Page 33 of Adam's Rising

If Thomas had intended to meet them in Anchorage, why hadn’t he told them where he’d meet them? Maybe the answer was in the backpack. Adam had been so busy since he’d been pulled out of bed Friday night that he hadn’t stopped to think.

He tugged on the chain. Peter had slept all day — nothing new. His mother had claimed that boys grew when they slept. Maybe that was why he was shorter than Thomas, and Peter was way taller than he’d been at fourteen.

Adam took another step, ducked to look into the basement.

Peter’s cot was empty.

The blanket was half on the floor — of course. Even in the dark, Adam had made his bed.

“Peter?” Adam called out, heart thudding. He hadn’t seen Peter all day. He just assumed after not sleeping and then working all day that Peter would sleep until Monday morning. He darted down the steps. “Peter? You in the shower?”

No answer.

He set the bag on the table and scanned the basement. Other than the storage closet, there wasn’t any place to hide. Peter hated small places. No way would he hide inside the stuffed cramped space. He wouldn’t even climb into the treehouse their father had built for them.

The air had a sour, earthy tang that wasn’t just teenage sweat. Something sharper, pungent.

Before he could head back up the steps, the metal screen door upstairs banged shut.

Had to be Peter.

Unlike Adam who took care to open and shut all the doors quietly — and old ladies didn’t let doors slam — Peter just let them go. Or worse, slammed them when he was mad.

Adam darted back to the stairs, looked up, waiting.

Where had Peter been all day?

“Adam!” Peter called, slinking down the steps. “Dude, I am fu-freaking starving. I was just looking for you.”

His brother’s clothes looked dirtier than they’d been, like he’d crawled beneath one of the stalls, and he smelled of hay and God-only-knew-what, even though he hadn’t gone near the barn. Had he not showered since mucking stalls yesterday?

Adam hated sounding like Peter’s father, but he had to share a room with him. “Didn’t you shower last night… or today?”

“Ugh! You sound like —”

Adam cut him off with a glare. “Go shower. Clara Mae left us some bread and peanut butter and jelly.”

“Again?”

“Honest to God, Peter!”

Peter lifted his hands. “Going!” He dropped his head and stalked toward the bathroom.

I’m sixteen.Why is this happening to me?

Adam calmed himself with one thought: I’m going to see Claire tonight. He’d make sandwiches, take a shower, catch a short nap… And tonight, he’d see the onepersonthat made his life feel like it mattered.

9

Before going inside to get ready for her date, Claire slung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and jogged to the barn to finish the chores she usually tackled in the morning.

As soon as she unlatched and rolled back the heavy barn door, high-pitched mewing and the tromp of paws greeted her. She never understood how these so-called mousers, with their soft-padded feet sounded like stampeding cattle rushing the doors. How they ever managed to sneak up on anything, let alone field mice, was beyond her.

She stooped to pet the three calicos in turn. “Good evening, Wes, Fez, and In-go. You know you’re supposed to be mousers, don’cha? If Grams knew I was feeding you… Well, she won’t know, will she, kitties?”

Claire stood and walked to the cabinet where she kept the bag of cat food, treats, and Buttercup’s supplements. The cats darted between her legs like chaos on four legs.

Nearly tripping, she laughed. “You shouldn’t run among giants, guys! That’s how you get squashed!”

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