Ninitre - |link|

Lena took a breath so deep it hurt. She pressed her palm flat against the wall, over the tape, and said the word.

She walked home. She found the three other survivors in town—old Mr. Chen, who had hidden in his root cellar; baby Samira, who had cried for two days straight and somehow not been taken; and the dog, a three-legged mutt named Gauss, who had never spoken a word in his life and therefore had nothing to fear. ninitre

Lena knew her mother’s handwriting like she knew her own heartbeat. The loop of the n , the sharp t , the r that leaned too far left. But the word itself was a stranger. Not English. Not French, though Mira had taught her some. Not the bits of Latin that sometimes floated through their kitchen. Lena took a breath so deep it hurt

Ninitre.

“Ninitre.�

The sound that followed was not a scream or a roar. It was the sound of a held breath, finally released. She found the three other survivors in town—old Mr

Lena turned. Her mother stood behind her, but not quite in the room. She was like a photograph developing in reverse: solid at the edges, fading toward the center.