By then, there was so much dust in the air in Mother and Dad’s bedroom that my eyes were watering. I closed them because there was no point keeping them open—I could only just make out the flame in the lantern two feet away from me. In the rush of the wind outside, I imagined I heard sounds of suffering—a horse neighing, chickens clucking their distress, coughing and crying and someone hollering for help.

“Do you hear that?” Henry said suddenly.

There it came again.

Help. Come help. Please. Oh God. Please.

We both shot off the bed but Henry reached out to stop me.

“You stay—”

“Like hell I will.”

For only a split second, he hesitated. Then he fumbled for my hand and squeezed it fiercely.

“Do not let go of me,” he hissed. “If we lose each other, we’re gone. Do you hear that?”

“Stop babying me and just go!”

I followed Henry by feel, not by sight. He had the lantern in his hand, but I could tell from the cautious steps he took that it wasn’t helping much.

Henry stumbled near the door, and I felt the crunch of corrugated iron beneath our feet—a piece of the barn roofing had come through the window. He struggled but managed to pull the door open, only to find that walking outside in that wind thick with dirt was like swimming through cement. We were making such slow progress that I was starting to fear we’d be dead from suffocation before we even figured out who was calling out for us.

“Help…” The voice came again, and this time I knew it was Daddy. Henry sped up, just a little, stumbling forward down the stairs of the porch. I lost him for a brief second, so threw myself forward and went weak with relief when my hand landed on his shoulder.

“Call again, Daddy!” Henry shouted.

“Henry. I’m over here!” Dad called back.

“Keep calling so we can follow your voice!”

Slowly we inched toward the sound of Dad’s voice, but it was only when I kicked the wheel of the car by mistake that I realized we’d overshot our mark.

I tugged on Henry’s shoulder to pull him in the right direction and we felt our way along the car. Finally, my hand connected with hair, covered in a layer of soft dirt.

“Mother!” I cried. I pulled the car door open and bent down to shelter behind it. Mother was curled in a ball between the back and front seats.

“Oh, honey,” she wheezed, and then she gave a spluttering fit of coughs. “Clever girl. You…found us.”