Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Three. Missing Kids and Shitty Mornings

CHAPTER THREE
— missing kids and shitty mornings

MORNINGS WERE CHAOTIC. Chaotic, disordered, rushed, hectic. The golden light poured into the trailer through the open window, and the view was beautiful this time of day— the sun was beginning to peak over the trees, it's pink and yellow hue bouncing off the lake. Not that any of them could enjoy it, though; they were too busy running around the house like a group of maniacs.

Lucy, in particular, was a mess. Her hair was tangled, she had morning breath, and her shirt was inside out. Floorboards creaking beneath her feet, the girl rushed down the hallway and in the direction of the bathroom. She rolled her eyes— Danny was singing to himself in the mirror. "Would you move?" she nudged him, turning on the faucet.

    He nudged her back, with his hip. "Comb your hair, I think there's a nest of birds in there." After earning an annoyed side eye from his sister, Daniel popped his toothbrush back in his mouth and exited the bathroom. He cringed when the smell of burning food immediately flooded his nostrils; there was smoke coming off the stove.

"Jesus." He rushed forward, grabbing the pan and fanning the smoke away with a towel. "If you're gonna cook, maybe don't burn it," the boy glanced at his father, dumping the charred eggs into the trash can.

Jim grumbled, "Ah, shit," the man clicked off the stove and pried open the nearest window. "I forgot."

    As if on cue, the toaster popped. Widening his eyes at his father, Daniel set his toothbrush on the counter without a second thought and grabbed for the toast. "Lucy, come on!" he called.

    "Hold on," she shouted back from the bathroom, "Five seconds."

He snatched his keys from the coffee table, "Now, Luce!" he urged his sister.

Hopping and attempting to keep her balance, Lucy pulled a sock onto her left foot. Backpack slinging off one shoulder, Daniel opened the front door. "Let's go," he gestured outside, not bothering to look back at his father.

"Okay, okay," she murmured, grabbing for her shoes. Taking a glance back at Jim, a frown tugged on Lucy's lips. Gesturing to him, she spoke, "Maybe you, uh, shouldn't smoke at seven in the morning."

Pulling the cigarette from his lips, Hopper put it out on the ashtray, so his teenage daughter would quit giving him hell. Still attempting to salvage his breakfast, the man gave a tight lipped grin. "Have a good day, kid."

Daniel honked his horn. Gritting her teeth, Lucy returned the small smile to her father. "Bye."

    They didn't live far from Hawkins High— just a drive around the lake, past the police station, and through the middle school. Lucy's eyes were closed as Daniel drove, one hand on the wheel and the other digging through his backpack. He felt around for a notebook, yanked it out, and tossed it at his sister. "There are flashcards in there," he spoke, "Quiz me."

    "You're gonna crash," she clutched the notebook, "Jesus, eyes on the road!"

    Danny put both hands on the wheel. "Listen, I have an English quiz first period," he spoke, "Ms. Thompson's gonna flunk me, I'm not repeating sophomore year."