The Fractured Earth Read Free Page A

a police-looking thing with a little extra handle that stuck up. Old CDs that my dad gave me—I pulled them out.
     
    The door scraped more, pushing my pile of stuff. NotMom stuck her head in, saw me and hissed and gnashed her teeth. I almost peed myself, but my fury took over.
     
    I dumped the locker on the floor and saw the baton poking up. Grabbing it by the small handle so that it rested against my forearm—with the long end toward my elbow—I climbed up the pile in front of the door and brought the baton down on NotMom’s head, and knocked her … it … down, hopefully forever. For good measure, I flipped it by the grip handle and smashed the long end hard against her head again. Then I climbed down from the pile, panting from the adrenaline high—my second today.
     
    NotMom was lying halfway in the room, her eyes still open but vacant, not moving.
     
    "What now?" I wondered, looking away from her … it. Get what I can and head for the boat? Try to drive the car?
     
    Oh, yeah. Wouldn't work. 
     
    Would my boat motor even start, or would I have to violate the harbor rules and try to sail out? What should I take, what should I pack for my end of the world vacation? See the sites! Burning cities. Meet new people! Who want to take you to lunch ... so to speak . Activities for the whole family! Kill the crazies. Baseball bats provided free, Uzis extra.
     
    I looked around my room, now in shambles. A pile of stuff at the door, now bloody. My locker contents on the floor. Drawers thrown around and trinkets knocked off the dresser. I knew there was an old Disney Frozen backpack in the back of the closet beneath a pile of the Valley Girls' clothes. The three of them just tossed dirty laundry in there when their personal clothes bag filled up. 
     
    Tossing out the clothes and picking up the Frozen backpack, I frowned. This was my least favorite movie, ever. The only singing that halfway belonged in a movie was in Fiddler on the Roof , but this one had a ten minute song for every five minutes of plot. Appalling.
     
    But it was what I had. Into it went a few personal items like those CD’s from my dad, a couple of books and my old family pictures, minus the frames, stuffed between book pages. I used my laundry bag for clothes, leaving the few dirty clothes inside since they were what I usually wore—and added some undies, warm and cold weather clothing, and my sailing gear.
     
    I wrapped my hands in some shirts and cleared out the pile of stuff, opened the door, and stepped over NotMom. 
     
    I didn't look at the doll's head she'd used to bash at the door.
     
    In the bathroom, I added toiletries, including ladies’ stuff.
     
    I hate guys.
     
    All the toilet paper I could pack went into the bag, including some from the bathroom downstairs.
     
    I went into the kitchen and started getting everything out that I wanted to take. I had to go back upstairs to dump one of my sisters' bags, then back down to the kitchen. Dry goods, canned meats with lots of calories, all the vitamins. I added a thermos and a couple of cooking pots and all the salt and pepper, plus some spices that I had no idea what they were.
     
    In the garage I put on my foster dad's old tool belt and shoved my baton in the hammer loop. I found a good-looking knife with a sheath, and even a tree-trimming machete. It was pretty short, with one dull side, and the sharp side had a curve, I guess for chopping at the tops of branches? Anyway, it went into another loop on the belt. I also grabbed some nylon cord and a flashlight.
     
    Back in the kitchen, I stared at the car keys for at least ten seconds. "What the hell?" I muttered, grabbing them. I went to the front door and unlocked the deadbolt and opened it. The trash bin was still precariously balanced on the hood of the car, but I’d just left it there. When I tapped the door opener, I didn't hear the telltale clunk of the doors unlocking, so I used the key. I sat down and tried to start it, but