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wrong?”
    As soon as she looked up, Mom’s eyes filled with tears. She cried out his name, and he rushed to her as she flew to him. Mom was always so careful with him, holding him as if he had bird bones that would snap with the slightest pressure, but right then she clutched him to her chest with all her strength. He could feel her trembling, could feel the heat of her panic through the cotton of her dress.
    â€œIt’s Jilly,” said Mom, and her voice broke into sobs. “There was a fight at the school. Someone bit her.”
    â€œBit—?” asked Jack, not sure he’d really heard that.
    Lightning flashed outside and thunder exploded overhead.

5
    Mom ran around for a couple of minutes, grabbing first aid stuff. There was always a lot of it on a farm, and Jack knew how to dress a wound and treat for shock. Then she fetched candles and matches, flashlights and a Coleman lantern. Bigstorms always knocked out the power in town, and Mom was always ready.
    The storm kept getting bigger, rattling the old bones of the house, making the window glass chatter like teeth.
    â€œWhat’s taking them so damn long ?” Mom said, and she said it every couple of minutes.
    Jack turned on the big TV in the living room.
    â€œMom!” he called. “They have it on the news.”
    She came running into the room with an armful of clean towels and stopped in the middle of the floor to watch. What they saw did not make much sense. The picture showed the Stebbins Little School, which was both the elementary school and the town’s evacuation shelter. It was on high ground, and it had been built during an era when Americans worried about nuclear bombs and Russian air raids. Stuff Jack barely even knew about.
    In front of the school was the guest parking lot, which was also where the buses picked up and dropped off the kids. Usually there were lines of yellow buses standing in neat rows, or moving like a slow train as they pulled to the front, loaded or unloaded, then moved forward to catch up with the previous bus. There was nothing neat and orderly about the big yellow vehicles now.
    The heavy downpour made everything vague and fuzzy, but Jack could nevertheless see that the buses stood in haphazard lines in the parking lot and in the street. Cars were slotted in everywhere to create a total gridlock. One of the buses lay on its side.
    Two were burning.
    All around, inside and out, were people. Running, staggering, lying sprawled, fighting.
    Not even the thunder and the rain could drown out the sounds of screams.
    And gunfire.
    â€œMom . . . ?” asked Jack. “What’s happening?”
    But Mom had nothing to stay. The bundle of towels fell softly to the floor by her feet.
    She ran to the table by the couch, snatched up the phone, and called 911. Jack stood so close that he could hear the rings.
    Seven. Eight. On the ninth ring there was a clicking sound and then a thump, as if someone had picked up the phone and dropped it.
    Mom said, “Hello—?” Jack pressed close to hear.
    The sounds from the other end were confused, and Jack tried to make sense of them. The scuff of a shoe? A soft, heavy bump as if someone had banged into a desk with their thighs. And a sound like someone makes when they’re asleep. Low and without any meaning.
    â€œFlower,” called Mom. Flower was the secretary and dispatcher at the police station. She’d gone to high school with Mom. “Flower—are you there? Can you hear me?”
    If there was a response, Jack couldn’t hear it.
    â€œFlower—come on, girl, I need some help. There was some kind of problem at the school, and Steve’s bringing Jilly back with a bad bite. He tried to take her to the hospital, but it was closed and there were barricades set up. We need an ambulance. . . .”
    Flower finally replied.
    It wasn’t words, just a long, deep, aching moan that came crawling down the