secret, a bit of good news amidst all the bad.
A song ended, replaced by another slow ballad. I looked at Summer and she shrugged. We closed the space between us.
It occurred to me that if Grandpa took control at this precise moment it would almost be funny. Not quite, but almost. I’d been in control for nearly six hours. There was no predicting when he’d reappear, but the odds increased with every hour.
“Thanks for this,” Summer said. “It’s nice to forget for a little while.”
“It is,” I said into her ear. It felt good to hold her. I wondered if the line between Summer and Lorena was blurring in my mind. I was thrilled when I got to talk to Lorena, but I enjoyed Summer’s company almost as much.
Just as much, if I was completely honest. I had done my best to put out of my mind the electric attraction I’d felt for Summer when I’d seen her in the Blue Boy Diner, the day I first met Mick. Out of curiosity I tried to imagine that the dead had never come back, that Summer was just a woman I was dating. How would I feel about her?
We were dancing with our faces a few inches apart; I could see the little star tattoos on the back of her neck and shoulders.
If Lorena hadn’t come back, I would be crazy about Summer. I felt so comfortable with Summer, such a sense of ease. Despite the situation we were in, Summer’s fun-loving nature came through. It surprised me that I would be attracted to Summer, because she and Lorena were very different. Had I changed so much over the past two years that I was attracted to a totally different sort of woman? I guess it was possible. So much had happened. It was hard to believe only two years had passed.
I could never let Lorena know what I was feeling. Or Summer, for that matter. But it was stupid to try to hide my feeling from myself.
The song ended, replaced by more Latino bop. I held on to Summer. She stayed in my arms. I expected to feel her gently push away, but she didn’t. Without slow music to call it dancing, we spent a long moment in an embrace.
A loud crash startled me. We jerked apart, looked toward the front of the restaurant for the source of the sound. The smoked front window was shattered; there was a big hole in the center with jagged shards and cracks radiating. Someone had thrown a rock or brick through the window.
We moved closer, heard shouts and arguing outside. Through the breach in the window I saw a National Guard troop pushing at people, trying to move them back.
“Satan’s army. It’s Satan’s army! Whose side are you on?” someone shouted. There was a roar of agreement from the crowd.
“Come on,” Summer said, tugging my sleeve, drawing me toward the back of the restaurant. “Let’s get out of here.”
She pushed open the kitchen door, turned to the first person we saw, a terrified kid carrying a tray of dirty dishes. “Is there a back door?”
The sweaty bus boy motioned with his head. “Straight back and to the left.”
We spilled out in an alley filled with dumpsters; the angry commotion, now muffled, reached us over the building.
“Whew, I’m a little toasted,” Summer said, pressing a hand against the brick to steady herself. I was feeling a little toasted myself. The thud of music from a nearby club seemed to be bypassing my ears and hitting me straight in the chest.
We passed out of the alley, to be greeted by another angry mob. Some of them pointed at us.
“We know what you are,” a tall bald guy shouted.
As we rushed past, heads down, a pimply teenager stepped in front of me. When I looked up at him he spit in my face. I glared at the little bastard in impotent fury as I wiped off the spit. Summer tugged my jacket, pulling me into the street and around the crowd.
“No one believes this is a disease,” Summer said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Are any of them following us?” I asked.
“No.”
The knot of muscle between my shoulders relaxed a little.
“Are you sure the car is this way?” Summer asked.
“We’re going to hang a right at the next corner. I parked over on—”
We both stopped at the sound of a scream. It was brief, clipped. It seemed to be coming from the next street over.
“What was that?” Summer asked.
We doubled our pace. “I don’t know.”
Now that we were paying attention I could just barely hear a voice. It sounded panicked, high-pitched. The bald fear in the tone made my guts twist.
We broke into a run.
“Maybe we should go back to the news vans, get someone to call the police,” I suggested.
We passed a shallow alley. A kid who’d been facing a loading dock spun around. I heard Summer peep in surprise as the kid grabbed my passing shoulder and jammed a pistol into my neck.
“Don’t move,” he said. He turned and, keeping his voice down, called over his shoulder. “I got two more.” He was wearing a Braves cap and camo pants, sixteen or seventeen years old.
Another man appeared out the darkness of the alley.
“Hold on,” I said, trying to keep the breathless panic out of my voice. “We’re just going home.”
“No you ain’t,” said an older, heavy-set guy with big jowls surrounding a tiny chin. “Move. This way.” Pointing what looked like a small assault rifle at us, he led us past green dumpsters and stacks of wooden palettes to a lowered fire escape ladder.
“Climb,” he said.
“Hang on, hang on” I said, raising my hands in supplication. I could hear voices above us, on the roof.
The big man shoved me, knocking my forehead against the steel ladder. “Hang on nothing. Move.”
I climbed, with Summer right behind, followed by the man with the gun. We hit the landing ten feet up, where narrow steps angled up the five- or six-story building. I couldn’t see into the small, grimy windows. Everything inside was dark; the building was some sort of industrial place.
“Keep on going,” the big man ordered.
“What is this about?” Summer asked. “We don’t understand what’s happening. We were just going to our car.”
The man didn’t answer. As we climbed we kept asking, kept explaining that we weren’t any part of this, but the man didn’t respond.
Panicked voices rang out from below. The kid who’d grabbed me from the alley was bringing two more people up behind us.
One story from the top we heard another scream from above. I didn’t want to go up there, didn’t want to see what was causing people to scream like that. I considered diving through one of the windows we passed, hoping Summer would follow me, but the man with the gun was right behind us. He’d be on us before we could even get up to run. With my legs shaking so badly I could barely find the steps, I climbed the last flight, onto the roof.
There were eight or nine people on the roof, gathered at the far end. Most of them had guns. One jogged over and took control of us, nodding once to the big man, who turned and headed back down. We were hustled toward the group.
“What is he
A man in camo was clutching a woman by the upper arm, dragging her along. The woman screeched and pleaded, dug in her heels, trying to pry the man’s fingers from her arm. Another man grabbed her other arm with his free hand. They dragged her toward the edge of the roof.
“No. Stop,” Summer said, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
They lifted the woman, who was bucking and bicycling her feet, over the low wall until she was sitting on it. She was blubbering, pleading, gripping the edge of the wall for all she was worth as she tried to twist around.
