by A. M. Geever
Skye’s calming voice competed with high-pitched screams.
“It’s okay, it’s all right.”
Another voice, with a child’s high-pitch, shouted, “Let her go!”
Doug saw the boy ahead, down on the ground. He was looking up at Skye, still on the roof. Skye was trying to hold on to a struggling tangle of arms and legs—and lungs. They had to achieve two outcomes at odds with one another as quickly as possible: get the kids to trust them and shut the howler up.
The boy’s body tensed, eyes filling with fear, when he finally saw Doug approaching. He backed up a few steps, as if to run, then stopped, unwilling to leave the screaming, squirming child Skye was wrangling on the roof.
“I want Bunbun!” the girl shrieked.
Doug slowed and held his hands out, palms up, about twenty feet from the boy.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, but needing to be heard over the other child’s shrieks. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”
“Let her go,” the boy demanded, fear and fury swirling over his pinched face. “Let her go!”
“Where are your parents?” Doug asked.
At Doug’s question, the boy's lower lip began to quiver. So, no parents.
“Let her go,” he cried again, but now he sounded on the verge of tears.
Doug looked up to Skye, who seemed to have a secure grip on the now sobbing girl, whose occasional hiccups sounded like b-b-bunbun.
“What’s Bunbun?” Doug asked the boy.
Tears suddenly filled the boy's eyes. “Violet’s rabbit. You were coming and we had to leave him.”
“A rabbit?” Doug’s brain scrambled to make sense of this development. He was sure that he had finally heard everything the apocalypse could throw at him. “Is Bun Bun back in the room?”
“Mister Bun Bun,” the boy said, his voice quivering.
He looked small and frail, and so vulnerable that Doug’s heart ached. The boy’s chest began to hitch hard as tears trailed down his dirty face. Doug walked closer, waiting for the boy to spook and run. When he was five feet away he dropped down to his knees.
“How about we go get him? Will you let us help you get Mister Bun Bun?”
The boy began to cry in earnest. Doug could see his relief that maybe this adult was someone who could be in charge. Someone who could take responsibility for him and the still distraught girl from his too small shoulders.
He nodded, wiping at his face, smearing the tears and dirt together into a muddy smudge.
“Skye,” Doug called, partially turning his head so that his voice would carry, but not wanting to take his eyes off the boy. “We’re going to get Mister Bun Bun. Okay?”
“We’re going to get Mister Bun Bun?” Skye echoed, clearly bewildered. Immediately, the little girl’s crying began to subside. “Okay,” she continued, her voice becoming a soothing sing-song. “We’re going to get Mister Bun Bun.”
Doug returned his full attention to the little boy.
“What’s your name?”
The boy looked at him, wary, but the doubt and fear lurking in his eyes was quickly giving way to exhaustion. He looked like a scared kitten, the kind that startled and ran from a leaf being blown on a breeze. Doug would not have been surprised if the kid said his name was Kitty.
“Silas.”
Doug smiled and held out his hand. Slowly, Silas extended his own. Doug took hold of his small, grimy fingers.
“It’s nice to meet you, Silas. I’m Doug.”
