Circles in the Dust Read Free

scrambled to pick them up. David stuffed more underwear and socks into the top of his backpack and reached for the book he was reading, wondering if he should take it. There might not be anything to do in the basement after all.
    It was not long before they’d all assembled back in the living room. David and Ben had their backpacks, Mark toted a duffle bag stretched to capacity. Their mother was out of sight when they re-entered the main room, but a rustling drifted out of her room and they waited in silence for their mother to finish packing. Their father had returned to his armchair, which he had pulled over to face the window, the empty bottle hanging from his fingers. David wanted to ask why his dad wasn’t getting ready, why he was just sitting there, but his mouth was so dry all he could do was cough and lick his lips. Not a word passed between any of them until their mother finally emerged from her room with a large purse stuffed to the brim and a monstrous rolling suitcase. She looked at the chair tucked against the far wall, a yearning in her eyes, some words on her fluttering lips. She only looked, and their father never saw, just sat and watched the events unfolding outside the window. She waited a long moment before she turned and put her hand on the front doorknob.
    “Boys, grab those bags from the kitchen,” she commanded.
    They filed in to acquiesce, each taking in their hands one of the bags stuffed with all the food in their kitchen. Mark grabbed two, having slung his duffle bag over one shoulder. They stood in a huddle by the front door for what felt like hours; not a single word was uttered. David trained his eyes on the back of the head poking over the back of the armchair. The brown hair was disheveled in places by the drunken hand that had a habit of running through the muddy locks. He watched, waiting for the moment when his father would stand up and laugh, walk into his room and grab his things like the rest of the family and lead them out the door. No one spoke. David pulled his eyes away from the dismal corner of the room and turned to the rest of his family. They all had their eyes trained on the man frozen in his easy chair, gazing out the window at the apocalyptic scene like an insomniac watching a late-night infomercial. One by one they rose from their stupor and shuffled their feet, eyes wandering, ready to leave.
    His mother opened the door and motioned for her children to file out in front of her. They shambled out into the hallway and David heard his mother saying something quietly to his father. A short, gruff reply wafted out before the tiny click as the door closed. David’s mother turned to her boys, bearing a fresh stream of tears and cleared her throat.
    “All right, let’s go,” she trilled with a weak smile, her voice cracking.
    They made their way to the stairs that led down to the first floor and then to the basement. Others appeared and moved through the halls, some running up to their homes, others gliding listlessly through the hallway, a few in their pajamas; eyes dull, faces expressionless. They drifted like ghosts, and David wondered why they were out at all if they had no direction. A few shared their path toward the basement, looking like David’s family, backs laden with a few belongings, arms full of the same. Some carried nothing but food. A boy in front of David had a stuffed bear and a small gaming console. He was younger than David, and his parents were too distraught to have noticed what their child had in his hands.
    They hurried down the hall, past the specters and down the stairs spiraling into the belly of the building. They’d reached the main floor and were headed to the last staircase when an enormous flash blinded David. He stopped in his tracks before a rush of wind and a bang that left nothing but a ringing in his ears assailed him and threw him into a doorway set in from the wall. He looked around as the air filled with smoke and dust. He