The Orphan Collector. Ellen Marie Wiseman

rather abruptly, the air had turned heavy and warm and damp, like it did in the middle of summer. She slowed, her heart racing, and stopped on the edge of the road. Mutti’s coat felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

      Footsteps sounded behind her and she spun around. A man stumbled toward her, his eyes and nose bleeding, his mouth gasping for air. He reached for her with bloody, clawed hands.

      “Help me,” he said in a ragged voice.

      She turned and ran. When she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was following her, he had collapsed on the sidewalk, his legs and arms splayed out at odd angles. She ran a little farther, then stopped and put her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Strands of wet hair hung in her eyes. Then she coughed, hard, and pain exploded in her throat and lungs. She put a hand to her chest. No. She couldn’t be getting sick. She just couldn’t. Maybe it was a cold. Maybe she was exhausted from worry and grief and lack of food and sleep. Whatever it was, she was determined to ignore it and keep going.

      She straightened and looked back at the man. He lay motionless on the sidewalk, a growing puddle of blood around his head. Ignoring her burning throat, she swallowed her terror and started walking again. Just two more blocks and she’d find what she was looking for. Then she’d be able to go home. She’d be able to feed the boys, have something to eat, and they’d all curl up on her bed to sleep. They’d wait for this to be over and for Vater to return from the war, together and safe in their rooms. Then everything would return to normal. Except . . .

      Mutti, she thought, and her eyes filled. Her legs went weak and she sat down hard on the curb. The buildings across the way seemed to waver, like they did in the summer when heat rose off the cobblestones. Except it wasn’t summer. It was October. And it was raining. She put her head in her hands. Her chest felt heavy and her throat felt raw, as if she’d swallowed broken glass. Her temples pounded with each hard thud of her heart. She closed her eyes. She needed to rest. For just a minute. Then she’d be fine.

      Suddenly remembering she hadn’t eaten anything but a mouthful of bread since yesterday, she reached into the coat pocket for the bread from the dead woman’s apartment. She unwrapped it and took a bite. This time it tasted like paper, and her teeth hurt when she chewed. Swallowing felt like razor blades going down her throat. She took another bite anyway. She had to keep up her strength. Then she coughed again. And again. And again. She couldn’t stop. She spit out the bread, staggered to her feet, and bent over at the waist, gagging and trying to breathe. Panic exploded in her mind. She had to turn around. She had to go home. She had to get Ollie and Max out of the cubby.

      Finally, after a few minutes of coughing so hard she thought she’d pass out, she could breathe again. She picked up Mutti’s coat from the sidewalk, then half walked, half staggered to the other side of the street to avoid the collapsed man, and turned toward home. The only food she had was the Mellin’s, the can of black-eyed peas, and the rest of the bread. It would have to do for now. Maybe she could go out again after she got some rest. Maybe things would get better in the meantime. Maybe people would stop dying and those left behind would come out of their homes.

      It was a relief, in a way, to be going home, to know she would be letting her brothers out of the cubby. Her heart lurched when she pictured them, red-faced and crying in the dark space, scared and wondering where they were and what had happened. Would they ever forgive her for what she’d done? Would they remember tomorrow? She tried to walk faster.

      Then something happened—she wasn’t quite sure what. It seemed like she fell, except she was still upright. The world started to spin, around and around like a carousel. She crumpled to the ground in what seemed like slow motion and her cheek collided with the street, tiny stones and gravel cutting her skin. Pain exploded in her useless limbs; the muscles in her neck loosened and tightened as her lungs screamed for air. Terror twisted in her mind and dizziness overwhelmed her as she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into darkness, suddenly blind, deaf, and mute. Her last thought was of Vater finding the twins in the cubby, their small white bodies skeletal and cold.

      Then the world disappeared.