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That day had seemed to go on forever. She had put in a token effort to study, the day before, but had given up when she couldn’t remember anything for more than a few minutes. With no way to get books off the library subscription on her nets access, and limited battery time on her handheld, she had turned to the books they had physically in the apartment. That too was fruitless, as most of them belonged to her parents and held no interest for her. She had tried drawing, something she was hopeless at; she had badly burned an attempt at canned-fruit crisp over the barbecue grill, and nearly burned herself as well. By the time night came, she was ready to forgo the candles and retire to her nest of blankets, but sleep wouldn’t come. It didn’t come until the tears had passed through.

Morning smelled like smoke. Something was burning, lots of somethings, and one or both of her parents would be fighting it. The neighbor that had told her about the toxic water had left the building. She had wanted to ask what the firefighters were using now, but she supposed she might not want to know. She didn’t want to see anyone now, certainly, not after being unable to shower off the smoke-smell of the grill, the lingering reek of the trash and spoiled food she’d had to throw out the windows, a day’s worth of nervous sweat. She had begun to hope for rain. Some part of her thought it absurdly funny that she should be here, told by her parents to stay at home alone with rations of bottled drinks and vacuum-packed snack food; a kid’s dream in the middle of a nightmare. The rest of her kept that part from laughing, as it did its job by keeping the rest of her from constant crying.

So far, her second day alone had been worse than the first. She could hardly make herself move, and everything seemed futile. Eating only meant having to use drinkable water for brushing her teeth and use a bathroom that could become a chemical or biological cesspool any minute, without warning. Staying inside meant boredom; going outside to the balcony made her eyes and lungs burn. And there were the people. They filed by in groups: old women holding parasols over their husbands’ heads to keep the ash off, ragtag assemblages of friends clutching backpacks, parents pulling wagons loaded with toddlers too dazed to cry. All of them were moving away from the city center, toward the highways that led to the other cities. None of them spoke, or seemed to see her; they didn’t even pause in their trudging to ask for food. Once, lying down out of sight on the balcony, she thought she saw a family she knew, but although the parents and little sister were right, Kalanna, from her maths class, wasn’t with them. She wanted to throw them something, food or juice or soap; but security, the need for people not to want to batter down her door, won out. The family passed by.