begin dumping on us. Something hard hits my head and then bounces to the ground in front of me. I pick up a thick ball of ice. Hail—that’s what we learned it was called. But it hasn’t hailed since the Global Heating Crisis started.
I grab Chloe, and we make a run for the shuttle stop. She’s like a rag doll but lets me lead her. We dash under the UV covering at the shuttle stop, but it’s not UV I’m worried about right now. The hail is coming down like stones. The thermometer at the shuttle stop has dipped to fifty-four. I think there has to be a mistake. It drops as I watch to fifty-three then fifty-one. But fifty never comes because a giant piece of hail smacks into the red LEDs so hard, both Chloe and I jump. I think she’s shivering, but then I realize I am too. The world is crashing in on us.
It takes forever for a shuttle to come. When it does, the driver has his hands gripped on the steering wheel because the road is solid ice. We’re the only ones on the shuttle, and he instructs us to sit in the middle and not say a word. Chloe’s not talking because I think she must still be in shock. I’m about to ask him if we can stop at the hospital because she’s still so pale, but the driver looks like he’s seen death himself, so I keep quiet. Chloe will be fine. She’s alive.
The shuttle makes three more stops before we get to Chloe’s house. At the first stop, Randy Conner gets on. He gives us a nod and then sits behind us.
“What the hell’s up with this weather?” he says.
Chloe doesn’t even look at him. She’s pressed against me, but I turn my head to talk to him.
“The missile,” I say. “It did something to the weather.”
“You think so?” Even in a disaster, Randy’s still a sarcastic jerk.
I ignore him and turn back around. The shuttle is sliding everywhere; we can’t get around a single turn without almost running into either a tree or a brick wall. Finally, when we get to Chloe’s stop, it plows right into the UV covering at her shuttle stop, sending pieces everywhere.
I stand up to help her off, but for a second, she looks normal.
“Thanks, Piper,” she says.
“For what?” She can’t know I saved her from death.
Chloe reaches her palm up to my cheek. “For looking out for me.” And her words seem to convey something deeper, like maybe she does know what’s going on. On Monday, I’ll ask her about it. I’ll tell her about Shayne and the Underworld even though she’ll think I’m nuts. Because I feel like I have to tell someone or I’ll burst.
“You’re welcome,” I say. I’m about to ask the driver to wait while I walk her to her house, but Chloe waves me away.
“I’m fine,” she says.
“You sure?”
She nods. “Call me later.” And she walks down the steps of the shuttle and runs to her house.
The driver backs up out of the debris of the shuttle stop and starts back down the road. I go back to my seat in front of Randy and sit down.
“You think school will be canceled on Monday?” he asks.
Overhead, the hail pounds down on the roof of the shuttle like a storm of bullets. I look out the window to where the ground has already picked up a layer of whiteness. I grip the back of the seat as we slide from one side of the street to the other.
“If this keeps up,” I say.
“Let’s just pray we make it home alive,” Randy says.
It seems we will. The shuttle pulls up to the curb by the Botanical Haven without running into anything and stops. I stand up but notice Randy’s still sitting.
“You’re not getting off?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m gonna go pick up my sister.” And for a second, it’s like there’s a side of Randy he’s never let me see before. He’s such an arrogant asshole on the outside, but yet he’s going to the elementary school to make sure his sister gets home okay. I blink, and his image shifts so he’s layered in blue moss. It covers his face and hair, his hands and arms. I hold my eyes open, staring at him to make sure it’s really there, but when I finally have to blink, it vanishes. Just like the covering on the pomegranate tree.
“Keep her safe,” I say, because I can imagine what a little kid would think of a storm like this.
“I always do,” Randy says.
I wave goodbye to him and then get off the shuttle.
The first thing I do when I get inside is text my mom. Even if she is off with my father somewhere, she’s got to be freaking out about this weather. I’m shivering, so I grab the comforter off my bed and wrap it around me. It helps, but all the glass of the Botanical Haven makes the cold seep right into my bones.
“what’s going on?” I text.
I make some coffee and wait for a reply, but none comes.
I text her again. “weather’s gone crazy.”
Still she doesn’t respond. It’s so unlike her, I can’t help but let it put me on edge. I sit at the ice cream table with my coffee and listen to the storm rage on the glass above. It’s shatterproof, so I’m not worried about it breaking, and I try to relax. The storm pounds down for the better part of the day until, in a single moment, it stops. Just. Like. That. Dark clouds turn to white, and a blue sky creeps back out from behind them. And then the sun comes, and everything outside starts to melt. Water cascades down our glass roof and pools on the ground outside.
I flip on the tube to see what kind of trouble the storm has caused. Around the city, roofs and walls have caved in everywhere. Downtown, about fifty people are trapped beneath the debris of a building, and most of the coverage centers on this, though reports of wrecks and flooding are sprinkled in. I watch the news as each new horror is revealed. Rescue crews pull dead bodies from the building and flash to family members who find out their loved ones are dead the same time I do. I wonder where in the Underworld each person will go. I wonder how Shayne can handle all the sorrow.
When I can’t watch any more of the misery, I turn off the tube. And then I go downstairs and start tending the plants and flowers even though they don’t really need it. They’ve been protected from the devastation outside. Like an oasis.
Reese’s pink flowers are still alive, though they’ve sucked up most of the water in the vase. I move to water them, but then I stop. Should I really keep them alive? This is the god of war we’re talking about. I halfway feel like picking them up and tossing them into the compost heap, erasing all memories of him and our date. But that would just be causing more death. I go ahead and add water to the stems because that’s what I do. I take care of plants. I can always tell what they need—except for the pomegranate tree.
The pomegranate tree. I realize, with the storm, I’ve almost forgotten about it. The Underworld is fading into memory, and I want to hold onto it with everything I have. Shayne’s pomegranate tree—in his garden—aching for something which isn’t there. Something missing from the soil. When I think about it, the sorrow inside the tree hits me, and I sink to the floor. What would make a tree in paradise so sad?
The next day, aside from flooding, the cold spell is a memory. Temperatures are back at one hundred by seven a.m., and the weather station predicts humidity will get to dangerously high levels because of the melting. Precipitation is good in that it helps plants grow, but in such mass amounts, the ground and city can’t handle it. I try texting my mom again, but there’s still no response. I know I shouldn’t worry about her, but something just feels off. It’s totally out of her character to not be in touch, especially with the weather issues. I call her FON just to make sure, but she doesn’t answer.
I call Chloe next, but her mom tells me she’s sick. Her mom doesn’t sound worried about Chloe but keeps me on the FON for five minutes to talk about the storm. I assure her I’m fine here alone at the Botanical Haven and that if I have any problems, I’ll come over. But I try to get her off the FON. I don’t want to spend my day talking to Chloe’s mom, so I ask her to have Chloe call me later. Once Chloe gets better, I’ll tell her everything, or at least I’ll try to. I think she’ll have a hard time believing I traveled to Hell and came back to talk about it. I have a hard time believing it. I want to make sure I tell her about Reese and tell her she should stay away from him. But as the hours tick by, I start to think this conversation will have to happen tomorrow at school.
I’m about to lock the door and take a nap when the bell rings. I glance out the glass to see who’s here because, at this point, anyone is better than no one. It’s Melina—the girl who’d given me the box last week when my mom wasn’t home. When I open the door, humidity pours in like thick gel.
