I recognized these unfamiliar sounds, even though I’d never actually heard them before.
Bght A
Bombs.
They were the sounds of bombs.
This wasn’t a drill, and it wasn’t a warning. The city was under attack.
I had to get to Angelina.
We hadn’t gotten far when I felt myself being yanked from behind, and before I could wonder who was pulling at me—or why—I was already stumbling backward, thrown wholly off balance.
I fell into Max’s arms for the second time that night, although this time I had no intention of pushing him away. And from the feel of his arms around me, like iron bands, I doubted he would have allowed it.
“I was looking everywhere for you!” He was yelling, but even if he hadn’t been, I would have heard those words. “Where were you?”
I could barely breathe, so when I tried to answer it came out muffled against his chest.
He relaxed his grip so I could tilt my head back, and as soon as I saw the look on his face, any anger I still felt dissolved.
He was worried about me! I hated that it was this moment, with the sirens threatening and the sound of weapons crashing through the night sky, that I felt my heart softening.
I reminded myself that Angelina was still out there as I squashed these new and unwelcome feelings. This wasn’t the time for infatuation.
“I need to get to my family! I need to find my sister!” I called out, wiggling free from his arms and running again, leaving them both to decide whether or not they would follow.
I couldn’t hear their footsteps, but I knew they were there with me. Max kept up easily and ran beside me. I worried about Sydney, though. I thought she might fall behind, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. And every now and then I would catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye, assuring me that she was, somehow, keeping up.
The sirens were everywhere, but I couldn’t tell which direction the explosions were coming from. At times I felt like we might be running toward them, while at others they seemed to be very far away, on the other side of the city.
Maybe it was both.
Men and women, children and the elderly, had been swarming the streets since we’d left the park. But by the time we’d reached the west end of the city, the streets were all but abandoned. I worried that we were already too late, that my family had taken shelter somewhere and I’d be unable to find them in the night.
I didn’t allow myself to consider the other possibility . . . that the war had come too close to our home.
I almost cried with relief when we turned the final corner and all the houses on my street were still standing, unscathed by the bombs that were pummeling other neighborhoods in the city.
There was the flicker of candlelight coming from inside my house.
“Stay here!” I yelled to Max and Sydney.
Sydney’s face was creased with pain, and I knew it had been too much for her to run so far, so fast. Bght A fast. Blood dried along her left cheek, crusting in her hair. She seemed grateful for the moment’s rest.
I rushed to the front door just as it was opening from the inside. My father nearly ran into me, carrying Angelina in his arms.
“Oh, thank heaven! Magda! Magda!” he called to my mother as he pulled me against him. “She’s here! She’s safe!”
He squeezed me tight, Angelina smashed between us. My mother pushed past my father, grabbing me, touching me, ensuring herself that I was all in one piece.
Then my father handed his squirming bundle over to me; Angelina tangled her fingers into my hair, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“No!” I shouted, understanding his intentions. “You have to come with us! You can’t make us go alone!” My voice was hoarse from yelling, but I needed him to listen to me.
The crushing sound of a bomb rattled the air nearby and I jolted, ducking my head without thinking. The explosions seemed to be growing louder. And closer.
He shook his head, and I could see his answer written on his face. He’d already made up his mind. “We’re staying. You girls are better off without us.” This time he spoke in Englaise . . . so unusual for my father, so out of character. I wasn’t sure which surprised me more, that he was casting his daughters out into the war-torn streets of the city, or that he’d not spoken in Parshon.
My mother handed me a pack and I took it, slinging it over my shoulder. “There’s food inside. And some water!” She was yelling her words at the same time my father was pushing me down the front step. “When this is over, we’ll come for you. Until then, protect your sister, Charlaina.” She stepped onto the street, gripping my shoulders and staring me hard in the eye, serious in a way that I’d never seen her before. Her words were tough—harsh. “And don’t come back to the house until you know, without a doubt, that it’s completely safe.” She shook me once. “I mean it, Charlie. Stay away from here and avoid the troo
ps—on both sides. And whatever you do, never, ever reveal to anyone what you can do.” When her hands tightened, they conveyed something else—something softer—as her face contorted, her eyes welling with tears.
She kissed each one of us on our foreheads, taking just a moment to breathe us in, to memorize our smells.
Then my father shoved me, forcing me to take the first step away from them. I turned, clutching Angelina to my chest as I ran back to the corner where Max and Sydney awaited us. Bitter tears stung my eyes as I obeyed.
It felt wrong. All of it.