Homestead
A crash thundered from somewhere down below, followed by an explosion of static in Leah’s ears. Blood trickled from each of their noses. Leah pressed a finger to her lips, guiding the kids to the far wall. “Stay there,” she mouthed. She moved in front of them, positioning herself between their small bodies and the attic hatch, gun raised and steady. The floor beneath her feet began to tremble. Something immense moved through the house below—eerily silent despite its size. In her mind she pictured pale shapes drifting through the kitchen, rifling drawers, flipping through DVDs, slipping their feet into borrowed shoes. The vibration intensified. The attic hatch shuddered, rattling in its frame as if unseen hands were testing it, pressing, prying, ready to tear it free. And then, impossible but unmistakable, she heard a voice inside her head. It was her father’s and David’s at once, braided together, speaking directly into her thoughts:
“Discipline will not save you.”
Poison in the Well
In one hand, she holds six red solo cups, the kind easily found at house parties at nearby universities. In her other hand, she carries a gallon of her own well water. Lisa steps right up to the folding table and slams the jug onto its surface. The men stare back. Her eyes bear into theirs as she opens her mouth.
“Your letter tells me that this water is safe to drink,” she says. “I want to see every one of you drink it.”
If there is any illusion that Fernald officials are in control of the narrative, it collapses in this moment. By dawn, the front pages deliver a verdict they cannot spin.
The solo cups are left untouched.
The Fantastical Life and Lonely Last Days of Michele Hardin
In the mornings, she shambled outside. If she was angry, which she often was, she might seek out one of the neighbors on her dead-end block so she could share her grievances. Sometimes it was me. Other days, she would rant in an affected Florida drawl to a neighbor's Ring doorbell camera until the recording cut off. When she needed something, she pushed her dilapidated bicycle down the middle of the road, out toward the Overseas Highway where she searched for food in dumpsters or headed to the foodbank.
But this was not always her life.
There was a time when Michele Hardin performed under stadium lights as a professional cheerleader, published her opinions in print, held court in Key West society, and reigned as the first Queen of Key West’s bacchanalian Fantasy Fest.
Earthrise
A few moments later, Earthrise rumbled, and I looked up. Through the observatory dome, I saw the blast of fire as the Lifeboat launched, then rose into the darkness, starting its journey home.
While the station was still trembling, I pulled a nearby lever and the cargo bay began to descend, taking me deeper into Earthrise.
Away from the airlock. A deadly pathogen still in my pocket. Anna’s casket by my side.