Page 36 of The Dead of Summer
Anchor’s Mercy, the town, has sunk into a pastel oblivion. The fog drifts as high as the trees now, giving the world the illusion of a weightless, underwater realm drifting by as we drive through the abandoned streets.
Breathe , I tell myself, but I’m watching the world through the cracks of the window inches from my head.
No fog seeps through, but every bump threatens the submarine safety of the jeep.
I tap Bash’s shoulder and direct him through a few turns, toward the ocean.
That’s where the breeze will be the strongest.
We pass weepers. Many of them. They show a sleepy interest in the jeep, but in a guarded way, like schools of fish curious about the underside of a boat.
None get too close, preferring to hang back in the fog.
I’m thankful I can’t see their distorted faces.
When we pass the library, I don’t let myself look, yet I can’t help but listen.
A muffled cacophony pours out of the burned-black windows, and I swear I hear Willy’s voice joined to the chorus.
“Bash, the radio,” Elisa whispers.
The equipment mounted on the dash flickers, and static swells through as we pass large coral growths.
I remember the same static seeping into the dead speakers of the maritime museum when the weepers showed up.
The marsh, too, before that invisible monster found us. Static served as a ghostly preamble.
“Radiation,” Bash says, in awe. “Electromagnetic radiation, maybe? Like radio waves, from the reefs?”
We shrug. Science fiction is Bash’s thing. Elisa reaches to fiddle with the radio volume, but even when the radio is off, the static never quite leaves my ears.
In a rare break of luck, I’m right about the ocean breeze. Bash brings us to a stop in the parking lot of a seaside playground, where the fog thins into slanting drifts.
I exhale a breath that I swear I’ve been holding for all the hours that have transpired since Elisa told me to sneeze. I let my head thunk against the seat. My watch says it’s after midnight now, but I feel like I won’t sleep for days.
“Are we safe?” Bash wonders.
Even in the dark, even through the fog, we can still see the glow of the strange reefs throbbing violet-blue-green. Some move. Weepers soothing themselves back to sleep after we passed through.
“For now,” I say. That’s the best I’ve got.
“We just have to breathe slow, like scuba divers,” Bash says. “We’ll be okay, but at least we’re together, right?”
Elisa and I return his sad smile. He points at the tumbler in her lap.
“So, what did you find?”
Elisa yanks open the tumbler and spills the documents onto the seat. This time, when she flips open the lighter, the sparks catch. She holds the small fire in her hands, letting the light illuminate the pages of her mother’s long-lost secrets.