thrust my
head into the side room that held my rabbits. I’d just meant to
glance at them, but what I saw stopped me in my tracks.
The dumb bunnies were in a lather over
something, scrabbling against the floor of their cages, running and
pushing against the wire-mesh walls. But the weirdest thing? They
were all trying to run exactly the same direction—roughly east.
I peered into the darkness at the west end of
the room. What had spooked them? The earthquake hadn’t seemed
severe enough to still be scaring the rabbits. Maybe a coyote? Not
likely in the daytime. Same went for owls. Fox? Nothing made sense.
I strode into the dark part of the room, kicking through the straw
on the floor. I found nothing to explain my rabbits’ strange
behavior.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked them. They
didn’t answer, and I couldn’t figure out what else to do, so I
returned to my whittling.
I’d spent at least an hour and a half cutting
and placing more than two dozen joists when Mom walked into the
workroom.
“You see the fire?” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Looks like it’s coming from the Haymaker
place—we should check on them.”
“They’re probably just burning brush.”
“Wrong time of year for that. What if it’s
their house?”
“Then we’d have heard fire engines. You call
the fire department?”
“I tried,” Mom said. “Phone’s out. Thought it
isn’t supposed to go down, even when the power’s out.”
“It’s not.”
“We should check on them.”
I started stowing my tools. I didn’t want to
go—the pergola was almost finished. “Christ,” I said.
“Darla Jane Edmunds,” my mom admonished.
“Thou shall not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Sorry, Gloria,” I muttered.
“And none of that sarcasm. I’ve raised you
better than—”
A sudden roar drowned out my mom’s lecture.
The noise was so loud, it swept into the barn like a tornado,
scattering the straw on the floor.
I saw that Mom was screaming, but I couldn’t
hear her over the apocalyptic roar. Flaming knives stabbed through
my ears, deep into my brain. My hands were clamped over my ears,
but I had no memory of putting them there.
The unearthly noise was so overwhelming, I
couldn’t think. I stood, stunned. I must have looked something like
a sheep separated from its flock, mouth stupidly wide. Maybe I was
even bleating a little—it was impossible to tell over the
all-consuming noise.
Mom’s hands were plastered over her ears, and
her mouth hung open like mine. She twisted, obviously in pain,
although I couldn’t hear her moans.
Mom’s suffering shocked me into action. I
leapt off my stool and grabbed for the headphones hanging on the
pegboard above the bench. My dad had lost forty percent of his
hearing from a lifetime of working with power tools and engines, so
he had become a fanatic about headphones. He’d bought a matched set
for us—two high-end Peltor hearing protectors. I put one on, and
the noise eased from intolerable to merely deafening. I ran to Mom
and slapped the second pair around her head.
Mom pressed her hands over the headphones, as
if trying to meld them to her ears. I shouted, “What the hell!?”
but I couldn’t even hear my own voice—there was no way Mom could
understand me.
Eventually, my paralysis broke, and I crept
toward the door. My heart hammered in my chest so hard that I could
feel it even over the noise. I feared what I’d see outside the
barn—maybe a blasted and sere landscape, something like those
pictures of Hiroshima in my world history textbook, our barn
somehow the lone survivor of an architectural holocaust.
But the view outside was bizarre: everything
looked normal. The leaves on the trees were whipped by a fierce
wind, and there was a lot of dust in the air, but that’s not
unusual in Iowa. The sky was a brilliant sapphire blue, marred only
by the column of smoke still rising at a shallow angle from the
Haymaker place. So where was this
head into the side room that held my rabbits. I’d just meant to
glance at them, but what I saw stopped me in my tracks.
The dumb bunnies were in a lather over
something, scrabbling against the floor of their cages, running and
pushing against the wire-mesh walls. But the weirdest thing? They
were all trying to run exactly the same direction—roughly east.
I peered into the darkness at the west end of
the room. What had spooked them? The earthquake hadn’t seemed
severe enough to still be scaring the rabbits. Maybe a coyote? Not
likely in the daytime. Same went for owls. Fox? Nothing made sense.
I strode into the dark part of the room, kicking through the straw
on the floor. I found nothing to explain my rabbits’ strange
behavior.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked them. They
didn’t answer, and I couldn’t figure out what else to do, so I
returned to my whittling.
I’d spent at least an hour and a half cutting
and placing more than two dozen joists when Mom walked into the
workroom.
“You see the fire?” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Looks like it’s coming from the Haymaker
place—we should check on them.”
“They’re probably just burning brush.”
“Wrong time of year for that. What if it’s
their house?”
“Then we’d have heard fire engines. You call
the fire department?”
“I tried,” Mom said. “Phone’s out. Thought it
isn’t supposed to go down, even when the power’s out.”
“It’s not.”
“We should check on them.”
I started stowing my tools. I didn’t want to
go—the pergola was almost finished. “Christ,” I said.
“Darla Jane Edmunds,” my mom admonished.
“Thou shall not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Sorry, Gloria,” I muttered.
“And none of that sarcasm. I’ve raised you
better than—”
A sudden roar drowned out my mom’s lecture.
The noise was so loud, it swept into the barn like a tornado,
scattering the straw on the floor.
I saw that Mom was screaming, but I couldn’t
hear her over the apocalyptic roar. Flaming knives stabbed through
my ears, deep into my brain. My hands were clamped over my ears,
but I had no memory of putting them there.
The unearthly noise was so overwhelming, I
couldn’t think. I stood, stunned. I must have looked something like
a sheep separated from its flock, mouth stupidly wide. Maybe I was
even bleating a little—it was impossible to tell over the
all-consuming noise.
Mom’s hands were plastered over her ears, and
her mouth hung open like mine. She twisted, obviously in pain,
although I couldn’t hear her moans.
Mom’s suffering shocked me into action. I
leapt off my stool and grabbed for the headphones hanging on the
pegboard above the bench. My dad had lost forty percent of his
hearing from a lifetime of working with power tools and engines, so
he had become a fanatic about headphones. He’d bought a matched set
for us—two high-end Peltor hearing protectors. I put one on, and
the noise eased from intolerable to merely deafening. I ran to Mom
and slapped the second pair around her head.
Mom pressed her hands over the headphones, as
if trying to meld them to her ears. I shouted, “What the hell!?”
but I couldn’t even hear my own voice—there was no way Mom could
understand me.
Eventually, my paralysis broke, and I crept
toward the door. My heart hammered in my chest so hard that I could
feel it even over the noise. I feared what I’d see outside the
barn—maybe a blasted and sere landscape, something like those
pictures of Hiroshima in my world history textbook, our barn
somehow the lone survivor of an architectural holocaust.
But the view outside was bizarre: everything
looked normal. The leaves on the trees were whipped by a fierce
wind, and there was a lot of dust in the air, but that’s not
unusual in Iowa. The sky was a brilliant sapphire blue, marred only
by the column of smoke still rising at a shallow angle from the
Haymaker place. So where was this
Similar Books
