My mom was the one that volunteered to be the first to go outside.

No one knew what lurked out there, and no one wanted to be the first to die from it today.

We assumed it was there to kill us.

That was what’d happened to Tony. Tony hadn’t done anything wrong.

Mom stepped up the stairs warily, watching the door with suspicion. Papa had wanted to go first, but my mom beat him to it. I don’t know why she wanted to do it.

She flipped the small latch to the side, then slowly pushed up the door, the creaky hinges crying out in protest as she did so.

A bar of light shot through the crack, and the dense dust fragments floating in the air were visible in the extreme brightness.

She gasped.

She fell.

Papa ran over to her, lifting her up in his arms like a baby. She looked up at him, an expression of pure horror on her face.

He stared up the stairs, keeping himself composed.

A boot stepped down onto the stairs. Someone was beginnning to descend into our cellar.