Chapter 3
Richard and Linda came back around noon the next day.
The road to the city was blocked by a landslide, so they had no choice but to turn back.
Joanna sat in a wheelchair, her leg swathed in thick bandages. It was really just a superficial wound, but the way it was wrapped made it look like she'd suffered a serious fracture.
As soon as they got back to the shelter, Richard stormed straight toward the rescue team's tent.
"Where's Hannah? Where's that damned girl?" he shouted.
His face was twisted with anger, clearly thinking I was just being stubborn on purpose.
Linda pushed Joanna's wheelchair behind him, her face just as grim. "She's being so thoughtless," Linda said. "There's a disaster going on, everyone is busy, and she's still acting out and making us worry."
Joanna tugged at Linda's sleeve and whispered, "Mom, Hannah's probably just feeling upset because Dad saved me. When we see her, please don't scold her. I'll give her my allowance to cheer her up."
Everyone around stopped what they were doing and gave the three of them weird looks.
Richard felt awkward under all those stares, but he forced himself to keep shouting. "What are you all looking at? Hannah. Get out of here. Stop hiding."
But there was no answer. The only sound was the wind howling through the tents.
Richard's anger flared even hotter. "Fine. Not coming out, huh? You think you're tough now."
He strode over to the pit they'd dug out of the ruins yesterday. "Are you hiding down there? You think this will make me pity you? I'm not falling for it. I've seen all your tricks before."
He pointed at the heap of rubble, his finger shaking with anger. "Hannah. I'm counting to three. If you don't come out, don't ever think about coming back to this family."
There was still no movement within the rubble. Richard, furious, snatched up a steel pipe and smashed it against a raised concrete slab.
The pipe struck the slab with a harsh, metallic clang.
Maybe the impact sent a jolt through the ground.
The blue-and-white striped body bag lying nearby suddenly slipped, one corner falling open.
A ghostly pale hand slid out from inside the bag. On its wrist was a coarse, red string bracelet.
I made that bracelet for Richard's birthday last year, but he thought it was tacky and tossed it aside. So I picked it up and started wearing it myself.
Richard froze in place.
He stared at the hand, a guttural, choking sound escaping his throat, as if someone was squeezing it shut.
The steel pipe clattered to the ground.
Linda pushed Joanna over, and seeing Richard just frozen there, she grumbled, clearly annoyed, "Richard, what's your deal? Is that Hannah? What's she doing, playing dead on the ground to freak someone out?"
Joanna leaned over for a look, then gasped, covering her mouth. "Hannah, come on, get up. The ground's freezing. Dad's about to blow a fuse."
Richard didn't turn around.
His legs started shaking uncontrollably.
He moved forward, stiff and jerky like a puppet on strings, inching closer to the hand.
He slowly crouched down, reaching out to touch the hand, but suddenly pulled his hand back in mid-air.
"H-Hannah?" he ventured softly, barely above a whisper.
"Stop playing dead. I'm not mad at you anymore. Just get up.
"If you get up, I'll buy you the latest computer, okay?"
The hand lying there didn't budge. Its pale skin was so glaring in the sunlight.
Richard yanked open the blue-and-white bag.
My face came into view.
My eyes were shut tight, dust and dried blood crusted on my skin, my lips a chilling blue-purple, the unmistakable hue of a corpse.
Linda's blood-curdling scream ripped through the air behind me.
She went limp behind the wheelchair, clutching her mouth in a death grip, her pupils contracting sharply in terror.