The smoke-filled sky appears freckled with a flock of swarming birds.
Those are not birds flying in astonishing synchronizing patterns, though.
They are warplanes intending to destroy everything around us.
From the corner of my eye, I spot makeshift tents popping up. I don’t know if those tents will be safe from the hawks above, but every second we stand here, the smoke becomes more profuse, encircling us from every direction. “I must help them,” I scream out to Everett. I turn on my heels in search of the best path to move.
“Lizzie,” Everett bellows.
“I need to go help those nurses,” I reply.
“Lizzie,” he hollers again, grabbing my elbow and spinning me around. His hands press against my cheeks and his eyebrows knit together. “This is bad. This is terrible, sweetheart.” His words are only words. The fear is clear within his beautiful eyes. We may die trying to help or die trying to hide. He knows this to be the truth. “I want to protect you.”
“You need to protect yourself, Everett, never mind the both of us. Look around. People need us more than we need each other right now.”
Everett’s hands tighten around my cheeks. His gaze darts toward every thud and zing, but for a quick second, he casts his stare into my eyes as if sharing his soul—giving me every part of him. “If I lose you, Elizabeth, please know that the time I’ve spent with you has been worth every second I’ve been alive on this earth.” I try to shake my head, wishing he wouldn’t be speaking this way. We need hope. “Listen, baby, if today is my last, I need to thank you for being my yesterday. You are my world, my one and only, and if the worst finds me, I am one lucky son-of-a-gun to die having felt the way I do about you.”
I slap my hands against his chest. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me. Don’t you dare, Everett Anderson. This isn’t it—this isn’t how our story ends. It’s just the part where we prove what we’re worth to this world. Let’s do what we were both trained to do and fight for our people. You will have me tomorrow, Everett. There will be a tomorrow.” I’m clenching his shirt into my fists, wishing to believe every word that is spilling from my numb lips.
“Tell me you believe me. Say it.”
Everett closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine. “Just this once, doll. Just this once—I will look toward tomorrow.”
As if a needle scratches its mark to start a new song, the world halts after another monstrous blast.
A tsunami size wave of wind steals the gravity from beneath us. Like dominoes, we all fall from an invisible but all-powerful force. I squeeze my eyes, waiting for death to follow, but not without a finale to this terror.
A thunderous crack tears through the sky, and the speed of sound breaks through the barrier, followed by a sonic blast. I want to press my palms against my ears, but I can’t move. The world rumbles below my body, and I peek through cracks of my eyelids, scared to see what lies before me.
Thick black clouds are stealing every ounce of air and are closing in on me within its encumbrance. Everything is dark.
A steady ear-splitting ring vibrates through my head, replacing all other hints of sound.
The air wreaks of salt-ridden smoke and gunpowder, and the fumes fill my lungs.
I taste the soil and debris falling over me like snow on a lonely mountain top.
The record player ceases without a scratch.
There’s nothing but a void.
20
December 1941
The ringingin my ears is like static on the radio, with muffled voices trying to break through the airwaves. I press myself up to my knees, fighting off the dizzy weight holding me down. “Everett!” I try to shout but can’t hear the sound coming from my mouth.
A dirt-covered hand sweeps across mine. The round cuticles and short nail beds with a freckle at the tip of his forefinger tell me it’s Everett. It’s hard to keep my eyes open within the thick smoke, but the warmth of his hand eases my overwhelming fear. I wish I knew how many more bombs those dive bombers are carrying. I want to know if they see us scampering, suffering, weak, and unable to move.
Everett pulls his hand away and his arm loops beneath my stomach, lifting me to my feet. His grip moves to my wrists. “It’s the—zona.” I can hardly make out every other word.
“I can’t hear—” I cry out.
“The Arizona. It’s gone.”
With each second that passes, my ability to hear returns. The Arizona. Marines and Soldiers live onboard. I turn my neck to the side, looking out toward the harbor, but flames are engulfing the body of water. The smog has lifted enough to see the catastrophe unfolding before us, as if a sheet is slipping to the side a mangled, dead body.
Everett pulls me along the pier’s edge, waving his hand and screaming above the various clashing pitches of resonance.
