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For what feels like an eternity, my dreams are empty and cold. Occasional sights and odd voices break through the void: Mom sponging sweat from my forehead … Cissy holding my hand … Lincoln gently kissing my closed eyes. Someone says “She’s past the worst of it.”
I wake up in my own bed. My brain is hazy. I stagger to my feet and peer out the window. Half the houses on our street are burned-out husks. The demons were here too.
The world whitens around the edges of my vision; I grip the windowsill.
“What are you doing?” The voice is familiar.
I squint but can’t focus. “Mom?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She races to my side. Her arms grip my shoulders, guiding me back into bed. “What are you doing up?”
My head touches the pillow. I curl into a fetal position. “I didn’t know where I was.” I fee
