I could leave the school, of course. I could spend the last of my strength trekking across the earth. Perhaps I could even search for a new priest. But so complete is my malaise.malaise. I cannot find the will to do even that. I just stay at the school, spending the nights staring up at the water-stained tiles that form the gymnasium ceiling. One of them looks like two buffalo facing in opposite directions. Another reminds me of a chieftainess I once bedded. She'd had a fantastically round bottom and the most delicate hands capable of extraordinarily intricate braiding.

I might have enough strength to remain awake for a few more days. I could let go now, of course, but the hope of catching one more glimpse of Emilia keeps me clinging to life. Perhaps in a distant future I will see her silhouette in an unexpected place and remember the sweet fake strawberry scent of her beautiful hair.

Thunder cracks, drawing my attention to the narrow row of windows near the top of the walls. The night sky has lightened to dark gray, and I realize that it is nearly time for the students to arrive for the day. The storm has so completely obscured the sun that I hadn't noticed the shift from blackest night to ominous dawn.

I rise and drag myself to the restroom to wash up. It is my understanding that the older children have large rooms with showers and places to store extra clothing in their school building. In the elementary, there are only small sinks beside which hang plastic dispensers full of astringent pink soap that leaves my skin feeling dry and itchy, but clean.

When I step into the hallway, I see a remarkable, golden-haired woman carrying a box full of colorful items.

"Emilia." Her name tastes like honey on my lips. "You've returned?"

"Only to get my things. I don't think they'd have me back after the little show I put on." She sets the box on a nearby bench and crosses the hall to me. "Are you feeling alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine." This, I have learned, is what one is expected to say, regardless of their true feelings. "I wish you would not go."

Her smile trembles. "I will miss the children, of course, but I have to be honest. Part of me is kind of relieved. It's like..." She looks around the hall as if she might find what she's trying to say on one of the hand-colored inspirational posters that line the walls. "I'm embarking on a whole new adventure, Zatyafan. That's a scary feeling, but rather exciting as well. I mean, anything could happen, right? Does that sound stupid?"

"It does not." I lean in, meaning to kiss her while I have the chance, but at that moment, the front doors burst open and children stream in. They're dripping water from their hair and trailing wet footprints on the floor.

"It's really coming down out there," Emilia says. "I should go."

"I am sadly happy for you," I tell her. "Though it is not my wish, I may be leaving soon, too. If I do not see you again—"

Thunder crashes so loudly, so closely, that the entire building shudders.

"I should go."

The man from Matthew's bus races through the doors. He glances around frantically and his gaze lands on us—the only two adults to be seen. As he runs toward us, his damp shoes squeak on the clean tiles. His voice is low and urgent. "It's a complete washout."

Emilia's smooth brow wrinkles. "What?"

"The dam broke." The whites of his eyes are visible all around the irises. He reminds me of a spooked horse. "I've never seen anything... I started to go back for the morning tech students and... A complete washout.... Trees, whole trees, just floating down the road."

I'm still trying to make sense of his fear when Emilia shakes her head and repeats, "The road is washed out?"

"The dam broke!" He's shouting now.

She takes his hand. "It's okay. Let's go to the office and—"

Another crack of thunder crashes. Children gasp. The lights flicker and go out and there is a moment of panicked silence before the sounds of terrified children and the adults in charge of them begin echoing through the hallways.

"Do you smell that?" the bus driver asks.

Now that he mentions it, I do. It's a horrible, acrid, nose-burning stink like the smell of hot cars on the road, but infinitely more concentrated.

Emilia pulls her cellphone from her pocket and switches on a light on the back of it. She points it all around and comes to a stop with the beam highlighting a plastic electrical outlet low on the wall opposite us. Black smoke pours from the narrow slits.

"What the hell?" she mutters.

To my right, a tiny tongue of flame flickers to life.

Emilia turns the flashlight in that direction and we see fire stretching its bright orange fingers out from a second outlet.

"The lightning must have hit the building," the bus driver says in a weak whimper. "The road is washed out." He meets my eyes. "We're trapped."

"We have to get the kids outside," Emilia says.

"In this storm?" the driver asks. As if to punctuate his question, thunder rumbles.

Fire flickers out of the smoking outlet now, as well.

Emilia sprints to the red box beside the cafegymnatoriam doors and yanks on the small white lever. A siren blares. Flashing yellow lights slice the darkness. "Get them out to the football field," she shouts over the din. "There are storage sheds, the press box, the concession stands—we can shelter them in there. The older kids can go to the bus garage. It's on that side of the building." A ceiling tile falls, smoldering to the floor, exposing a flickering mat of flame pressed against the ceiling. "Hurry!"

We leap into motion, joined by the other teachers. Pattinson is marching the entire kindergarten group out of the playground doors. Their feet smack the floor in time to quick chirps from his silver whistle. The man is an ass, but he's good in a crisis.

The principal emerges from the office, barking orders to the secretaries, nurse, and other adults who work in that space. Everyone moves quickly and efficiently. I join them. We check classrooms, peek in closets and bathrooms and under desks. One child is found hiding beneath a library table. Another has taken shelter inside a locker. The smoke grows thicker and blacker. More tiles fall.

I am the last out of the building and I'm gagging on the stink. Fresh air rasps into my lungs. Rain pelts me, blessedly cool,cool, and only then do I realize how warm the school had become.

Pattinson is racing toward me. "Are there more?"

"No. We checked everywhere. It's clear."

He nods and we jog back to the football field together. Every small building is crammed with students and the adults responsible for them. Lightning flashes in the dimly lit overhead sky. I see Emilia's pale face staring out of the press box window, so I climb the stairs to get to her. Before I'm halfway up, I realize what she's looking at. Just beyond the parking lot entrance, a churning mass of thick brown water forms a wide river that rushes along where the road used to be. It wraps around the property, turning it into a jutting peninsula. The only way to leave would be through the forest that grows thick and wild to the east. There is no way for us to get from where we are to the town beyond.

With a long, ear-splitting crack, the school's ceiling gives way and caves in.