walks downstairs. I blow out the candle. I crawl intobed, pull up the covers, and ponder this new reality. Even when the power was out, we still had batteries. The house had a pulse. Now it just feels dead. The simple truth hits me like a brick: I have over fifteen thousand songs on my iPod, and I may never hear a single one of them again.
Dad breaks the news to me over breakfast. The electromagnetic pulse, or whatever it was, is probably permanent. Nothing works, not even the tiny light on Mom’s keychain.
We’re sharing a can of mini-sausages when he says, out of the blue, “You know what else uses a battery?”
I think for a moment, scratch my head. “No!” I say with a fake gasp. “Not the TV remote?”
He smiles, but it’s the kind that takes some effort. Like when someone goes,
Say cheese!
and you smile, but all you want to do is poke them in the eye with a cue stick. A couple of other wise-ass comments come to mind, but I don’t say them. I fork the last sausage, dip it in the almost-empty jar of deli mustard, pop it into my mouth, and wait. I know it’s coming—it’s gonna be good. Something real useful, like the battery to his GPS. Or his shaver. The suspense is killing me …
“My pacemaker,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes.
DAY 13: LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Blinded by the Light
I’m in the trunk. The backseat is open a crack so I can get some air. I can’t keep the seat totally closed because then it feels like I’m sleeping in a coffin. I’m doing something that I shouldn’t be doing—reading a comic book with my flashlight pen. I shouldn’t be wasting the batteries over something as stupid as
Aliens vs. Predator
, but when my stomach is growling so loud I can’t sleep, it really helps to think about something else. Even if it’s killer space creatures with acid for blood and spider-faced warriors that hunt humans and hang their chopped-off heads like trophies from trees. I whisper a promise to the furball sleeping at my feet—“One more page, just one more … then I’ll turn off the light.”
I don’t get the chance.
The screaming demons come back. It’s the same awfulsound that exploded in my head just before the spaceballs attacked. I look at Cassie—she’s still sleeping. How is this possible? I can hardly breathe. I need more air. But if I open the seat maybe the sound will be even louder? I decide it doesn’t matter if I’m dead. I clamp the flashlight pen between my teeth, punch down the seat, and crawl outside. It makes no difference because the demons aren’t outside. They’re screaming in my head.
And then they stop.
The garage is dark, except for the thin beam coming from my flashlight. I blink, take some deep breaths. A soft blue light is coming inside from beyond the wall. It gets brighter and brighter. Then everything is blue. I know it’s the spaceballs. I reach out for the door handle and choke back a scream. My hands—I can almost see through them all the way to the bones. It’s like I’m disappearing! And my eyes feel like they’re on fire. I dive back into the trunk and lift up the seat. But my sleeping bag is wedged in the opening. It won’t close. I kick the seat down, which lets in more light. Cassie hisses at me.
She looks normal. Why isn’t she disappearing?
And then the light goes off.
But not just the blue light—all light, everywhere. Even my pathetic little flashlight pen. It makes no difference if my eyes are open or closed. Am I blind?
All I can think of is, the aliens are coming. They used the demons to wake us up, then the blue light to blind us. Now they’re attacking. I try to think of places to hide, but what’s the point? I can’t go anywhere because I can’t see.I might as well stay where I am. I reach out for Cassie, find her. She mews softly as I pull her close. I duck my head into the sleeping bag—the two of us alone in the swallowing dark. Waiting for monsters to find us. For tentacles to slide in
Dad breaks the news to me over breakfast. The electromagnetic pulse, or whatever it was, is probably permanent. Nothing works, not even the tiny light on Mom’s keychain.
We’re sharing a can of mini-sausages when he says, out of the blue, “You know what else uses a battery?”
I think for a moment, scratch my head. “No!” I say with a fake gasp. “Not the TV remote?”
He smiles, but it’s the kind that takes some effort. Like when someone goes,
Say cheese!
and you smile, but all you want to do is poke them in the eye with a cue stick. A couple of other wise-ass comments come to mind, but I don’t say them. I fork the last sausage, dip it in the almost-empty jar of deli mustard, pop it into my mouth, and wait. I know it’s coming—it’s gonna be good. Something real useful, like the battery to his GPS. Or his shaver. The suspense is killing me …
“My pacemaker,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes.
DAY 13: LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Blinded by the Light
I’m in the trunk. The backseat is open a crack so I can get some air. I can’t keep the seat totally closed because then it feels like I’m sleeping in a coffin. I’m doing something that I shouldn’t be doing—reading a comic book with my flashlight pen. I shouldn’t be wasting the batteries over something as stupid as
Aliens vs. Predator
, but when my stomach is growling so loud I can’t sleep, it really helps to think about something else. Even if it’s killer space creatures with acid for blood and spider-faced warriors that hunt humans and hang their chopped-off heads like trophies from trees. I whisper a promise to the furball sleeping at my feet—“One more page, just one more … then I’ll turn off the light.”
I don’t get the chance.
The screaming demons come back. It’s the same awfulsound that exploded in my head just before the spaceballs attacked. I look at Cassie—she’s still sleeping. How is this possible? I can hardly breathe. I need more air. But if I open the seat maybe the sound will be even louder? I decide it doesn’t matter if I’m dead. I clamp the flashlight pen between my teeth, punch down the seat, and crawl outside. It makes no difference because the demons aren’t outside. They’re screaming in my head.
And then they stop.
The garage is dark, except for the thin beam coming from my flashlight. I blink, take some deep breaths. A soft blue light is coming inside from beyond the wall. It gets brighter and brighter. Then everything is blue. I know it’s the spaceballs. I reach out for the door handle and choke back a scream. My hands—I can almost see through them all the way to the bones. It’s like I’m disappearing! And my eyes feel like they’re on fire. I dive back into the trunk and lift up the seat. But my sleeping bag is wedged in the opening. It won’t close. I kick the seat down, which lets in more light. Cassie hisses at me.
She looks normal. Why isn’t she disappearing?
And then the light goes off.
But not just the blue light—all light, everywhere. Even my pathetic little flashlight pen. It makes no difference if my eyes are open or closed. Am I blind?
All I can think of is, the aliens are coming. They used the demons to wake us up, then the blue light to blind us. Now they’re attacking. I try to think of places to hide, but what’s the point? I can’t go anywhere because I can’t see.I might as well stay where I am. I reach out for Cassie, find her. She mews softly as I pull her close. I duck my head into the sleeping bag—the two of us alone in the swallowing dark. Waiting for monsters to find us. For tentacles to slide in
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