isn’t in the house at all. I open the front door. The screams start again briefly, dying out just as quickly as the ones that woke me up. There’s the clapping sound all over again. Like fireworks going off … or gunshots.
I walk across the porch and jump down into the yard. I start heading in the direction that the sounds are coming from. Where are the night guards? The streets aren’t just empty, they’re deserted. I look toward the front of the development. The gate is still closed. There’s no real sign that there’s trouble, just those screams and clapping sounds. I hold my stomach and try to calm the queasy feeling there. I’m still dizzy; the street heaves up to meet my feet and I realize that I’m walking funny, high-stepping to make sure that I don’t stumble. Still, I have to keep going. I need to know who’s screaming and why.
I walk past the clubhouse and on to the stables. The quiet here is overwhelming. Every stall is empty. Where are the animals?
I start to jog past the pigpens, chicken coop, and corral, which are equally bare, their doors gaping open. When my dizziness doesn’t get the best of me, I run toward the orchard, increasing my speed with every step.
Beyond the back wall of the development, just past the entrance to the Silo, the sky is glowing. I can hear voices … and there’s something else. Fire. I can smell the smoke from where I’m standing.
I’m shaking, I don’t know why. I manage to climb the apple tree closest to the wall and perch on the highest branch that’s sturdy enough to support me. There are bright red apples all around me, ready to be picked, but it’s too late for us to take them with us into the shelter. I move the branches and look out at the prairie.
I’m expecting to see police cars and trucks, maybe floodlights and men in flak jackets—like in the movies. I’m that sure that the sheriff has already made his way here. But instead there are several large bonfires blazing. Our trucks are parked by them and I can see people standing around the edge, although they’re too far away to make out clearly.
At first I can’t figure out what’s going on. Then I notice the animals. The fire closest to them sends flickering shadows across their sides, but I can still make out the familiar shapes of their chests and legs. They are lying so close together that they’re practically on top of one another. And they aren’t moving.
None of what I’m seeing makes sense. I grip the branches so hard that the bark bites into my palms. A slippery sickness wraps around my stomach and squeezes.
I watch as two men begin to stack wood around the animals and between them. I can’t see them clearly enough to know exactly who they are. I think one of them might be Mr. Whitcomb. He strikes a match. I can see the pinprick of light. Then he leans down and lights a bunch of … hay maybe, or prairie grass. It flares, yellow and orange flame engulfing it in seconds. Then he pushes it into the pile of bodies. They’ve tucked wood around them. I can see it now. Flames leap upward and lick at the sky before wrapping themselves around the animals.
I can see Mr. Whitcomb clearly now. He’s folded his arms and is staring grimly into the fire. The man next to him peels away from the lopsided circle once he’s through laying down wood. He staggers away from the bonfire and hunches over. I see the familiar shock of blond hair in the firelight and realize that it’s Will. He’s vomiting. And then everything hits me all at once, with a terrible jolt. They’ve killed our animals and are now setting them on fire.
The air should smell bad, like sulfur or rot, but it doesn’t. It smells like roasting meat, like some kind of morbid feast, and somehow this makes everything that’s just happened worse. I gag and hunch over the side of the branch I’m on. I rid myself of my own meager dinner. Tears sting my eyes and my mouth won’t close. Once I’ve thrown up everything, the screams come—from somewhere deep inside of me, the place that Indy claimed a long time ago.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been screaming when I’m finally able to stop, but Will’s seen me and so have the others. My dad is running toward the wall, but I don’t want him anywhere near me. I don’t want any of them near me ever again. I scramble awkwardly down the tree, lose my grip and fall the rest of the way, landing hard on my butt. Bright hot pain travels up my back, making me sick to my stomach all over again. I’m crying, deep, body-shaking sobs.
Indy’s gone.
They killed him.
They killed them all.
It was the animals that were screaming. The sounds still echo in my ears. I’m running, but I have no idea where to go. Lights are coming on in the houses now. I spin around in a circle and drop to my knees.
“Indy, Indy!” I wail. I’m hunched over in the middle of the street and I don’t care. I can’t care about anything, not now.
I thought that we came here to get away from all of the ugly in this world. This was supposed to be our haven. This was supposed to be better. We were supposed to be better. But this, right here, is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. And there isn’t a shelter insulated enough to protect me from it.