Angel lunges for the door, but I lock my hand around hers and yank her back. “No,” I hiss. “Don’t go out there.”
But where do we go? What do we do?
In the seconds it takes me to decide, another scream comes from the dining room.
Something shatters.
My legs almost collapse under me.
No. It’s supposed to be safe.
“Haley,” Angel whimpers. “I need?—”
Hearing her daughter’s name is all it takes to break my paralysis.
Whatever’s happening, I can’t let Haley lose her mother. I can’t.
Moving on sheer instinct, I drag Angel towards the back of the kitchen. “Turn off your flashlights,” I say. With my ears still ringing from the explosion, my voice sounds funny, like it’s coming through layers of cotton.“Hide.”
My first thought is the storage closet, but we’re not even halfway there when another boom shakes the building.
Angel cries out.
Kyle lets out a fear-filled moan.
Terror is beating at me in breath-stealing blows. My heart feels like it’s about to burst from my chest.
Rather than run the last fifteen feet to the closet, I dive behind the dishwasher, dragging Angel along with me. Her flashlight is still on, so I yank the phone from her hand and turn it off before shoving it back at her. I don’t know where Kyle is—if he’s stillstanding by the stove or if he found his own hiding spot—but his flashlight is off, too.
So it’s just the three of us in here. In the pitch dark.
I hope.
Oh, I hope we’re the only ones in here.
Out in the dining room, most of the noise has subsided. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Is the danger over? Or is everyone?—
No.
No.
Alec has to be okay. And Frank. And Wendy. They have to be.
I wrap my arms around Angel, feeling her shaking against me. She’s crying softly, trying to stifle it. She whispers, “I just want to go home to my baby.”
A dagger stabs into my heart and twists.
Marissa’s death was bad enough. What if I’m responsible for Angel’s, too?
Who else’s fault could it be? Why else would this be happening if not because of me?
Why did I insist on working? Why was I so selfish?
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I taste the salt on my lips.
In my head, a litany repeats.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
