Fallout Dreams

miava 01

the top of trevor's skull kissed the green steel. pressure from the mounting storm reddened his cheeks, clamped his jaw, and popped his eyeballs from their sockets. they were dangling now, shifting focus between the fresh dents in the painted metal and the dumbbells still rocking at his feet. his arms hung slack; his muscles torn from his most recent purge.

three-hundred-and-fifty-seven days of listening... of researching... of reflecting, refraining, atoning... and one stupid goddamn trickster-whore noticed his fragility and took advantage. she plagiarized emotion, stole his abstinence, threatened his stability, and nearly foiled his redemption.

nearly.

a restructuring of priorities was all trevor needed to get back on track.

goal number one: convince ava to stay.

goal number two: convince mia to leave.

to achieve both goals, he would need to break the rules.

to last eight more days, he would need to embrace the storm.

* * *

the front door was locked. mia tested the bolt anyway.

frantically, she dialed 9-1-1 for the third time, shouldered her phone, and marched to the living room. ghosts of black paint still haunted the brick outside ava's door.

the call failed. shit! zero bars. 12% battery.

"my calls aren't going through!" she yelled, then moved from window to window to double-check the locks. "we should be halfway to little rock right now. you know that, don't you?" rain pelted the panes.

mia dialed her mom on the way to the kitchen.

the call failed.

the back door was locked. she tried the bolt anyway.

she had to stretch to reach the window above the sink. it was locked. "i'm telling you he came in through a window! you understand that?"

no reply.

she rushed back to the front door; a text to nolan. "we're in trouble," she typed. "we're at the house. phones don't work. please help. i'm sorry for my last message. i'm sorry for everything."

similar messages to gari and mom; none of them went through. a flash of white and crack of thunder reminded her why.

9% battery.

mia gathered her courage beside the front door. slowly, she unlocked it, clenched the handle, turned it—

the door snapped open and battered her shoulder. rain soaked the hardwood but she didn't slip. it took all of her weight to pull the door shut from the outside, but once the latch clicked, she bolted across the porch and hurdled the rail into the rain.

gutters overflowed with a curtain of thick globs. driveway tread marks had turned into muddy lakes. thousands of miniature streams crawled toward the house and pooled at the foundation. we're sinking, she thought. the whole damn house is SINKING.

she crossed the alley and twirled into the garage.

mia needed a step ladder to reach the tool kit lovingly assembled by her father a week before the move. she unlatched the box, removed a shiny new hammer and carton of nails, then hopped down.

a previous owner must have saved the siding that was ripped from the garage and stashed it along the back wall. mia grabbed an armful of the shortest boards and dragged them—tools under her pits—through the garage, through the rain, and into ava's room.