The ground beneath my feet shakes as if a tractor trailer is rolling by, but there’s no truck to be seen.
“Yes, something like that,” says Professor White as motes of dust fill the air. “I’m afraid the spirits of the natural world bound to this structure are departing it, and I’m trying to get a sense of how many may have been lost.” She stares up at the tower, thestructure she’s committed everything to restoring. All her work for nothing. “I doubt it will last the night. It’s only a matter of ti—”
The ground trembles again, and there’s a deafening crash. Louder than anything I’ve ever heard. I stumble, trying not to fall, then plant my feet and wait for the shaking to end. It doesn’t stop. Professor White throws out her arms, staring up at the tower in horror.
“Everyone out!” she yells as the trembling intensifies and the floor buckles underneath our feet.
The tower shakes as all the architects hurry to gather their things.
Dust hangs in the air, filling the room with gray clouds that billow downward through the scaffoldings, obscuring my vision. I lose track of Professor White. Through the haze, I catch sight of the others trying to find their own way out.
I spin, searching for the exit. It was behind me, I think, but now I’m not so certain. As the dust thickens, my surroundings become a blur. I turn and stumble into something hard and broad. It’s a heavy wooden pole, one of the supports that make up the scaffolding. I grip the wood for support but realize it’s moving, shaking; then it splits and I recoil, stumbling backward to avoid the whole thing falling down on me.
The tremors intensify, sending shivers lancing upward through my heels. The tower is going to fall. No, it’s already falling, and I’m still inside it.
A muffled scream tears through the air. I’m not alone.
I follow the sound. The haze of dirt and debris is so thick, I can barely see my hand in front of my face. I cover my mouth to stop myself from choking, but it’s too late. The dust is already inmy throat and in my nose. My eyes burn, and I squint just to see. Someone else is here. I can’t leave without them.
But it’s so hazy all around.
I can’t see.
I’m trapped.
18
Raven
It may be, of course, above all, that what suddenly broke into this gives the previous time a charm of stillness—that hush in which something gathers or crouches. The change was actually like the spring of a beast.
—Henry James,The Turn of the Screw
I’m walking towork, Aspen at my side, when the ground begins to shake.
“What’s that?” he asks, his brows furrowed. He places a hand on my elbow, protective as always. I lean into his support.
“Don’t know.” I stare at the trembling cobblestones beneath my feet and know that something is wrong. An earthquake? It’s unusual, especially for Vermont.
In the distance, sirens blare.
Screams cut through the air. “Arches is collapsing!”
Aspen and I turn around to look at the tower, which is still standing, but the ground all around us is rumbling, shaking.
And then it happens.
The upper floors crumble like dry sand, brick by brick, everything reduced to dust. Layer by layer, foot by foot, it falls. Arches’ finials, columns, spires, tracery, all of it surrenders to the mercy of gravity. The tower crashes downward into a great plume of dust and debris, blocking out the sky with a gray haze that spreads quickly from the site. A wall of dust rushes over the pavement like liquid smoke.
The cloud crashes into us. I barely have time to cover my faceas it buries me from head to toe, caking my skin in a second layer of silt so fine it leaches into my pores. The rumbling stops, but my ears are still ringing.
When the dust subsides, we get a view of the destruction. The tower is mostly gone. Where the upper floors once stood there is now a hole in the sky. A gap. A missing limb. All that’s left is the jagged lower half, jutting out of the ground like a broken sword.
“Oh my God,” Aspen whispers in shock. All I can do is stare at it as, all around me, people are panicking, crying.
Then it hits me.
Arches. Atticus.
