They climbed the mountain. The girl wore only socks on her feet, having forgotten her shoes in the rush to escape. They started anyway, mother father sister brother, other families ahead and behind.
She remembered the bookstore closing, the new book display in the window darkened. How she’d wanted something before they left. A solitary woman shut the place down, walking slowly toward the light switch, then blackness.
They climbed further, maneuvering around bushes growing out of rock, their moving bodies hidden by clusters of trees. Her toes clutched stone, broke sticks. She felt the power in movement, a force in pushing ahead.
–refers to “rush” in New Year’s Rush by Rose Auslander