Chapter 3

There was a slight distortion that left my hand like a tiny heatwave. Nothing happened. SWAT guy smiled and pulled the trigger. There was an ear shattering crack and the gun exploded. A flare ejected out the side closest to SWAT guy’s arm, detonating. A squib. He shrieked and fell, slapping at the growing flames on his shredded arm.

I gawked at the scene. Holy shit. Either the rifle had malfunctioned on its own, or something else had tipped the scales. Probability spiral…

I staggered to the side, gasping. It felt like I’d run two marathons, back to back. Whatever it was, it hadn’t come free. Still, it would only be a matter of seconds before the SWAT guy recovered. He’d pull his sidearm and the small victory I’d managed would be wasted. I took off running, fighting exhaustion as his swearing followed me, his screams of pain echoing off the concrete ceiling of the garage.

/////

My paranoia started whispering a few blocks from our apartment. What if they’d identified me from earlier footage? What if they were waiting for me?

I slipped into a nearby Waffle House with a view of the east apartment entrance and took a seat at a booth. My leg bounced uncontrollably and I had a hard time focusing on anything. My escape had been too easy. Inconsistencies in the events came into focus that had been disguised in a wash of adrenaline.

I’d been so confident I knew which way the cameras were pointing. Why? Where had that surety come from? The hospital cameras were encased in a black orb. I was losing it. Life wasn’t a Marvel movie. People didn’t develop powers from meteors. The mounted TV flickered as the channel was changed, giving a report of shots fired at Baylor hospital. Apparently, the cops had continued making their rounds. But the news was reporting it as a possible active shooter situation. I cocked my head. That didn’t make any sense. Normally, the news was informed on this sort of thing. The police must have been on an information blackout.

“Hon? I said, what can I get you?”

I jumped, swiveling in my seat to face a waitress who couldn’t be bothered to tie her apron.

“Coffee.” Then, after a second. “Decaf.” No need to be any jumpier than I already felt.

“Just the coffee.” Statement, not a question. I was analyzing the waitress’s tone, looking for tells. More paranoia. I needed to get home so I could take my meds. “You okay hon?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Lot on my mind.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Last few days have been rough on all of us. I’ll get that coffee.”

The wording stuck with me long after she’d left. Last few days? Of course. This wasn’t the day of the impact. Few. What did few mean? At least two, probably three. I watched the news, waiting for a date stamped report. March 22nd, 2024. Okay. Two days. What the SWAT guy said made more sense now, at least in terms of timeline.

Know how many friends I’ve lost today?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The aroma of coffee filled my nose. I could feel the waitress’s shadow lingering before she left me to my drink. My stomach twisted.

“For the second day in a row, police and federal authorities have yet to explain the blockades spanning state lines.”

My eyes shot open. The scene on the TV rotated between various major highways. Checkpoints backed up traffic indefinitely as a deluge of squad cars and SUVs served as hastily erected barriers blocking off roadways. There was a shot of thousands of people pressed together at DFW airport, with a slow pan to a nearby display that read, “All departures suspended indefinitely.”

The hits kept coming. We were locked in. And the violet notification light was still hanging in my vision like a stuck pixel.

/////

I eased the apartment door shut. The hinges squealed at the last moment, giving me away. Small footsteps pattered as Iris swung out from the kitchen, small hand clinging to the dividing wall to prevent her socked feet from slipping on the hardwood floor as she leveraged herself towards me.

Iris was thirteen, but her outfits always made her look much younger. A simple denim jumper covered a white cloth shirt. Her blonde hair was cropped short, tufts of it frizzed out over too-long ears. She tackled me in a tight hug. I saw Ellison peek out from the hallway and give me a tentative wave. He’d gotten the best of our parents’ features. Our father’s electric blue eyes and our mother’s wavy chestnut hair.

“Hey Ellis.”

“Where have you been?” Ellison asked. There was a notable strain in his voice.

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“Dark orange. More sandstone than clay. Where have you been?”

“Hospital.” When his eyes widened, I hurried on before he could assume the worst. “Relax. Got out before they got my information.”

“Are you hurt?” Iris watched my lips intently as she finished the sign, closed hands with two index fingers pointed at each other.

“I’m fine.” I said, signing and speaking out loud. “Just bumps and bruises.” And broken ribs that didn’t hurt and a dislocated shoulder that was somehow fully functional. But that was filed under the category of things I didn’t want to think too closely about. “You guys okay?”

Iris nodded.

“More disturbed than anything else. Mom called us both into the living room onto the couch with her and held onto us, then started crying uncontrollably.”

I winced. “Sorry I wasn’t here. How long has she been orange?” I asked.

”Since the meteor.” Iris signed, her movements emphatic.

“She feed you guys?”

“We’re fine. We made sandwiches.” Ellison answered before Iris could sign.

Irritation flooded me and I looked towards the end of the hallway. Really? I was gone for two days and she couldn’t be bothered to reheat a lasagna? Of course she couldn’t. What was I thinking?

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I stalked towards the hallway and Iris clung onto my arm, slowing me, sliding a foot across the ground.

”Don’t make it worse.”

I knew she was right. In that moment, though, right and wrong didn’t matter. I felt so trapped, so damn strangled by this place. So, I stood and seethed. I reached up slowly to my forehead, feeling the spot on my forehead and finding the vein standing out on my skin.

Shit. My meds.

“Okay,” I said finally, and Iris released me. “I need to take some time. Do either of you need anything?”

“Not right at this minute. Got any money?” Ellison watched me knowingly, dark locks swinging across his forehead. “I was washing Mr. Oliver’s truck this morning—”

“El, you know I don’t like you working for him.”

Ellison rolled his eyes. “Not the point.”

“I’m serious. He’s the landlord, and he already tried to accuse you of stealing change from his car.” To say nothing of the fact that Ellison probably did. But the theft didn’t match the man’s explosive reaction and threats of eviction that terrified us for weeks. “Wait, what do you need money for?”