Fault

Part 47

Fallon Connelly 9:57 a.m.

The downpour is intense and the wind is sending the rain sideways through the broken front window. We're sitting in the small furniture section, where there is one couch, a lounge chair and a footstool. The couch has a ridiculous flower pattern stitched into the fabric that makes Marc and the kids look like they're having tea at grandma's house instead of where they actually are. I'm reclined on the lounge chair, my arms resting on the sides like I could get a tan from the lightning flashing outside.

The footstool, where Cal would probably sit, is empty. Instead we see periodic sweeps of light from his flashlight as he goes through the rest of the store looking for useful supplies. I try not to think he's separated himself because of me.

I watch the rain and chew my bottom lip. I keep replaying the moment with Cal over and over in my mind, trying to figure out why I responded the way I did. Part of me resented that this had to be happening now. A bolt of lightning ignites the sky, as if to remind me that we have bigger problems.

Ry-Ann and Justin are tossing back and forth a small inflated ball with some Disney princess printed on the side of it. Ry-Ann is doing her best to distract her brother, but every time a crack of thunder shakes the store he quickly covers his ears and shuts his eyes. It would be cute if I wasn't so worried about the kind of damage the lightning might be doing.

On one of our trips north to see my aunt's family, a serious storm kept us inside their house all day. My cousin Lauren, who is almost exactly a year older than me, was trying to encourage their dog to go outside and do its business even though it was storming. The dog refused, and seconds later we watched as a bolt hit an oak tree in the yard, splintering it down the middle and starting a small fire that left a char mark on their grass.

There is plenty in St. Louis left to burn.

"We need to talk about how we're going to move on from here," Marc whispers, leaning toward me.

"I know," I say. "We have to find food somewhere. One bag of Twizzlers won't last us very long." I wish we had taken some cans of food with us from my dad's apartment.

Justin giggles as the ball bounces off his hands and up over the back of the couch. Ry-Ann sighs and gets up to retrieve it. Justin's smile splits his cheeks as he watches her go. I'm not sure that he understands that his mother is gone. That she isn't gone in the same way as a vacation or a trip to the liquor store.

Cal reappears just as Ry-Ann returns with the ball. His backpack is fuller than before and he is scribbling in his notebook. Adding up the total we owe, I assume. His hair has started to dry and it's spiking up in the front. He looks up when another flash of lightning illuminates the store and for the tiniest fraction of a second he makes eye contact with me. I feel like I've been caught doing something wrong and look away embarrassed.

"I found umbrellas and some other rain gear," he says.

The worst of the storm seems to be right above us. The thunder rolls constantly and the lightning flashes like Mother Nature is having a rave outside. It's not safe to go anywhere yet. I stand, feeling restless, and walk to the only surviving store window. I know it's supposed to be late morning, but the skies are so dark that the clouds cast a midnight blue hue on the street.

There are still people walking, but the rain is slowing their progress. I'm surprised no one else has thought to crawl through the store's broken window like we did. I wonder if they know something we don't.

Rainwater runs like a river beside the curbs and all I can think about is the Mississippi and it's rising waters. I couldn't imagine the city flooding, but until yesterday I couldn't imagine the Mississippi running backwards either.

My thoughts turn to my dad and where he is right now. Is he trying to find me? Is he trying to find my mom? My cheeks redden as I wonder if it's selfish to want my dad to come find me and carry me out of here. It's bad enough that my mom is lost somewhere in this mess, I don't want to be worried about him too. Part of me hopes that he isn't able to get a flight and that he isn't even in the Midwest. The other part of me wants him to move heaven and earth to get here.

My stomach growls, but the sound is swallowed by thunder. If this rain doesn't let up enough for us to keep walking we might have to start eating the clothes. The image of the group of us, stalking the jeans and tackling the winter coats like wolves on a nature documentary sends a bubble of laughter up my chest and out of my mouth before I can stop it. Once it's out, the sound is so strange to me that I even find that funny and am quickly laughing harder.

I'm sure I look and sound ridiculous, but I can't stop. Tears are rolling down my cheeks and I'm bracing myself against the window frame. I've lost sense of everyone else as the combination of thunder and my snorts drown them out. I try to swallow back the laughter until it's just giggles. Through blurry eyes I see Cal beside me and the concern on his face starts my fit all over again.

It's the smell of smoke that kills the laughter in my throat.

"What's that coming from?" Cal asks, noticing it as I do.

He sprints for the door and unlocks the deadbolt quickly. I'm right behind him trying my best not to panic.

"What's going on?" Marc asks from the couch behind us. We don't respond.

Cal doesn't hesitate to rush right outside, soaking his almost dry clothes all over again. I do hesitate, but more because I want an extra second before seeing what I know is the source of the smell. I step out behind Cal, instantly getting pelted in the face with heavy rain drops. We're facing the direction we were trying to go earlier and the scene that is all too familiar. The sky is charcoal with plumes of black smoke rising up from the store directly to our right. A fire as intense as what destroyed our high school rages out the windows. The rain battles it on the front line, but there is nothing it can do to stop it from spreading to the buildings on either side of it. To us. Cal and I almost fall over each other trying to get back inside.

"Marc! Get a raincoat on Justin!" Cal shouts, pointing to the pile of rain gear he gathered.

"We're going out in that?" Marc asks, frantically pulling a small yellow raincoat out of the pile.

"Ry-Ann, get something out of there that fits you," I say as I button my mom's jacket.

Cal grabs the new sweatshirt I picked off the rack for him and slips it on quickly. Ry-Ann, her eyes wide, finds a blue raincoat with a hood that is slightly too big for her. I help her into it just as Marc finishes putting one on Justin. Cal fishes three adult sized raincoats out, kicking aside the boots he had found since there is no time for them. The umbrellas seem unrealistic too and none of us grab one.

Justin starts crying and I know our freaked expressions aren't helping. After I've zipped up an ugly yellow raincoat over my mom's soaked jacket, a move that makes me feel like I'm just locking the wetness in, I kneel in front of Justin.

"Hey buddy," I say, forcing a smile. "I know this is scary, but we're going to carry you and keep you safe."

"I want Mama," he says, wiping his eyes with his fists. It's like a swift punch to the lungs and I can't force any more words out of my mouth.

"I got you," Marc says, swinging Justin up and into his arms.

Cal slides his backpack on, the weight of it slumping his shoulders. Ry-Ann sticks as close to me as she can without actually clinging to my leg. We move as a group to the open door and see the black smoke drifting past us reflect the lightning above. My throat is dry, which is fine because it will be the only dry part of me in a moment.

"Stay together," Cal says. "We cross the street first, then head right. We have to keep going west. First safe shelter we see, we'll stop."

I feel a hand in mine and my first thought is Cal, even though the hand is too small to be his. When I look down, I find Ry-Ann gripping me. I give her palm a squeeze and then pull her along with me as we run out into the storm.