Page 71 of Let It Snow
Then it happens. The bottom of the sub smashes against the dome’s upper curve, a horrific screech of metal and glass ringing out as the whole structure shudders.
In a split second, torrents of water crash down from above with enormous force. But I react faster than I think, the instinct to protect life taking over. I hurl the water back out of the dome, holding it at the cracked seams, refusing to let it break through.
Even so, the restaurant fills with screams and chaos. Panic erupts, and with horror I realize that to stop the flood I’ll have to keep focusing constantly, forcing the water outside the dome, making sure it doesn’t slip through the cracks.
Snow looks at the ceiling, then back at me.
People leap to their feet and race for the exit, the restaurant emptying in a rush as they flee through the tunnel toward the oceanarium. Chairs and tables topple in their wake, waiters and staff joining the stampede.
I gasp in despair.
"Snow, if we stay here, the cameras will catch us sitting calmly. Too weird! People will find out about my power. I can’t… I can’t let that happen!"
And I leap to my feet, unsure what to do.
Snow locks eyes with me for a moment, then suddenly rises as well. In a blink, he cuts the lights, which under the circumstances doesn’t even look suspicious. A power outage seems like the obvious result of the dome’s damage. Then he runs to the wall, presses his hand against it, and something strange happens.
A thin, piercing sound cuts the air; like water freezing into ice, the noise is sharp as a blade on glass. Moments later, the entire outer surface of the dome is coated in a thick, insulating layer of ice.
But Snow waits a moment longer; the ice thickens, and soon I realize I no longer have to hold the water back.
The ice keeps it sealed out.
Snow rushes to me.
"Quick, let’s catch up with the others. They won’t notice what happened if we blend into the crowd smoothly."
"Wait!" I shout, because something catches my attention.
About thirty feet away I hear the cry of a small child. I sprint toward the sound and find a toddler, maybe a year and a half old, sobbing in a stroller. Beside him, on the ground, lies someone unconscious.
"Snow! Looks like a piece of the dome’s structure hit him on the head!" I yell.
Snow, who ran after me, bends over the figure, a young omega with blood streaking his temple.
"Let’s get them out of here!" I call, and Snow nods.
I scoop the crying boy into my arms, while Snow lifts the omega.
Then we both hurry toward the tunnel. The last people are just disappearing at the far end, some of them also rushing with small children in their arms.
When we reach the passage, the staff immediately close a series of bulkheads that seal off the aquarium from the tunnel, securing each section against flooding.
The chaos is so overwhelming that no one notices at first that Snow is carrying an injured man, not until we nearly collide with one of the workers and Snow asks him to call for medical help.
The staff usher us into a back room, where the omega is laid across two chairs. One of the guards is trained in first aid and quickly gets to work, bandaging his wounds and stopping the bleeding.
The whole time, I stand with the crying boy in my arms. His light curls frame his chubby face, big hazel eyes full of tears. I pull his small body closer, trying to comfort him, but his terrified gaze stays fixed on his unconscious dad. The trauma must be unbearable, the shock overwhelming. Snow, standing beside me and watching as the staff tend to the injured omega, glances at me and notices the boy trembling, still unable to stop crying.
He reaches out and gently touches the boy’s head. The child calms within moments and sags against me, his head resting on my shoulder. He slips his finger into his mouth in a self-soothing gesture.
"Poor little guy…" I whisper, realizing that whenever Snow isn’t touching me, the fog creeps back and the words catch in my throat. Snow must notice, because he slips an arm around me, letting his cleansing energy flow into me, and I’m grateful for it.
We wait nearly twenty minutes before the ambulance arrives, and another twenty before social services show up to take care of the boy while his dad is taken to the hospital.
During all that time, I hold the child in my arms. It’s strange, sweet, and unexpectedly comforting. His small head rests on myshoulder, his body exhausted from crying, calmer now. Snow occasionally brushes his hand over him, clearly sending him soothing energy. At one point, the boy even drifts off to sleep, his eyes closing as I gaze at his little face, a flood of emotions rushing through me.
I notice Snow watching me closely. Then suddenly he asks, "Would you want to have kids one day?"
