Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Emma knew she was screwed before she could even flip the light switch. An exhale nearby destroyed the silence she’d hoped to maintain. The stink of tobacco drifted into her nose and dragged a cough from her lungs.

“It’s an hour past your curfew, young lady.”

Emma rolled her eyes before flicking the switch. Her father watched her from his seat at the kitchen table, the brown eyes inscrutable behind the lenses of his glasses. Smoke drifted up from the Marlboro smoking in his hand.

Emma dug in her jacket pocket for her phone before holding it out.

“My cell died. The stupid alarm never went off.”

“Try again, kiddo.”

Emma fought to maintain eye contact with her father. Her finger pressed on the cell’s POWER button, the nail tapping on the dead screen a moment later.

“See?”

Her father stood, his thin, six-foot frame dwarfing Emma as he approached her and took the device from her hand. She hoped he didn’t see her gorge rise and fall during the appraisal.

Buy it. You don’t need to know I never went to Tina’s. You don’t need to know I snuck out to the movie you’ve been calling “filth” for the last two weeks and nobody has online. Just this once. Please, please buy it.

Emma’s father glanced from the screen to her face. He pursed his lips, stretching the thick, black moustache.

“Oh, it’s definitely dead. And so are your plans this weekend.”

Emma’s mouth fell open.

“But . . . but that’s not fair! I didn’t do anything!”

Her father’s voice hit a colder note.

“You lied to my face.” He handed her the phone. “I figured I’d call the theater when you were late. I asked the manager if your friend Tara was on duty tonight. You know, the one who’s old enough to sneak 16-year-old girls into R-rated movies?” Her father paced in front of her, stroking his chin. “It’s funny. I asked him to send one of the ushers to take a look around, and there was a girl who looked exactly like you walking out during the end credits.” He stopped and swept a finger from Emma’s feet to the collar of her jacket. “She even had the same outfit on and everything. Crazy, huh?” His eyes narrowed.

Crap! Think of something, think of something . . .

Her father sighed and removed his glasses. Emma cringed at the prominent eye sockets that had been hiding behind the lenses. Lately, the skin seemed to stretch just a little tighter every time they were exposed.

“Daddy, you really should . . . ”

Her father wiped the lenses with his sleeve.

“You’re grounded. Two weeks. Considering that’s how long I told you ‘no,’ it seems appropriate.”

Heat rose in Emma’s cheeks, but she couldn’t help chuckling as she glared at him.

“‘Grounded?’ From what? I’m not allowed to do anything! No dating, no pets, no R-rated movies. God, Dad, aside from chores and school, you’ve barely even let me leave the house since—”

“That’s enough!” Her father’s finger trembled in her face. “That’s enough.” His voice lowered, becoming gentle. “Honey, I know things have been tough on you this year, but it’s for a good reason.”

Emma exhaled, blowing a strand of dyed blonde hair into the smoke.

“Sure, Dad. Let’s be scared forever. Let’s live in a vault.” She shook her head and headed for the stairs. “Don’t worry about sending me to my room. I’m going to bed.”

Emma felt more tired with each step, the weight that had been building up for months all but dragging her onto her mattress. She looked on the night through the shatter-proof windowpane, her nose twitching at the mélange of gun oil and food waiting to be pressure-sealed. The scent wafted to her from her father’s workroom across the hall, making her almost hungry enough to go back downstairs after the empty calories of a popcorn dinner. Emma turned over and buried her nose in a pillow—tried to remember how cool air felt blowing into her room. Her mother’s touch.

She pulled the sheets over her head when she noticed there was just light enough to illuminate the bug-out bag lying bloated against the closet door beside her backpack.

A week of supplies, just like you insisted, Dad. She pushed her face harder into the pillow. Never mind we’re talking about a week after an emergency that’s never going to happen.

Visions of blood and shattered glass played behind Emma’s eyelids while she tried to sleep. Her hand tried to wipe away drops of cold rain that weren’t there. And she heard her father’s every footstep as he made his way upstairs and closed the door to his workroom behind him, readying more food, more guns, more ammo. She heard him humming a Rolling Stones song when the evening’s first magazine snapped into place.

So many bullets. And for what? For what? Another burglar? An army?

Emma squeezed her eyes shut until they ached, but the noises filled her head where there should have been night sounds through an open window. Still, she knew from past arguments that the songs of the outside world came at too high a price.