Before The Darkest Hour

Four

Maggie

As I pad up the stairs and enter my room, reality begins to set in.

This is it, the end of days.

I close my door behind me and breathe in a single shaky breath. If I could just keep breathing, then everything would be okay.

The first thing I reach for is my phone. It's been on the charger all day, turned off since last night, when it died while I was scrolling social media. I hold the button down on the side, waiting for the screen to light up.

Come on, come on.

It's been well over twenty-four hours since I last called my mom. She and my sister must be worried sick about me. I grab my duffle bag from my closet with my other hand as I wait for the phone to turn on, effectively multitasking.

My phone begins to buzz like crazy, and I glance at the screen. Fifty-two missed calls? Over a hundred text messages? Holy shit, they've really been worried. I tap the call back button and hold the phone to my head.

It rings, and rings, and rings.

"Hey! This is Judy. Sorry I couldn't get to the phone right now. Please, leave me a message. Beep."

"Mom, are you okay? I'm sorry I haven't been able to get to the phone. Is Claire okay? Just call me back when you get this."

I hang up the phone, and check my messages.

Mom: Are you okay?

Mom: Honey, call me back.

Mom: Something bad has happened.

Mom: We will always love you, sweetheart.

My fingers fly across the screen as I respond.

Maggie: Mom, are you alright? I love you too. I'm scared. Please, call me back.

I shove my phone in the back pocket of my denim jeans and rush to continue packing. Who knows how long it will take the military to show up here?

When they do arrive, I need to be ready.

The first to go into my bag are my leggings and loose t-shirts, in hopes that wherever they take us will have a gym so I can exercise. Then in goes as many pairs of underwear as I can fit, an extra sports bra, one tube of foundation and mascara, lotion, and an extra pair of sneakers.

I pack my bag as if this is just a vacation, or a trip out of town. I try not to think about what's coming next, because when I do, I start to shake all over again.

A mirror hangs directly across from the bed, and I get a full visual of myself, the black overstuffed duffle bag hanging from one arm. My chestnut curls are a mess, still mussed from my earlier nap, and my eyes have black bags underneath them. My brown complexion is unnaturally pale, reminding me of my mother.

She would always say that my sister and I looked just like her, but in reality, we were stark replicas of our Latino father. When he got locked up, she refused to even admit that we were half of him. Regardless, she cared for us on her own, and she did a damn good job at it.

I pull my phone from my pocket one last time, just to be sure that she hasn't tried to call back.

No missed calls, no new messages.

A silent tear falls down my cheek. I pray they are okay, safe and sound in some bunker while all of this goes down. My sister is smart and witty, but she's only twelve. A child can't take care of herself alone, especially not with killers roaming the streets.