Sky on Fire by Emmy Laybourne

drifts over cars and bodies.
    It made me think of Mr. Culleton, in Earth Studies, and our block on composting. He said that in a compost pile, things returned to their most dense, nutritive form.
    If the sun ever comes back, maybe this will be the best farmland ever.
    I know that’s a stretch, but that’s the only nice thing I can think of to say about all the slime and mold.
    Anyway, we walked.
    And Batiste got blisters, which he told me, and he got thirsty, which he told me, and he got hungry, which he told me.
    And I said, “I’m sorry about that, Batiste,” every time and it actually seemed to help him. Then I’d give his hand a squeeze and that also seemed to help him.
    It was a hard, hard walk.
    Finally, Niko led us back up to the road. He started flashing the light into cars.
    I nudged Batiste. “I bet we’re going to stop for a water break!”
    He smiled at me, and squeezed my hand.
    Niko flashed the light in a few cars, but there were bodies in them. He made us stand back from him and wouldn’t let us look in.
    I didn’t mind standing back. I didn’t need to see any more bodies and none of the little kids did either.
    On some cars, Niko tried the doors but couldn’t get them open.
    Then, suddenly, he ducked down and motioned for us all to duck down. He cut the light.
    A motorcycle was coming.
    It darted and veered between the cars. The light seemed really bright and it made me realize that my eyes had become somewhat adjusted to the darkness.
    It came closer and closer.
    It was a biker guy wearing goggles—he had a long beard and a leather jacket and everything. And riding on the back was a little old man. He had a snow hat on and a jacket that seemed way too big for him.
    They went right by and didn’t see us at all.
    â€œMaybe it’s his father,” said Batiste.
    â€œMost likely,” I agreed. “Or just someone the biker found and wanted to save.”
    He must have had the bike stored away somewhere airtight, like our bus.
    I wondered how long the tires on our bus had lasted. I hoped that they had rotted to shreds.
    Niko found a car. It was a silver Nissan Murano.
    He waved us over and we hurried and got into the car. Max and Ulysses flopped down in the way back. I sat in the backseat with Sahalia. Batiste and Niko and Josie were up front. Like a family car trip. Except not at all.
    Sahalia and I got out the cigarettes and started puffing away.
    Do you know how awful cigarettes are? The smoke gets in your chest and makes you cough. You do get a nice feeling in your brain. A kind of openness. But that’s it.
    I was blowing smoke toward the back and Sahalia toward the front.
    â€œIs smoking a sin?” Batiste asked Niko.
    â€œNo,” Niko answered. “It’s unhealthy, but it’s not a sin.”
    â€œThen I guess I’ll smoke, too.”
    â€œOkay,” Niko shrugged.
    â€œNo fair!” Max and Ulysses protested.
    Sahalia lit a cigarette for Batiste and passed it to him.
    â€œDon’t inhale too much,” she warned. “Or you’ll puke.”
    I held my cigarette between my pointer finger and my thumb, but Batiste had his between his first two fingers—like a V . He looked like a little Frenchman.
    Sahalia watched him for a second and then snorted with laughter.
    Batiste pricked up one eyebrow and said, “What?”
    Somehow, that was just too funny.
    Him all grimy, wearing God knows how many layers, but with a clean, round face and his hat perched on his head and the cigarette.
    We all started laughing.
    The laughing was that boiling-over kind. The kind that brings you to tears and makes you gasp for air.
    When we stopped laughing I saw that Max had taken his mask off.
    He seemed fine. He was laughing his head off.
    Niko took off his mask and then Josie.
    â€œIt does seem to work,” Niko said, “The smoke.”
    â€œWe’ll all get lung cancer,” Josie said