Read Bird Box for Free Online Page B

not move. She is clutching her suitcase so tight that her knuckles are white and hurt. A taller, bigger man approaches her.
    “Here,” he says, “let me take that for you.”
    “Thank you.”
    “My name is Jules. I’ve been here for two months. Most of us have. Tom and Don arrived a little earlier.”
    Jules’s short dark hair looks dirty. Like he’s been working outside. He appears kind.
    Malorie looks at the housemates from face to face. There is one woman and four men.
    “I’m Don,” Don says. He, too, has dark hair. A little longer. He wears black pants, a purple button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows. He looks older than Malorie, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. “You scared the hell out of us. Nobody’s knocked on that door for weeks now.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s no worry,” the fourth man says. “We all did what you did. I’m Felix.”
    Felix looks tired. Malorie thinks he looks young. Twenty-one, twenty-two. His long nose and bushy brown hair make him look almost cartoonish. He is tall, like Jules, but thinner.
    “And I’m Cheryl,” the woman says, extending her hand. Malorie shakes it.
    Cheryl’s expression is less welcoming than Tom’s and Felix’s. Her brown hair hides some of her face. She is wearing a tank top. She, too, looks like she’s been working.
    “Jules, will you help me get this thing off?” Tom says. He is trying to remove his helmet, but the makeshift body armor is getting in the way. Jules helps him.
    With the helmet off, Malorie gets a better look at him. His sandy blond hair is messy above his fair face. The suggestion of freckles gives him color. His beard is barely more than stubble, but his mustache is more pronounced. His plaid button-down shirt and brown slacks remind Malorie of a teacher she once had.
    Seeing him for the first time, she hardly realizes he is looking at her belly.
    “I don’t mean any offense, but are you pregnant?”
    “Yes,” she says weakly, frightened that this will be a burden.
    “Oh fuck,” Cheryl says. “You have to be kidding me.”
    “Cheryl,” Tom says, “you’re gonna scare her.”
    “Look, Malorie, was it?” Cheryl says. “I’m not trying to come off as mean when I say this, but bringing a pregnant woman into this house is a real responsibility.”
    Malorie is quiet. She looks from face to face, noting the expressions they make. They seem to be studying her. Deciding whether or not they are up to the task of housing someone who will eventually give birth. It suddenly strikes Malorie that she hadn’t thought of it in these terms. On the drive over, she didn’t think that this was where she might deliver her baby.
    The tears are coming.
    Cheryl shakes her head and, relenting, steps to her.
    “My God,” she says. “Come here.”
    “I wasn’t always alone,” Malorie says. “My sister, Shannon, was with me. She’s dead now. I left her.”
    She is crying now. Through her blurred vision she sees the four men are watching her. They look compassionate. Instantly, Malorie recognizes they’re all grieving in their own ways.
    “Come on,” Tom says. “Let’s show you the house. You can use the bedroom at the top of the stairs. I’ll sleep down here.”
    “No,” Malorie says. “I couldn’t take a room from any of you.”
    “I insist,” Tom says. “Cheryl sleeps at the end of the hall up there. Felix is in the room next to the one that will be yours. You’re pregnant, after all. We’ll help you with it the best we can.”
    They are walking through a hall. They pass a bedroom on the left. Then a bathroom. Malorie catches her reflection in the mirror and quickly looks away. On the left, she sees a kitchen. On the counter are large buckets.
    “This,” Tom says, “is the living room. We hang out a lot in here.”
    Malorie turns to see his hand is gesturing toward the larger room. There is a couch. An end table with a telephone on it. Lamps. An easy chair. Carpet. A calendar is drawn in what looks like marker