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The
generator
roared
steadily
behind
its
plywood
partition
,
but
something
had
gone
wrong
.
I
could
smell
diesel
fumes
,
and
they
were
much
too
strong
.
I
walked
toward
the
partition
,
taking
shallow
breaths
.
At
last
I
unbuttoned
my
shirt
and
put
part
of
it
over
my
mouth
and
nose
.
The
storage
area
was
long
and
narrow
,
feebly
lit
by
two
sets
of
emergency
lights
.
Cartons
were
stacked
everywhere-bleach
on
one
side
,
cases
of
soft
drinks
on
the
far
side
of
the
partition
,
stacked
cases
of
Beefaroni
and
catsup
.
One
of
those
had
fallen
over
and
the
cardboard
carton
appeared
to
be
bleeding
.
I
unlatched
the
door
in
the
generator
partition
and
stepped
through
.
The
machine
was
obscured
in
drifting
,
oily
clouds
of
blue
smoke
.
The
exhaust
pipe
ran
out
through
a
hole
in
the
wall
.
Something
must
have
blocked
off
the
outside
end
of
the
pipe
.
There
was
a
simple
on/off
switch
and
I
flipped
it
.
The
generator
hitched
,
belched
,
coughed
,
and
died
.
Then
it
ran
down
in
a
diminishing
series
of
popping
sounds
that
reminded
me
of
Norton
's
stubborn
chainsaw
.
The
emergency
lights
faded
out
and
I
was
left
in
darkness
.
I
got
scared
very
quickly
,
and
I
got
disoriented
.
My
breathing
sounded
like
a
low
wind
rattling
in
straw
.
I
bumped
my
nose
on
the
flimsy
plywood
door
going
out
and
my
heart
lurched
.
There
were
windows
in
the
double
doors
,
but
for
some
reason
they
had
been
painted
black
,
and
the
darkness
was
nearly
total
.
I
got
off
course
and
ran
into
a
stack
of
the
bleach
cartons
.
They
tumbled
and
fell
.
One
came
close
enough
to
my
head
to
make
me
step
backward
,
and
I
tripped
over
another
carton
that
had
landed
behind
me
.
I
fell
down
,
thumping
my
head
hard
enough
to
see
bright
stars
in
the
darkness
.
Good
show
.
I
lay
there
cursing
myself
and
rubbing
my
head
,
telling
myself
to
just
take
it
easy
,
just
get
up
and
get
out
of
here
,
get
back
to
Billy
,
telling
myself
nothing
soft
and
slimy
was
going
to
close
over
my
ankle
or
slip
into
one
groping
hand
.
I
told
myself
not
to
lose
control
,
or
I
would
end
up
blundering
around
back
here
in
a
panic
,
knocking
things
over
and
creating
a
mad
obstacle
course
for
myself
.
I
stood
up
carefully
,
looking
for
a
pencil
line
of
light
between
the
double
doors
.
I
found
it
,
a
faint
but
unmistakable
scratch
on
the
darkness
.
I
started
toward
it
,
and
then
stopped
.
There
was
a
sound
.
A
soft
sliding
sound
.
It
stopped
,
then
started
again
with
a
stealthy
little
bump
.
Everything
inside
me
went
loose
.
I
regressed
magically
to
four
years
of
age
.
That
sound
was
n't
coming
from
the
market
.
It
was
coming
from
behind
me
.
From
outside
.
Where
the
mist
was
.
Something
that
was
slipping
and
sliding
and
scraping
over
the
cinderblocks
.
And
,
maybe
,
looking
for
a
way
in
.
Or
maybe
it
was
already
in
,
and
it
was
looking
for
me
Maybe
in
a
moment
I
would
feel
whatever
was
making
that
sound
on
my
shoe
.
Or
on
my
neck
.
