Seventy:

SEVENTY:

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Sarah watched the peak of the house grow taller through the windshield. Jack stepped up next to her and whispered, “Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen fast.”

She didn’t reply, just continued staring. Never in her life had she known what it felt like to be paralyzed, rooted to the spot with fear. Did terror numb her body or was her body numbing itself to the terror? Sarah didn’t know. And perhaps she didn’t want to, either.

The bus rolled over crunching earth.

Julia apologized to her sister, who now rubbed her back and held her close. “It’s okay. It’s a-a-all right. Once she s-stops the bus s-she’ll let us off.”

Diana shut her eyes.

Astoria, Oregon. Her mother’s funeral.

She opened them. There was still the dark house out there, so she pinched her eyes again—that same reflex was the one that said yank your hand out from under the water for fear of being scolded; distrust that man walking behind you on the empty street. Pure elemental instinct. Survive wh