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When The Levee Breaks

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Pennsylvania welcomed Kurt, Dani, and Santana without fuss or fanfare. The metal truss bridge traversing the state border between Phillipsburg and Easton was nothing special, and as they crossed over Dani couldn't help wishing they would be met with some sign — a chorus of angels, an explosion of fireworks, anything — to show that they had accomplished something. Instead, it felt like just another day. Just more walking, more miles to cover. Their bags felt heavier now than when they had left New York, although their supplies had been completely depleted. None of them had eaten since leaving Rachel outside Stewartsville, and even then it had only been a halfhearted meal of whatever they'd had left in the bottoms of their packs. It had been more of a forced consumption than eating, and Dani was fairly sure that when Kurt had excused himself to go to the bathroom out of view behind a few trees an hour afterwards, he had only thrown up the little he'd eaten. Santana didn't seem much better — she and Kurt were barely speaking, just taking the road one step at a time and avoiding conversation. They both had an almost eerie fog over their eyes, like they couldn't shake themselves out of last night's nightmares.

As for Dani… well. She couldn't quite get rid of the rock sitting in the pit of her stomach — although she didn't know if it was from hunger or distress — and she had no idea how to handle this. They had lost a living, breathing person, and now the group felt unbalanced and off-kilter. None of them had seen this coming. Though, when Dani thought about how sick Rachel had really been over the past several days, maybe they should have. She supposed that up until Rachel's death (and Rachel and death were two words that should never, ever have gone together) nobody — herself included — had quite processed or accepted that any of this was truly real. Now, reality had delivered a ruthless blow, and they were all struggling not to collapse under its weight.

Dani wasn't grieving for Rachel the same way Kurt and Santana were — she knew that. She simply hadn't known Rachel for long enough to really feel a loss, so instead Dani was left struggling to cope with simple shock. She was more terrified of what Rachel's death meant in the grand scheme — that by attempting to make it across a distance as great as this, in the midst of what could only be described as a total catastrophe, they were risking far more than they had originally realized. For the first time, they understood that their lives were just as easily lost as anything else.

The truss bridge into Easton creaked slightly in the breeze as they crossed, watching the Delaware River surge along beneath their feet. A couple of kingfishers hunted along the riverbank, darting into the water and popping out again a moment later with tiny fish in their beaks. The trees lining the shore rustled as a strong wind rushed past, branches dipping and leaves fluttering. Dani reached up to pull her hair into a bun and keep it from blowing in front of her face, watching the kingfishers dive as she followed behind Kurt and Santana. Her stomach clenched as a hunger pain shot through her abdomen.

"We should stop and get some water," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind and the gushing river.

Neither Kurt nor Santana argued, following Dani as she veered to the edge of the bridge, where the ground sloped steeply down to the river. At the gravelly shoreline, Dani shrugged off her heavy pack, stretching the kinks from her shoulders before unpacking her empty bottles. Kurt and Santana followed suit, kneeling by the water.

Overhead, the wind whistled through the metal support beams of the bridge, and Dani stared out over the rippling surface of the river as she filled her bottles. On the opposite shore, she could see a pair of dirty stray dogs stop at the edge to drink. They both wore collars. Dani wondered where their owners were. Further upstream from a bend in the river, a small empty dinghy floated along, bobbing this way and that in the water. A torn rope dragged through the water beside it, and Dani watched in silence as it slowly sailed past them, propelled only by the current.

"It's so quiet," she said to no one in particular.

Ignoring her, Kurt abruptly lurched to his feet. "Did you feel that?"

Dani frowned. "Feel what?"

Before he could respond, the ground shook beneath Dani's feet, and she nearly lost her balance. The water trembled, splashing against the pebbles lining the bank, small waves lapping at Dani's shoes. A great gust of wind rushed past them. Across the river, the dogs yelped and bolted, disappearing over the bank with their tails tucked between their legs.

"What…" Santana started, but whatever she was going to say died in her throat as she looked past Dani, her eyes growing wide as dinner plates.

Dani turned to follow Santana's gaze, and felt her blood run cold.

Around the bend in the river came a towering wave, crashing over the rocks and snapping trees out of the ground along the banks like they were no more than toothpicks. The water swelled well over a hundred feet high, churning dark brown and full of debris as it swallowed everything in its path. The roar of the water was deafening, and it almost sounded like the earth was being ripped apart.

Dani whirled on her toes, leaving her packs and water bottles scattered on the ground, and grabbed Santana's arm. But as she tried to run back up the slope to the road, Santana wouldn't budge, frozen to the spot in terror.

"We have to go!" Dani screamed, barely able to hear her own voice.

Santana didn't even glance at her, only staring at the wave surging toward them.

"KURT!" Dani shrieked, desperate for help, but Kurt also stood petrified and rooted to the ground.

Dani glanced over her shoulder, her heart knocking hard and fast against her ribs. There was no time; the wave would reach them in seconds. She pulled on Santana's arm again, and Santana still refused to move. "COME ON!"

At last, the adrenaline coursing through Dani's veins kicked in, and as the wave loomed closer and closer, Dani let go of Santana's arm. And she ran.

She didn't see Santana and Kurt before the wave consumed them, but somewhere amidst the roaring and crashing of the water, she heard them scream. The sound was brief, almost immediately choked off, but Dani didn't look back. She scrabbled for footing on the gravel hill, and had barely made it to the top of the slope when she was lifted off her feet and sucked underwater. The air was ripped from her lungs, and everything went dark.

Dani's body jerked her awake, her eyes snapping open in the pitch black, and for several seconds she had no idea where she was. She lay still, breathing hard and trying to gather her wits, staring up at the shadowed ceiling overhead.

Ceiling. Right. She was indoors.

After making it across the bridge into Easton, the three of them had ducked into an empty Italian bistro in the middle of town to camp inside for the night. The kitchen had been empty, but the windows and doors were intact — a welcome bit of security, since outside the rain was coming down in heavy torrents. The rain battered the windowpanes in a chaotic staccato, and occasionally a flash of lightning somewhere out in the night illuminated the glass.

Dani sat up from her makeshift bed on the floor — really just a blanket and a balled-up sweatshirt for a pillow — and leaned back against the wall. Her heart was still racing from her nightmare. She glanced over to where Kurt was sleeping near the opposite wall to reassure herself that she wasn't alone. Santana, however, wasn't sleeping at all and instead was sitting at one of the small dining tables by the front window, watching the rain in silence.

Dani shivered, goosebumps rolling over her skin in ripples. She shook out the sweatshirt she'd been using as a pillow, pulled it tightly around her torso, and stood up to go join Santana at the table.

"Can't sleep?" she said softly.

Santana shook her head, resting her chin in her hand.

"Same here."

Santana was quiet for a long time, her eyes following the streams of water coursing down the glass. "Do you think we did the right thing?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small.

"When?"

"Leaving Rachel the way we did."

Dani's chest ached. "What else could we have done?"

"I don't know." Santana swiped the cuff of her sleeve over her eyes. "I'm so tired."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

Santana shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

Dani chewed on the insides of her cheeks, feeling useless. Lightning flashed outside, followed a moment later by a low, far-off rumble of thunder. The storm was already passing.

"Do you think we should have stayed in New York?" she asked, partly because she really wanted to know what Santana thought, and partly because Dani had been asking herself the same question multiple times a day ever since they reached New Jersey and was just desperate for an answer.

Santana sighed, a drawn-out and unsteady exhale. "I don't know," she repeated. "I have no idea."

"I don't either."

Santana pulled her hands through her hair, brushing it back out of her eyes in exhaustion. "Dani, why did you come with us?"

Dani blinked, taken aback by the question. She suddenly realized that Santana had never officially invited her to come along, and it wasn't as though Dani was from Ohio anyway — she'd never even been there. Was it possible that Santana didn't want her along?

She fiddled nervously with her watch. "I-I, um…"

"You could have gone to Tennessee," Santana said. "Found your family."

Dani swallowed. "Santana, they disowned me. If I made it to Tennessee, I still wouldn't have a home to go to. They wouldn't want to see me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

Santana went quiet for another minute, picking anxiously at her fingernails. "For what it's worth," she said at last, "I'm glad you came."

Relief flooded through Dani's veins so quickly she nearly cried. "M-me too," she stammered. Santana's face was barely visible in the dark, but Dani could see a pained smile cross her features. Whether Santana was glad for Dani's company because they were girlfriends (they hadn't been together long enough to say it was definitively love ) or just because Santana didn't want to be left alone with Kurt, Dani didn't know. She supposed, in the end, it didn't really matter.

DAY 22

Puck sat on the edge of the deck attached to June and Carter's house, the heels of his boots resting on the hard-packed dirt. He squinted into the sun, watching Mercedes assisting Carter with giving a large cream-colored horse a brush-down. Puck rubbed his palm over the back of his neck; his hand came away sticky with dust and sweat.

"Here."

Puck twisted to glance over his shoulder. June had emerged from the house and was holding a glass of water out to him. She held a second glass in her other hand.

"You need to stay hydrated," she said.

"Thanks." He accepted the drink and took a long gulp as June sat on the deck's edge next to him. The water was warm, but nevertheless was welcome on his dry throat.

"Wish we had some ice," June mused, almost to herself. She set her cup on the deck beside her and turned toward him. "Come on, let me see your arm."

Puck shifted to allow her better access to his bandaged arm. She carefully unwound the gauze, leaning closer to inspect the scabbed-over crescent knitted into Puck's skin.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, prodding gently at it with the tip of her finger.

Puck shook his head. "Not much. At least, not compared to earlier."

"That's good," she said. She balled up the gauze in her fist. "I think you can do away with this. You'll have to put on some antibiotic cream later, though."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Puck asked, scratching at the scab.

"People get injured a lot on ranches. You learn what you need to when you need to." June shrugged. "And by the way?" she added. "The next time you get bit by a Gila, don't kill it. Just wedge a stick between its teeth to get it off you."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I'll keep that in mind." Puck took another drink, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Where do you guys get your water?" he inquired, peering toward the rocky ridge in the distance that concealed the Colorado River from view. "That's a pretty long way to carry buckets."

June shook her head. "We're close enough to the river to have a well," she explained. "It's all groundwater. We did have to restructure the pump to be hand-operated after the blackout, though, and we take the cows and horses to the river at least once a day. Can't pump enough water for the whole herd."

Far overhead, a hawk screeched, its call echoing out over the sand flats. A gust of wind kicked up a billow of dust, eddying across the yard between the house and the corral. Over the ridge by the river, a wall of dark clouds was gathering, edging across the sky in their direction.

"Storm's coming," June observed.

"Did you do a rain dance?" Puck joked.

June's expression dropped in a fraction of a second, and for a moment Puck thought she was going to slap him. "That was very rude," she said.

Her tone was perfectly steady, and suddenly Puck felt like he was two inches tall. Embarrassment crept up his spine and his face flushed. "…S-Sorry," he stumbled.

June didn't say whether or not she accepted the apology, instead staring back toward the cloudbank. "Come on," she said after a minute. "We should set up some barrels to collect the rain. It's always good to have extra water."

Puck nodded, quickly standing to follow her. After a couple days of taking it easy and letting his arm heal, he was itching to do something useful. He helped June carry empty feed bins from the barn out into the open patch of sand beside the house, relishing in the feeling of getting to use his muscles again. As they worked, the wind picked up, tugging at their clothes and blowing dust across the yard.

"June!" called Carter, approaching them from the horse paddock. "Honey, we got to get the cows over to the river and back before the storm hits. Otherwise they're without water until tomorrow."

June shielded her eyes against the sun, watching the clouds for a moment. "Yeah, that's coming on faster than I thought," she agreed. "Okay, but we've got to go quick as we can. Puck, you think you and Mercedes can help with this?"

Puck shrugged. "Sure. What do you want us to do?"

"Get your horse saddled up," June directed. "Mercedes can ride one of ours. After that, all you have to do is follow up behind the herd."

"Sounds easy enough."

"We've only got about three hours before the storm hits in earnest," Carter said. "Let's go."

The air in Lima was unnervingly still as Blaine and Artie crossed town, following the familiar route to Yoakam Road on their daily supply run to the abandoned truck. They were now well stocked at home and didn't exactly need to be making a run today, but the idea that someone else might find the truck and figure out how to get it open made Blaine anxious, and so now the runs were more for the purpose of hoarding than anything else. The town was oddly quiet today — aside from the occasional squawk from a crow, not even the birds were singing, and the hairs on Blaine's arms stood on end. Artie was silent as he rolled along beside Blaine, perhaps because the eerie stillness was unsettling him just as much.

Blaine had the odd sensation that if they tried to carry on a conversation, somehow it would give away their location, and the gangs and thieves and thugs that spent their time ransacking and stealing would suddenly pour out of any number of hiding spots. He and Artie would be surrounded, and their hoarded provisions — including the keys to the Target truck — would be ripped from their grasp and they would be shot and left to rot in the middle of the street.

But he couldn't think about that.

Blaine hadn't mentioned to Artie that he had stopped at Sam's house, with its collapsed roof and the charred corpse lying out in the open on the front porch. Partly because Blaine didn't want to see Artie's reaction to the probability that Sam was dead, but mostly because Blaine didn't feel capable of even acknowledging it himself. The list of things he avoided thinking about every day was growing longer and longer.

A small wave of relief hit him as they rounded the bend onto Yoakam Road and found the truck still intact, still sealed up tightly. Blaine quickly climbed up onto the foothold at the back of the truck, fishing the keys out of his pocket to unlock the doors. Over the past several days, they had barely made a dent in the truck's contents.

"So what are you thinking?" Blaine asked. "Soup today? Cereal?"

Artie shrugged. "Whatever we can carry the most of, I guess."

"Cereal it is." Blaine hoisted himself into the trailer, yanking down large cardboard boxes labeled with Cheerios and Kellogg's Corn Flakes and tossing them down to Artie.

Artie set about ripping the boxes open and tossing the cardboard aside, taking only the sealed plastic bags and shoving them into their packs. They could carry far more without the bulky rectangular packaging. Blaine pulled out a box of condensed milk once they had filled the packs, and leaped down from the trailer, quickly locking the doors behind him.

Scooping up the piles of cardboard in his arms, Blaine carried them off the street and into the wooded patch bordering the pavement, tossing the heap onto the carpet of ferns and out of sight from the street. It was a practiced action — they had quickly realized that leaving empty boxes littering the pavement around the truck would look suspicious — and Blaine realized that the process of raiding the truck was becoming strangely well-rehearsed.

"Okay," he said, returning to the pavement and hefting the box of condensed milk off the truck's tailgate. "Let's go."

Artie didn't move immediately, instead staring up at the sky. "Blaine," he said softly. He pointed toward the tree line.

Blaine followed his gaze, the pit of his stomach going cold. A plume of black smoke was rising into the air from several blocks away. It hadn't been there a few minutes ago — whatever was burning, it had only just caught fire.

"We should go," he urged, taking a step back in the direction of the main road.

Artie didn't argue, turning his wheelchair to follow. But as they headed away from Yoakam Road, he kept glancing back over his shoulder at the smoke. Blaine, on the other hand, made a conscious effort not to look back.

"Hey, Blaine?" Artie eventually said when the smoke was finally out of view. They were still a twenty-minute walk from home. "Shouldn't we, you know, check on some people?"

Blaine swallowed, not wanting to have this discussion.

"I mean…" Artie continued. "We haven't seen anyone from school, and I really want to know if they're okay. We — we could even bring them some food; we have more than enough."

Logically, Blaine knew Artie was right. And it wasn't as though Blaine hadn't thought about it — he'd wondered almost constantly if the people he knew in Lima and elsewhere were surviving well or starving or even alive. But a big part of him didn't want to know, and ever since he'd been to Sam's house, Blaine wasn't sure anymore if he could even handle knowing.

Artie seemed frustrated with Blaine's hesitance. "Blaine, don't you think that you should at least check on Kurt's parents?" he pushed. "If you were in New York and he was here, wouldn't you want him to make sure your family was okay?"

Blaine swallowed, feeling like a knife had been jammed up underneath his ribs.

"We have to do something," Artie insisted. "If they're safe, I want to know. If they're starving, I want to help. If they're lying dead on a street somewhere, then I want to bury them. We can't just—"

"I can't, Artie!" Blaine snapped. Artie flinched, and Blaine immediately felt guilty. He clamped his mouth shut, his gut twisting as horrible images flashed across his mind — of the corpse that might have been Sam, of Mr. Schue being picked at by crows, of Cooper lying crushed with blood trickling from his mouth.

Artie's eyebrows pulled together. "So you're just going to leave them, is that it?"

Blaine finally stopped in his tracks, making Artie's chair halt next to him. "I have to believe that they're all okay," he forced out, his heart beating much too loudly against his ribs. "All right? I have to. But as soon as we go look for them, and we actually find them, then that won't be true anymore. And I can't—" He shook his head, blinking back tears. "I can't deal with that."

Artie stared at him for several seconds in silence, his expression blank, as though he had no idea what to make of Blaine's confession. "Blaine, what you just said… it's the exact same thing as believing they're all dead."

Blaine let out a slow, shuddering breath, trying to slow his roaring heartbeat.

Artie sighed, pushing his dirty hair back from his forehead. "You do what you want," he said, reaching down to grip his wheels and push forward again. "Tomorrow, I'm going on my own."

Though the distance between the ranch and the Colorado River was just barely over a mile and would have normally only taken twenty minutes to cross on horseback, it was much more difficult to keep up the pace while managing a herd of cattle. Not to mention the fact that Puck was suddenly being made keenly aware of how much he really didn't know how to ride a horse. He found himself repeatedly tugging on Mr. T's reins whenever she would try to speed up and get ahead of the herd, and then nudging her to speed up when she dropped too far behind. He couldn't quite pinpoint the correct pace. It had never been an issue before, when it was just Mr. T he had to worry about and she was only going as fast as they could walk.

At the very least, Puck felt a little bit better seeing that Mercedes was having just as much trouble as he was, if not more. She also had the disadvantage of being completely unfamiliar with the animal she was riding — a large cream-colored gelding with a white mane that seemed intent on stopping every few hundred yards to munch on the shrubs poking out of the sand. On top of that, he could hear her muttering constantly about how much she disliked horses and how she was never going to ride one again as long as she lived.

Puck couldn't help but snort at that. Though Mercedes hadn't complained about Mr. T, she had never once struck him as a fan of animals of any kind.

Up ahead of the trudging herd, June and Carter flanked the mass of lowing cattle, expertly guiding them with a series of hey-heys and loud yups and the occasional slap of a prod. Luckily, the herd wasn't massive — just under eighty or so if Puck was any good at estimating — and Carter and June could have easily managed the run on their own if they weren't so pressed for time.

Overhead, the sky was growing dark despite it being barely noon, the rainclouds sinking low and heavy. The first rumble of thunder rolled across the desert just as they began to climb the rocky ridge, a couple of sparse but fat raindrops pattering the well-packed earth underfoot.

"I'm going to be so pissed off if we get hit by lightning," Puck called to Mercedes, raising his voice to be heard over the constant bellowing of the cows.

"I doubt we'd live long enough to complain," she retorted.

"That's comforting."

Mercedes laughed at him, but was quickly distracted by her horse halting again to lean down and grab a mouthful of shrub. She swore loudly.

At last, the herd rounded the top of the ridge, beginning the short descent from the rocky path to the water. Puck's first thought was that the river was much, much smaller than he'd anticipated. He'd been expecting a staggeringly large waterway with heavy currents and lush green banks; instead, the Colorado (at least at this particular location) was barely three hundred feet across, with a steady but calm flow of water and a muddy brown shoreline on both sides.

Still, he couldn't say he was disappointed. It was the first body of water he'd seen since leaving the west coast, and after weeks of walking through nothing but desert he was overjoyed. As the cattle slowly spread out along the water's edge to drink, Puck nudged Mr. T to a trot and circled around the herd, then promptly dismounted and without any hesitation, ran straight into the water. It was cool and shallow, and after a few steps Puck dove in headfirst.

"Puck, what the hell are you doing?!" Mercedes exclaimed with a laugh when he resurfaced seconds later.

Puck might have made some kind of witty retort if he hadn't been enjoying the feel of the water so much; as it was, he only let out a satisfied sigh. "Mercedes, you've got to come in here," he urged, floating on his back. He didn't even care that his shoes were flooded. He could feel weeks' worth of travel grime and dust and caked dirt already being washed away.

"Hey!" Carter barked, trotting up on his horse. "We don't have time for a swim, Puck, let's go. Storm's gonna start any minute now."

Puck couldn't help feeling disappointed, but he shook the water from his hair and waded back out of the river, wringing out the hem of his shirt.

"Makes you feel any better, we're all gonna be soaked anyway by the time we get back," Carter said as Puck grabbed Mr. T's reins. "It's gonna be quite the downpour."

As if on cue, the sky flashed with lightning.

Mercedes shrieked, clapping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide. "Did… did you see that?"

A peal of thunder rolled across the hills, reverberating through Puck's chest. He turned his head to watch the clouds. "…See what?"

Mercedes was still staring at the sky. "Th-the lightning."

Puck squinted into the rain, drops pattering the ground more rapidly now. "What about it?" he asked.

"Just wait, wait…"

Puck frowned, watching the dark clouds. Carter was right — it was going to be one hell of a storm. The air around them was thrumming with the pressure.

A minute passed, and the sky once again flashed with lightning. Puck immediately jumped back, bumping into Mr. T.

"What the hell? " he cried.

"You see?"

"That — that's not normal."

Carter didn't seem all that startled, and instead of crying out in shock or alarm, asked, "Have you two not seen this before?"

Puck gaped at him. "You mean this has happened before?!"

Carter nodded. "Ever since the blackout. We've had a couple storms a week 'cause it's the rainy season, and they've all looked like this. I got no idea why."

Puck turned his attention back to the clouds, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Every nerve cell in his body was screaming that he should run, find shelter, hide , but he remained frozen where he was. There was nowhere to go .

A third time, the sky flashed, and a bright bolt of lightning darted down out of the clouds to the east. And then, as though the sky couldn't quite let it go, the bolt curved upwards and looped back into the clouds before disappearing. It never once touched the ground.

The accompanying peal of thunder rolled overhead quicker than before. The storm was growing closer.

"Come on," Carter finally said. "We got work to do. Let's get the cows watered and get 'em back."

Puck swallowed, his limbs feeling unsteady, but he followed Carter's direction and climbed back into Mr. T's saddle. He exchanged a silent look with Mercedes, who seemed just as uneasy as he was. Her knuckles were almost white around her horse's reins.

They spent a few more minutes at the riverside letting the cows drink, and then June and Carter began prodding the herd back up the ridge slope. The wind had picked up again, whipping at Mercedes' tied-back hair and making Puck shiver in his damp clothes. Even though he did try to concentrate on watching the herd and making sure none of the cows wandered, Puck couldn't stop himself from continuously glancing up at the sky.

As they pushed the cattle back up and over the ridge, and then slowly made their way westward across the sand flats, the sky darkened from grey to almost violet. The rain came down in heavy sheets blown by the wind, drenching them all to the bone and turning the sand to mud. Thunder made the earth shudder every few seconds.

And again and again and again, the lightning refused to strike the ground.

Puck followed behind the herd for the mile-long journey back to the ranch with his heart in his throat. He was unable to escape the foreboding idea that the world was coming to an end.

Night swept quickly over Lima, plunging the town into a darkness that was eerily still and unyielding. It was a perfectly clear night without even a breath of wind to rattle the window panes. Blaine, his parents, Artie, and Caitlin were gathered around the dining table eating dinner — a miscellaneous meal consisting of corn flakes, ramen, refried beans, and canned ham. This was the only lit room, with several candles burning on the table and casting flickering shadows up the walls. There were only a couple inches of wax left on each candlestick, and Blaine made a mental note to scour the town for more on his next supply run tomorrow.

Blaine ate in silence, barely tasting his food and not really putting any effort into joining the others' conversation. It was mostly small talk anyways; they didn't need him to pitch in. Not to mention that Artie had barely spoken to him all afternoon.

The back of Blaine's neck prickled uncomfortably as he sensed someone staring at him, and he noticed his mother watching him from across the table. She averted her eyes when he raised his head, but not in time for him to miss the concerned look on her face. Blaine felt a rock work its way into his throat; he tried to swallow it, but it seemed stuck. He knew his father had told her about their visit to Sam's house, but she hadn't spoken to Blaine about it yet.

Not that she hadn't tried. He just hadn't given her the chance.

He didn't want to give her the chance.

"We need more water," Tim said, pouring the last contents of the pitcher into his glass.

"There's still some in the barrel outside." Blaine immediately moved to grab the pitcher, eager to get away from the table even if just for a minute.

Tim waved him off. "I'll go; I'm done eating anyways." He took the pitcher from the table and stood. "Be right back."

"Well," Pamela said as Tim headed out to the front door. "Caitlin and I got a lot done in the garden today. Planted a lot of veggies."

Artie smiled at his little sister. "Yeah? Did you have fun?"

Caitlin shrugged, but smiled very slightly. Blaine could see that she wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of feeling safe again. (He could relate.)

"You were very helpful," Pamela insisted. "Pretty soon you're going to be a better gardener than me."

Artie gave Caitlin a nudge with his elbow. "Maybe tomorrow you can show me what you did."

Caitlin nodded, seeming pleased. "Okay."

Pamela changed the subject then, much to Blaine's chagrin. "You know, Blaine, we're pretty fully stocked for now. You don't need to make a truck run tomorrow; you could take the day off."

Blaine felt his stomach twist, the refried beans and canned ham sitting in his gut like a fistful of mud. He couldn't quite stand the thought of standing still, with nothing to distract him for an entire day. "…Yeah, maybe," he forced out.

Pamela frowned at him for a moment, looking more worried than anything else, and it was uncomfortably quiet. Blaine knew she was trying to figure out what to say to him, and he braced himself for some awkwardly phrased expression of sympathy or comfort, or possibly a gentle offer to talk.

Before she could say anything, however, the silence was ripped in half. Two gunshots blasted in quick succession from somewhere outside the front of the house, and everyone at the table recoiled.

Barely a second later, they heard the water pitcher shatter on the porch.

Pamela lurched to her feet, her eyes wide, her shoulders rigid. Her gaze was fixed in the direction of the front door. "Boys, take Caitlin and go in the basement," she ordered.

Neither Blaine nor Artie moved, both frozen stiff.

"Go!" Pamela barked. "Now!"

In unison, the two of them finally tore into action. Blaine grabbed Caitlin's upper arm and quickly steered her toward the basement door in the hall. Artie followed, accidentally catching his left wheel on the table leg in his haste. Already, they could hear several pairs of feet pounding up the steps to the front porch.

Blaine flung the basement door open, pushing Caitlin as roughly as he dared down into the stairwell, then turning to help Artie. Artie already knew what had to be done; his wheelchair couldn't go downstairs. Blaine hoisted him onto his back, letting Artie cling to his shoulders as he rushed to make it down the first few steps.

Four stairs down, Blaine twisted slightly to make sure Pamela was behind them, but he turned just in time to see her slam the door shut after him. "Mom!" he cried. They plummeted into darkness, broken only by the soft glow of the candlelight from the dining room shining through the crack beneath the door.

There was a crash as the front door burst open.

Blaine hunched on the stairs with his blood running icy cold, feeling Artie's rapid heartbeat against his back and Caitlin's shuddering breath on his arm.

Another three sudden gunshots made them flinch, and there was a dull thud as Pamela fell heavily in front of the door. The thin slit of light vanished. Almost immediately, Blaine could smell the blood seeping through the crack.

He couldn't breathe.

Footsteps passed through the hallway to the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Spreading out. Searching the house. Blaine couldn't tell how many there were.

"Jesus, this is a good find," a man's voice said. "They've got a lot of stuff in here."

Blaine could hear the kitchen cupboards opening and closing, opening and closing. He bit on his tongue until it bled.

"They got Lucky Charms!" exclaimed another voice. "Hell yeah!"

"Hey, someone check the basement."

Automatically, Blaine heaved himself back up, his calves screaming with the weight of both himself and Artie. He bumped Caitlin, forcing her to move down the stairs and further into the pitch black, and staggered down the steps to the cement floor. He could already hear someone dragging his mother's body out of the way.

"Caitlin, stay with us," Artie whispered, practically choking Blaine with his grip (or was Blaine's throat closing up without Artie's help?).

Blaine struggled not to collapse under Artie's weight as he pushed into the corner of the cellar, only half-hidden from the stairwell by a stack of old cardboard boxes. Crouching down, he felt Artie reach out and grope for Caitlin in the dark, grabbing her by her sleeve and pulling her close.

The door opened, and immediately the wavering light of a torch shone down into the dark. Footsteps, lighter than those upstairs, descended the steps. The intruder came into view, and suddenly Blaine's heart screeched to a complete halt. Artie let out a small, almost inaudible gasp.

It was Kitty.

She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, her too-oily hair pulled back in a limp ponytail that was really only a poor imitation of her old cheerleader's style. There was a nasty cut on the side of her jaw. Blaine almost didn't recognize her.

Holding the torch above her head to better see the room, she glanced around the basement until her eyes landed on the three of them, and she froze. Her eyes went wide.

No one spoke. No one moved.

"You find anything down there?" shouted someone from upstairs.

Kitty's eyes were suddenly glassy, and Blaine couldn't be sure in the torchlight but she might have been on the verge of tears. She swallowed, not looking away from them for even a second as she called back.

"N-No, there's nothing."

"Well, come on, we need help with all the crap up here."

Kitty didn't move immediately. "Is there a back door?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Blaine's heart was leaping hurdles in his chest, banging much too hard against his ribs. His gaze jumped to the right, where set into the far wall was a door leading out to the sloping backyard.

Kitty pressed her lips together momentarily. "They're going to burn the house," she hissed. "Run."

And with that, she whirled on her toes and dashed back up the stairs to rejoin her companions, taking the light of the torch with her.

Blaine's chest heaved, the oxygen tingling in his fingertips.

"Blaine," Artie snapped, shaking his shoulders. "Blaine, we have to go."

At Artie's urging, Blaine blinked and gave his head a shake. He readjusted his grip on Artie's legs, then stood up.

"Caitlin, hold onto me," Artie directed breathlessly.

Going as fast as he could and yet still far, far too slowly, Blaine edged his way through the cellar, navigating the dark based on sheer muscle memory. Upstairs they could hear the constant thudding of footsteps and slamming of cupboard doors as the kitchen was ransacked. At last, Blaine nearly tripped over the concrete step beneath the back door, fumbling for the handle with trembling fingers.

The door fell back on its hinges, and cool air washed over them. Blaine's legs strained to step up and through the doorway, emerging from the house in the shadow of the rear deck. Out here, it was easier to see in the light from the stars and the waning moon. Blaine hastened away from the house, stumbling down the slope toward the woods at the edge of the property.

Out of the corner of his eye, he barely caught sight of Cooper's wooden grave marker nestled in the grass as they rushed by.

At last, Blaine ducked in between the trees, ferns damp with late night dew brushing across his ankles. His knees buckled, and he and Artie crashed into the dirt. Caitlin shrieked. Artie immediately jerked up, begging her to be quiet.

Blaine pushed himself back onto his feet, reaching down to heave Artie across the ground for a few feet to sit at the base of the nearest tree trunk. Caitlin instantly dove into Artie's arms, crying and shaking like a leaf.

Blaine crept forward a few yards, keeping low despite the fact that logically, he knew nobody would be able to see him from the house. He stared up the hill at his home, the windows lit now only by torchlight. The minutes dragged on, time passing unjustly slowly now that there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait. Crickets chirped incessantly all around him.

Eventually, the light faded from the window panes, and there was a blissful moment of quiet darkness in which Blaine thought maybe — just maybe — Kitty had been wrong and it had been the gang's plan all along to leave the house standing.

And then there was a small flare of orange light somewhere in the living room, and within only seconds — they must have had a can of gasoline — the entire first floor was engulfed. The flames burst through the windows and licked up the walls, eating up to the second floor more gradually until the house was an inferno.

Blaine sat there in the dirt and watched as his home burned, the walls and roof and furniture and everything that made it his reduced to a hundred-foot bonfire. The fire was so bright that Blaine had to squint, and even where he was he could feel wave after wave of dry, foul heat rolling over him.

He shivered, his knuckles digging into the ground.

The fire roared, drowning out the crickets, and the smoke blotted out the stars.

"Blaine," Artie called from behind him.

Blaine ignored him, watching sparks and burning embers float up into the sky. The stench of smoke clogged his mouth and nose, and his breath hitched in his chest.

"Blaine," Artie repeated. "We should go."

A loud crack-crack-crack echoed outwards from the house, and the roof gave way, falling in on itself and taking half the right wall of the house with it.

"Blaine!"

Finally, Blaine tore his gaze away, turning his attention to Artie. Artie clutched Caitlin to his chest and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose, his face streaked with dirt. Caitlin was pressed into him, her limbs pulled inward and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Artie's eyes jumped to the house and then back to Blaine, the reflection of the fire flickering across his glasses. "We can't stay here," he pressed.

Feeling dizzy, Blaine watched the house burn for a few moments longer, then forced himself to turn away. Artie gently nudged Caitlin to her feet. Blaine knelt down and carefully but somewhat awkwardly hauled Artie up onto his back a second time. His knees shook under the weight, but he hefted Artie to the most comfortable position possible and waited for Caitlin to wrap her fingers into the hem of Artie's sweater.

As the boom of the second floor's collapse reverberated down the hill, Blaine, Artie, and Caitlin trudged away from the blaze. The roar of the fire and the blinding orange glow grew fainter, fading into the distance.

Slowly, step by heavy step, the three of them disappeared into the dark.