The Thing At The Edge of Blundertown: A Young Adult Novel

I DREAMED I WAS DYING. The hospital room was overtaken by beeping machines, and a bright examining light shone down on me. “It won’t be long,” said a woman who listened through a stethoscope. She wore a long black robe and a flowing headpiece. Someone nearby was praying in a language I didn’t recognize.

Suddenly, the examining light overhead became infinitely brighter. Blinding white rays from the center bulb cast an intense, powerful glow.

“She’s gone,” the robed woman whispered. At that very instant, I floated upward and my perspective shifted: I was looking down at the bed from suspended whiteness high above the ceiling. I watched, hovering there from that telescoping place as I saw my small body lying on the bed among folded sheets. The woman kissed my forehead, and her stethoscope became a rosary. I heard a sob from this woman, who had become my mother, and chanting from the corners of the room. Next, I was sucked by tremendous force into the euphoric light. I became one with It.

I understood! But they did not.

I awoke startled in my own bed. I clung to Iggy, rocking myself through an indescribable fear. Had I just died? Was I alive? I pinched myself hard and bore down on the mattress to keep from flying away like a magic carpet. I wept in silence—but as frightened as I was, my tears were of unspeakable joy. It was the strangest, most marvelous moment of my life.

I never told a soul about this dream, except my mother years later. She was reading a book about death after my grandmother died. “Isn’t it fascinating?” she exclaimed. “People who’ve been pronounced dead but are revived all describe a similar experience: They’re met by a bright light and a feeling of extreme happiness. Even if they don’t believe in God.”

“I know. That happened to me once. I saw that light,” I told her.

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed.

HOURS BEFORE DAWN, Rae and her father tiptoed through the dew to the driveway. An upstairs curtain rippled. When they got to Gil’s house, his small, dark silhouette appeared from behind a tree. The three drove off, exchanging whispered greetings tainted with dread. They were three human hearts pounding, a percussion of raw nerves.

It was a short ride through the town Rae had known all her life, but nothing looked familiar: Jefferson Elementary School, the library with the Historic Site marker in the front, the firehouse and the strip of dollar stores and gas stations. The car was warm, but her teeth chattered. Gil sat beside her in the back seat.

Her father dropped a letter addressed to Chief Ollie Jerkins into the mailbox on the corner of Spring Street. The instant the engine stopped, Rae panicked. Her knees began to spasm uncontrollably, and the knot in her stomach tightened. She had no hair to hide behind. She let out an anguished cry.

She had never felt such fear before. Not on the way up the Rebel Rouser roller-coaster, not at the tipping point looking down at what could only be described as her death, the whole ride only ninety seconds but long enough for an entire life to pass by. Not the moment when Jackson was whisked away behind an iron door, her legs buckling, and those same short cries stifling themselves in her chest. Those had been child’s play compared to now. Now, she was staring Terror dead-center in the eye.

She gasped for air, on the cusp of hysteria. Gil remained motionless beside her. Her father pivoted from the driver’s seat. “Raelyn. Rae. Listen to me.” His command wove its way through internal echoes, each word hanging in isolation: “You. Don’t. Have. To do. This.”

He was right. She could back out this very instant. She could go home, light and breezy, and dive back under the covers. Yet at the same time, something in his words stirred her. A memory arose from years before. . .an ailing Penelope in her lap, proud faces, encouraging voices off stage: “You rose to a difficult challenge. . .you could have quit, but you didn’t. . .ninety percent of life is showing up.”

She knew at that moment that she would never retreat. She had a promise to fulfill. This was her mission, her calling. Penelope was waiting for her. It had been nearly six months in the works to get her there—a preordained destiny she only vaguely understood: The sign at Blundertown Park, the nasty neighbors. Doc Goodman’s midnight visit after the night of broken glass. The collar reducing Penelope to a number, the fake postcard. The buckets and the Mystery Tower, the unexplainable A+ with poodles wearing ribbons. She had tried everything: the Pet Lovers Club, the project in technology class, the risky photographs, the “F” in civics. But she wasn’t done yet.

Her terror, she realized, was not about the abstract, unthinkable things that might happen if they got caught. It was about getting caught itself. Someone said there is nothing to fear but fear itself. It had never made sense to her before. The solution was simple: Don’t overthink, just do it. Fear itself! Ninety percent!

With this new voice, the shaking knees and spasms stopped.

Penelope was calling!

She and Gil received a final lecture at the driver’s window. “Synchronize your cell phones. It’s now 3:48 a.m. You have two hours. You must be back here by six at the latest. No exceptions. Is that understood?” They nodded. “I’ll be waiting. Any delay would be. . . .” His voice trailed off. Then he looked at his daughter. “One hundred percent is not an option. I need your word.” She promised. The skin under his eye twitched. “Good luck, you two.” As she was about to leave, he reached out, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it with all his might.

She and Gil hiked a few steps in the dark before breaking into a sprint. Gil was instantly ahead of her. “Hey!” she called in a throaty whisper. He reached back and grabbed her hand, propelling her forward into, for her, a very swift pace. They only stopped when they reached the far corner of the Compound. They searched the back fence with their flashlights until they located the cut in the wire, courtesy of Doc Goodman. They manipulated the wire, bending it up and to the side. Then they got down on all fours and crawled in.

What had not been discussed at the meeting (thanks to the untimely interruption by her mother) were the critical details of detaining the Night Guard before rescuing the dogs. But Rae and Gil formulated a vague plan. It was fraught with disastrous possibilities, but it was the only one they could think of. They made their way silently, clearing a diagonal through the spacious field. She kept right up with him, their phones bobbing unsteady light in front of them beneath a canopy of stars.

“Watch out!” Rae called. He saw it, too, inches in front of his sneaker: a wide, open pit smack in the middle of the meadow, camouflaged by darkness. Its depth was unknown.

“Whoa.” He stopped right at the edge. “Where did that come from?” They guided each other around it and continued more cautiously through the field and between the buildings. They reached the Security Station where they hoped the Night Guard would be sleeping, as Officer Budd had said. The only light on the grounds came from the office window on the second floor. She inched the front door open and listened. It was the joyous sound of snoring! She flashed Gil an “A-Okay.”

They removed their shoes and tiptoed up the stairs. The snores came from Her Room to the right, where she had been held under lock and key as Angie Quinn. The door was wide open. The light from the hallway revealed an intimidating mound on the front cot, the bearded face snoring directly at them.

In the office, the guard’s cell phone sat on the desk, and the key hung in place on the wall hook. She grabbed it, shuffled back to Gil, and gave him a nod. He closed the door without a sound. She turned the key full circle until it clicked. They hurried downstairs and into the chilly darkness. The Night Guard was locked in.

She took a breath. “Whew. That was easy.”

“Yeah, but it could have been—”

“But it wasn’t.”

“I know. But he could’ve been—”

“But he wasn’t.”

“I’m just saying—” Gil waited for an interruption—“that we’re lucky, that’s all.” It was only a matter of time before the guard would awake and realize his predicament.

Only then did they acknowledge the smell. It was the same stench that had overcome her the last time she was there. They’d been so consumed by their fear and risky business that the traces of decay and burning had gone unnoticed.

Gil gagged and covered his face. “Ugh! What is that?”

“Not now. Let’s focus, okay?” she said, blocking her nose as well.

The next phase of the Rescue was, of course, the rescue. Neither of them was prepared for the emotional impact Phase II would have. She’d been there before, but for Gil, it was like he’d stepped into a foreign land, eerie and deserted. He stayed unusually, even rudely, close to her, his arm rubbing her shoulder. In the real world it would’ve been a boundary violation, “getting into her space.” But neither of them even noticed.

“What do we do now?” he asked, as if they’d just landed on Mars by complete accident.

She surveyed the grounds, at a loss herself where to begin. All the details they’d gone over had completely vanished. The beam of her flashlight traveled slowly, left to right, highlighting the structures opposite them: The Groom Room, the Storage Shed, Barracks I (Barracks II was out of view), and further back, the Mystery Tower looming high above. She switched off the light. Neither spoke. The gray buildings blended beautifully with the dark, charcoal sky like two-dimensional cookie-cutter outlines, a child’s simple drawing. It looked like the map she would have drawn. Or a respectable artist’s work, Study of Silhouettes, Pre-Dawn, Charcoal on paper. None of it seemed real. Her brain was strangely vacant.

She searched overhead, perhaps for a hint of divine guidance from the heavens. But all she found there was a giant question mark, the tilt of the Big Dipper: You Are on Your Own.

“Um. . .okay,” she directed, “you take Barracks I. I’ll take Barracks II. We go in and—” she paused—“and we don’t think, got it? And we get the dogs out. And we find Penelope.”

“Do you think they’re—”

“Gil!” she shouted. “I just said, ‘We don’t think,’ and then you say something about thinking. We just go in and do it. Like robots.” She glanced at her phone. “We’re wasting time.” She attacked him with a commanding bear hug, fists clenched around his shoulders and heels off the ground. A warm comfort engulfed her but vanished in an instant. She ran off past Barracks I to the building behind it. She stopped at the door of Barracks II and held her breath.

The door creaked as it opened. She scanned the interior with her flashlight. The shaft of light met one sight, then another, then another: Dogs. Dogs everywhere. Emaciated, lying on top of one another, large black orbs staring at her, bewildered and nearly lifeless on the bare floor. Everywhere she looked, they were there. There must have been well over a hundred of them.

“Penny?” She heard a thin, quivering voice. Whose voice was this, what was this hellish place? “Penny, come,” the voice called again, this time louder. A general stirring began, some shifting here, some rustling there. As her night eyes began to adjust, the floor became a sea of fluttering movement. She heard her own heart pounding. “Come, guys,” she urged. “Come!”

Then they came. First just a handful, limping, dragging themselves across to her, stepping over each other. She heard an awakening of light breathing, low moaning. Someone sneezed in the far corner. Someone whimpered. Next thing she knew, she was surrounded by dozens of four-leggeds. “Come!” She recognized a measure of hope in the voice as the entire floor seemed to swell up at once. It was a mass movement of weakness that rolled toward her, like a salty tide seeping into the sand beneath her feet, caressing her toes, hugging her thighs. Salt trickled down her face. She was on her knees, her arms and lanky elbows extended everywhere, caressing the uncaressable skin and bone.

She was the Pied Piper. She beckoned and coaxed them out the door, and they followed her. Behind Barracks I, behind the Spa and the Mystery Tower and to Doc Goodman’s secret door, lay their pathway to freedom. The small herd tried to keep pace. A few tails even fluttered, and the wails and barks grew stronger.

When they reached the opening in the fence, they stopped. Some lay down, already exhausted.

“Go,” Rae commanded. “Go on. Now!” Confused faces studied her. “Fetch!” She pantomimed tossing a stick high into the darkness beyond the fence. “Fetch!” She made more throwing motions. “Go get it!” A wave of panic crept through her; every second was critical. “What’s the matter with you?” she cried. She began steering them through the fence, one by one, careful to avoid their protruding hip bones. So far, none of them was Penelope. They reached the other side in painfully slow procession, but it was working.

When she finished the line, she turned back to gather more. Dogs were wandering aimlessly all over the place, stumbling, wailing, whimpering. She worked tirelessly. Back and forth, she relayed from the dorm, rounding them up and pushing them out. Some began to follow each other out the door, but this was going to be a race against time—and she had noted that some of the freed dogs were merely lingering on the other side instead of galloping off into the forest and toward their second chance of life. That would be the last phase of their mission, if they ever made it that far.

Barracks II was finally empty. The black sky had become a deep violet gray. She had not seen Gil. She had not seen Penelope. And dawn was only a gradual curve of Earth away.

As she ran to check on Gil, a voice boomed and cursed from high. It was the night guard, his hairy face large in the shattered window, his fist violently pounding the air. His torso looked about to leap out of the window frame when he spotted her. He shouted, among obscenities, “This is an order! Cease and desist! You’ll pay for this,” his arms flailing about from his helpless post.

She darted into Barracks I. It was still completely full. Gil sat among the victims, his head hanging in his lap. “Gil!” she shouted. He didn’t move. “What the hell are you doing?” He raised his head, but his eyes were shut. He looked almost as pitiful as the company he was supposed to be saving. She slapped him forcefully and yanked him until he rose, obligingly, to his feet. “I told you! Just do it.”

Strands of hair hung over his brow, fluttering like the wings of a wounded bird. She realized he was crying. He was nearly inaudible, “They don’t—don’t even look like dogs. . .I can’t—”

“You can! And you will. Now!” What was she going to do, are you kidding me? It was impossible to do it alone. This entire mission would be a failure. Penelope’s image blurred before her. It wanted to float away, but she kept pulling it back to her: Don’t go. Please don’t go, Penny. Don’t give up on me. Gil was an oversized rag doll, his broad arms hanging uselessly at his sides and his hair aflutter. As she stared at the pathetic figure, something large and ugly rose to her chest. From a deep, shameful place she didn’t know existed, cruel desperation took over. “Pee Pants,” she cried. “You’re nothing but a stupid Pee Pants!” She was staring him down. Suddenly she was unstoppable. Yes, she would go there. She mocked and taunted in a snotty, sing-songy chant that every child instinctively knows: “Pee Pants, Pee Pants, Nothing but a Pee-Pants.” She threw a quick jab into his chest. He didn’t even defend himself! Her taunts grew louder: “Nothing but a Pee-Pants!” her arms swinging wildly, slapping and jabbing his unprotected body. Next, she was circling him, hopping on one foot, then the other, as she twirled, diving in for a slap here, a punch there, belting out the schoolyard tune at the top of her lungs.

“Stop it, damn it!” he screeched. “I am not a Pee Pants!” His fist was mid-air, ready to strike.

The room went silent. They stood face to face, surrounded by a very captivated audience. Something like a giggle caught deep in her chest. Then in Gil’s. “Wow.” He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Twilight Zone.” He gazed at the mass of forms surrounding them. Then he looked away. “You’re a real you-know-what, you know.” He swung his hair skillfully around so it flipped off his forehead. He was back to the Gil she needed.

In the so-called real world, an embrace like that between two sixth-graders at Blundertown Middle School might have generated some online drama. But there, in the privacy of that filthy prison, time stopped for them.

Or so they would have wished. It was 5:03.

While the world slept, the two of them worked quickly in Barracks I just as she had in Barracks II, corralling masses of innocent prisoners through the back fence. She looked each one directly in the face. With each face, her heart grew a little heavier and more frantic. None of these was Penelope, either. When the dorm had largely thinned out, Gil took command. He offered to finish up while Rae tended to the stragglers outside who had fallen from the pack. They were walking in circles or lying down, scattered throughout the grounds.

When finished, he closed up Barracks I and joined her. He knew exactly what she meant when she looked at him. “No Penelope. Not yet,” he told her.

“One hundred percent positive? Did you look at every single one?”

“What if you didn’t recognize her?” She looked ready to cry.

“Hey.” He put his arm on her upper back, where a thick cloak of curls used to be. “I know her. I wouldn’t miss her. We just haven’t found her yet, that’s all.” But his words offered only a sliver of comfort. He suggested, “She’s probably already out. Maybe she slipped past us.” There it was, the paltry Glass Half Full. His phone said 5:37. “Let’s run through the smaller buildings and then get out of here.”

“What? No!” Rae snapped. “We can’t leave all these wanderers. There’s still, I don’t know, thirty, forty? We can’t just leave them.”

“Most of them can barely walk. Remember what your dad said.”

“We have to try. One of them is Penelope.”

“Okay,” he hesitated, “but we only have, like, twenty minutes. We’ve gotta hustle.”

It was a relay without anyone to pass to. He carried a dog in each arm, and she carried another and a flashlight. At that rate, they had to make over a dozen trips to clear the place out. They sprinted. Even for Gil it was arduous. For Rae, it was sheer adrenaline. They dashed back and forth, scooping up dogs and racing to the exit, back and forth, pick up, drop, repeat, an egg toss at gunpoint. The animals had to be treated just as delicately, too, and each one was ruled out as Penelope. Each time they reached the fence, the barks and wails grew louder. Soon, someone would be calling the police. They were clammy with sweat.

Suddenly, Gil came to an abrupt stop. “It’s time.” She bumped into him, full force, from behind. “Watch where you’re going!” he accused.

“Me?” she shouted. He was so unbelievable.

THE YARD WAS EMPTY. They’d rescued them all. Rae fell to the ground, utterly defeated. “Where is she?” she began to sob. An expanse of clouds had risen from behind a steep hill, creating a vibrant backdrop of crimson. It cast a strange other-worldliness over the vacant field.

Gil stood over her. “Uh, we really have to go,” he urged. She continued sobbing. “C’mon. It’ll be alright. But you have to stand up.” He waited helplessly. “Don’t cry.”

“Why not? You did!” She wept.

He tried to think of something he could use against her from kindergarten, but nothing came to him. Then something much more recent popped up. “Hey. I could call you a ‘Dog Food Eater,’ you know.” She stopped to listen. “And start singing like a lunatic.” She sniffled. “Want me to?”

“And hop around you like an Energizer bunny, and throw some punches. Want me to?”

“Okay, then. On the count of three, get up. Or I will.” He began, “One,” and paused. “Two.” She didn’t move. “Two and a half.” Still nothing. He sighed, “Damnit, Raelyn. Two and three-quarters.”

She lifted a wimpy arm to him.

He grabbed it and pulled her up. “Three.” He wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

They had six minutes left. They would make a quick round through the outbuildings on the chance they would find her. It would be their final effort.

Each building contained shocking revelations. The Groom Room was full of fur. Literally. Rae recalled how the groomer had shaved all the dogs—a solution to flea infestation, it was claimed. It was this cruel act that had triggered her own statement of solidarity with scissors to her own scalp. The fur was stuffed into clear garbage bags stacked from floor to ceiling and labeled, For Shipment: Ollie’s Upholstery, Inc. A large pile of loose fur had been swept to one corner of the room.

“What in the—“ Gil was staring intently at the swept pile.

“They shave them because—” He blocked her with his arm, still eyeing the corner of the room. She saw it too—a slight movement. Gil walked toward it with his flashlight. The pile stirred a little more, and out popped a skinny, jet-black puppy. He was furless and trembling. Two tiny, black circles stared up at Gil.

“Hi, little guy,” Gil cooed and squatted in front of him. The puppy emitted a faint, high-pitched whimper. “You’re clever, aren’t you? You found the warmest place in this hellhole, under all this fluffy fur.” He scooped him into his arms.

“OMG,” Rae came closer. “He’s probably only a few months old.”

He tucked him into his jacket. “I’m taking him out of here. How about you check the next building real quick, and I’ll check those other two on the way out.” She conceded. “And then, Rae, we’ve gotta get to the car. We have less than four minutes. Meet you there?”

The Storage Shed was organized into piles. Her flashlight revealed a large mound of unused toys: balls of all colors and sizes, braided ropes, rubber bones, and rawhides. Another pile contained wrapped presents, most of them in holiday paper received but never opened, and countless unopened letters addressed to “Taddie,” “Archibald,” “Gertie.” The lump in her throat made it painful to swallow. Surely, buried among these things were her letters and gifts to Penelope. A third pile contained leashes, brushes, nail clippers, and toothbrushes. The largest was a mountain of clothes and bedding.

“Hello? Penelope?” she called, hoping that Penny was another smart one hiding in a warm place. She rummaged on all fours through the pile of clothes. “Penelope, it’s me.” She crawled deeper into it, calling out again and again. No one was there. She dug herself out, sobbing, and closed the door behind her.

Once out on the dirt road, she realized she was missing her cell phone. She must have lost it somewhere in the heap. She returned to search for it, on all fours again, burrowing herself in the dense mounds of fabrics. Had she left the flashlight on or turned it off? she wondered. She saw no glow anywhere. For some reason, she started to panic. She began flinging items every which way, still buried among the garments. It had to be in here somewhere. The more she dug herself in, the more determined she was to find it. It was getting warmer and stuffier, and she was heaving for air. It occurred to her that she could suffocate in here. What a horrible, senseless way to die. Suddenly, her phone sounded. She followed the muffled ring until she located it, then breast-stroked her way out of the heap and raced out of the building.

She was drenched in sweat, relieved to be in open air. It was 6:02. The lit screen from Gil screamed, WHERE R U?? Her father would be furious. She’d become so sidetracked; what had she been thinking? She didn’t need her phone. She didn’t even need the flashlight anymore. The sky had lightened several shades to deep periwinkle. Dawn was moments away. The night guard was hunched over in the upstairs window. When he saw her, he began muttering anew a string of garbled obscenities, but his voice was weak, his resolve depleted. “. . .Won’t get away with this. . . .” was all she could make out.

As she ran past Barracks I, she stopped. Her eyes fixed on the closed door. She glanced in the direction of the fence, where Gil was long gone. High on the horizon, the world continued awakening before her very eyes. That was the thing about sunrise: You could watch patiently for a whole hour and nothing much happened; then in a matter of seconds, it was over. If only she had just a few more of those precious moments. Several remaining stars twinkled and lingered in the dawn, trying to hold on.

Her phone said 6:05.

She entered Barracks I.

The open door offered some light to the center of the room, but left large interior wedges still in darkness. Gil had assured her that he’d given this building a final check. The dorm appeared bare except for a few worn rags flung carelessly about—remnants of what the occupants might have tried to pass for blankets or comfort in another lifetime. Yet the walls seemed to pulsate and breathe. In the darkness, the hollows moaned to escape their own shadows. Ghosts now occupied this place and always would.

She stood there longer than time permitted. Gil would have chased as many dogs as possible into the woods before meeting her father. Any dog who meandered near the fence probably would be shot once the police were alerted to the break-in. No one would be returning for her. She remained there in a trance.

Something drew her attention to the far corner. She would never know what caused her to turn there, for it was neither sound nor scent, and as dark as charcoal. She moved steadily toward it. On the floor was a clump, a small mound. She tried to adjust her sight in the darkness, but all she could make out was that it appeared motionless. She knelt down to study it more closely. It was a series of curved sticks, lined up one against the other, forming an encasement of sorts. With the tips of two fingers, she felt a thin, velvety covering over the curves. She identified them instantly as ribs. Her eyes, still struggling to see, followed along the dark mass lying there. She was now touching a jawline that protruded like the dull side of a knife. Above the jaw was Penelope’s left eye. It was open.

Rae pressed her own face to the thin facial structure below, held her breath and listened. She smelled a warm, shallow exhale. Penelope was alive! She scooped the weightless body into her arms and caressed her in her lap. She began rocking gently.

How long she held Penny there, rocking and humming in private reunion, she wouldn’t know. But suddenly it ended. As if a hypnotist snapped her fingers, she stood up, protecting Penelope close to her chest. She whisked a ragged bedsheet from the floor, wrapped it around Penny, and slipped out into the pastel morning.

She wandered in delirium toward the back fence, where the hundreds of other dogs had already escaped. Their whimpers and calls echoed from the forest beyond. Sirens wailed in the distance. Initially the sounds came from behind her. Then they came from in front of her, where she was heading, instantly drowning out the animals’ cries. She began to run. The police sirens bellowed now in full, surround sound, increasing in terror as they grew.

She scurried through the back fence on her knees, with Penny huddled to her chest. Several confused dogs met them at the opening. Something crunched under her kneecap.

“Raelyn!” It was her father shouting amidst the clamor. His blurry figure appeared at the corner, and she realized her glasses were gone. His wide, sweeping arms beckoned. A series of loud “pops” echoed in the air, reverberating deep into the channels of her ears. He rushed toward her in slow motion, his arm commanding a halt at the flashing vehicles, his mouth shouting something. But she heard nothing.

She was bouncing in his broad embrace, the torn bedsheet draped around her shoulders. A tremendous roar consumed the world. Suddenly, an intense, bright light appeared from above. It hovered over them, suspended and radiating. Her father ran directly toward it, the wind blasting with centrifugal force. She was lifted high above his head, the torn, white sheet whipping around her like an angel’s wings taking flight. Another set of arms grabbed her from the blinding light source above. She found herself in the arms of medical personnel dressed in white. It was her mother.

“Go!” Nurse Devine shouted to the pilot. The helicopter lifted away from the chaotic world below.

Rae was seated in back with Penelope swaddled in her lap, and the aircraft shook and vibrated. Through the deep rumbling of the engine, the pilot’s cries trickled through: “We need,” his thin voice bellowed—“Good God, what a sight. The dogs. . .send medical supplies, water. . . .” She noticed the sharp smell of disinfectant and her right leg propped in her mother’s lap. Nurse Devine was wiping her calf with a soaked red cloth. It occurred to her that she had no feeling in any places her mother touched.

“A bullet must have ricocheted off something,” her mother reported in skilled calm. “You’ll be fine, baby.” But tears pooled at her lower eyelids, ready to topple over the edges. She began wrapping gauze around the wound.

“Mom. Penny needs water.” Her voice made no sound amidst the blaring of the engine. A paper cup appeared. Penelope immediately began lapping it up with sloppy licks, sending water flying everywhere. A dark, cold spot appeared in the crook of Rae’s pants. She pictured Gil on the kindergarten bus. Then she pictured him in their agonizing moments in Barracks I, their laughter so wildly out of place. Both seemed equally a lifetime ago. She began to giggle. Her mother examined her face with a clinician’s eye and a worried frown.

Rae turned away and looked out the small, curved window. They were flush along the tree line near the peak of a hill. The sky was awash in shades of pink, diffusing downward in wide bands. But as the helicopter cleared the jagged tops of the trees, she blinked at the breathtaking sight on the other side: The entire sky was transformed into an expansive burst of light —an immense arc of fiery orange and yellow emanating infinite power in all directions. It was the Earth’s awesome halo, the morning sun.

“Wow.” She was transfixed.

“Don’t look directly at it, sweetie,” her mother cautioned. “It can blind you.”

Rae turned to her. The awakening universe cast iridescence in her mother’s eyes, a watery, gilded green. She studied the colors, the gradations of lightness and depths of the first set of eyes she had ever looked into nearly twelve years before. Amazing, all this time, and her mother wasn’t a bird, after all. Rae was gazing into the face of a swan, a majestic Trumpeter queen. Holding Penelope, she scooted toward her and leaned into the pillow of downy feathers, the wide expanse of wing white as snow. Her head was suddenly very heavy. It settled into the warm whiteness, and her eyelids drifted closed.