"What do you know about the hill?" Tyler asked.

"Dad said it's not a hill, it's a burial mound," Isaac said.

Sitting on the roof, they could see fires burning, roaring from a gaping wound in the side of Hausman Hill. The burning hill acted as a lighthouse, signaling the entire town. Clambering up the rusted remains of the old TV antenna, they could ascend to the roof of Tyler's house easy enough. The orange glow illuminated the pouring, billowing mass of smoke.

"I think they punched into hell," Tyler laughed.

"Great, Mrs. Christian can find her way home then," Isaac said. They stifled their laughter, hoping Tyler's mother wouldn't find them again. When they were ten, they were barred from the roof after the neighbor across the street called the house, letting Tyler's mother know they were fighting with foam swords on the roof of the one-story rental.

"You think I can afford a hospital bill? You think Mr. Dancer is going to spring for a new roof?" She had screamed.

As teenagers, the roof became a sanctuary. Even after ten years in this town, Isaac was the only real friend Tyler had made. He was the only one who knew why they moved to Texas. The only one who knew about their connection to the 726. Tyler's parents worked long hours, sharing a quiet dinner and maybe a TV show before they passed out. He then waited for Isaac's dad to fall asleep in the recliner so his friend could join him.

"You hardly notice the smell," Isaac said. "You get used to that rotten egg potpourri pretty quick, I guess."

"You might be used it. I'm going to buy a gas mask from the surplus."

"I think it's worse on the old people. My dad barely makes it in the door before he goes to sleep. And! And I saw Mr. Chambers petting and whispering to the grocery store window yesterday. It was uncomfortable."

"I bet we're losing a lot of brain cells," Tyler said. "At least we haven't seen any dog people," Tyler said.

"Hey, breathing in that shit? I'm surprised that's all they saw."

The roof underneath thumped three times. "Shit, mom found us." Tyler sighed.

* * *

"I already called your uncle this morning, you and Isaac aren't hanging out anytime soon." Maureen slammed the bag of cereal on the table. "Fourteen years old and still climbing the damn roof."

"Where's dad?" Tyler poured the contents of the plastic bag into a bowl.

"Had to take off early. Apparently, they're going to put out the fire today," she said.

"He's going back there?" Tyler asked.

"I'm not too thrilled either," Maureen said.

"He doing any better?" Tyler asked.

"He's better. He's quiet."

That's better," Tyler mumbled.

"Watch it. I'll drop you off. You'll have to find a ride home, I have work all this week."

"No problem," Tyler said. "Can I grab a bottle for school?"

Maureen opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. After people noticed the odor and flammable gas seeping from the faucets, bottled water became a hot commodity. Now, the company responsible for the blown well distributed it daily to the townspeople, six twenty-ounce bottles per household per day.

"Last one until they stop by today, use it wisely," Maureen said.

"Love you, mom," Tyler said, saluting her with the bottle.

"Don't give me that, fourteen years old and climbing the roof," she said.

* * *

She called her husband after Tyler jogged up to the school. She pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street when Randall answered. She watched a single old man walk to the grocery store wearing a WW II-era gas mask.

"Hey," Randall answered. "How's everything?"

"Getting ready for work, how about you?"

"Getting ready to help put out the flames," Randall said. "Of course, I'd rather do that than work with Fa-tss all day."

"Shut up," Maureen laughed. Knowing more about handiwork than half the town, Maureen worked at Dillon Hardware, the eponymous Dillon being a morbidly obese man who inherited the business and had only a cursory understanding of hygiene. They referred to him as "Fa-tss" because it sounded French and he constantly brought up the two weeks in college he spent in Paris.

"Hey, what do you say this weekend we take a drive. Tyler can stay with Isaac. We need the time," Maureen said.

"I'd like to. I would."

"Things have been tense. Maybe we go house hunting," Maureen said.

"Not too far though. I still have work," Randall said.

"Fuck it, listen to me, your wife, listen, fuck it," Maureen said. "Hart and Sons are going to buy the hill as soon as the fire's out."

"Still a rumor at this stage," Randall said.

"No, it's happening. No more fracking, no more work. Let's go!"

"We can't," Randall said. "We can't just leave every time bad things happen."

"Let's pretend we can," Maureen said. She pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, the rotten egg odor filtering inside. "Where would we go? If we could go anywhere?"

"I don't know. We can't go anywhere so what's the point?"

"Something to talk about?" Maureen said.

"Honey." Randall sighed.

"How many of your friends have gone nuts up there? How many sent home because they're seeing shit? How many died when the well blew?"

"That's them. I'm doing fine."

"You're not. You're the only one from that shift that made it out and that's fucking with you. Let's leave."

"Where? Wanna hop a town over and settle in Marble Springs with those psychos. Oh! You wanna go back to Erwine? Get our old place back?"

"I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that."

"I gotta get back."

Maureen said bye and Randall hung up.

* * *

When the well exploded, Tyler was terrified he lost his father. He would come to realize, he did, years before. He lost his mother too. Losing a child changes a person. But having a child vanish, with no explanation, breaks a person. The explosion of the TexNation well on Hausman Hill brought their pain to the surface. His father's co-workers, the ones present for the explosion, were institutionalized, dead, or missing. Most claim to have seen things. In the hospital, his father's best friend ranted about wolves or coyotes that walked like people. He died a few days later.

Then came the quiet. The oppressive silence. The stillness that seem to tear at his nerves and make him want to scream, it was all reminiscent of the days after William's disappearance, when he lost his brother and the world lost 726 children. Tyler thought his parents would kill each other. But after they moved, things seemed okay. Not good, or normal, but okay. He could live with okay.

But the incident on Hausman ended okay.

Since the explosion, the air seemed to impact people in different ways. Some carried conversations with people no one else could see. Others would enter trances, with teachers telling students to ignore their catatonic peers until they came to again. People called it the fog. Today, a teacher at school barely managed to stop a fogged student from diving over the stairwell railing.

But when he turned on the news, nothing about the hill. Not a minute of coverage. Marble Springs ate up the airways, even months later. He assumed help would come, the National Guard would show, something. But as Isaac reminded him, if Flint still didn't have drinking water, why the hell would they bother with Nobility, TX?

They were alone again, falling apart in the face of the impossible.

Coming home from school, Tyler saw his father in the porch swing, gently rocking back and forth and scraping at a small piece of wood with a pocketknife. Tyler saw an old man in the seat, one who aged twenty years in just a few days.

"Whatcha doing?" Tyler asked.

"Whittling," Randall said. "My grandpa always said it was a great way to quiet your brain. Not working."

"You got the day off?" Tyler asked.

"Just a couple shifts. Then I have to go back. We almost got the fires out."

"Why do you have to be there? Isn't that something for the fire department?"

"I helped run it, so they want me there."

Tyler thought about sitting beside him, but he kept watching the small blade hack and shave the wood. "You okay?"

He stopped rocking. "Yes. I'm okay."

He never took his eyes from the piece of wood in his hand.

"You don't seem okay."

Randall exhaled and slapped the wood onto the chair. "You have something you're getting at?"

"No, no, it's just...I'm worried about you. Everyone else that was up there, they kinda-"

"Went crazy?" Randall stood up, brushing the shavings from his legs, still gripping the knife in his right hand. "You worried I'm seeing things?"

"No." Tyler said.

"I'm working up there for you. So I can put food on the table while you get an education. I'm up there so your mom can have a house away from Erwine. Because there's too many memories there for her. You miss your brother?" He gesticulated wildly with his right hand, a white knuckled grip on the pocket knife.

"Yes." Tyler said.

Randall leaned in. His breath hot and sour from the alcohol. "I'm here for you. I don't get to mope around like your mother or fuck up like you. Do you have any idea what I'm doing for you? Do you have any fucking idea?"

"I'm sorry."

"Get off my fucking porch," he said, pointing the knife to his son.

Tyler fell back, catching himself on the porch step railing. Looking up, he saw his neighbor standing by the fence between their yards. The neighbor blurred, like an image coming in and out of focus.

No, this was taller. Unclothed, with mottled flesh and patches of hair. Tall ears and yellow eyes. The figure cocked its head to the side.

Tyler lost his breath. He gripped the wooden railing hard. He looked at his father, who squinted at the figure in the neighbor's yard. "Do you see that?" Tyler asked.

"No," Randall said. "I don't see a goddamn thing."

"Dad!"

Randall stood up. He descended the steps, pushing past his son. He looked straight at the creature. The creature gently growled, hunching down slightly behind the fence. Randall clenched his jaw. "See? Not a thing. Now, go to your room."

"You see it!" Tyler screamed.

"Go! Get off my fucking porch! Go to your room!" He slashed at the air with the knife.

He moved toward Tyler, who released the step railing and bolted inside the house, slamming the door behind him. Randall stared at the door. He sat back down on the swing and resumed his whittling. He started carving the smile onto the wooden figure's face, until he could no longer see through the tears. He wiped his face on his sleeve.

"God, damn it."

* * *

Tyler remained in his room. He heard his dad finally drive away. For hours, he looked at the ceiling, lying on his bed and trying to recall his brother, their life in Erwine, before Texas, before the explosion. Would he tell his mother? Would it do any good to bring her into it? Was his father protecting him, or was he slipping like the others? Tyler wondered if he was slipping as well. He saw it, the dog on two legs. Tyler sat up. The front door creaked open and shut gently. He jumped off his bed and opened his bedroom door.

"Mom? Dad? You guys home?" Tyler cringed at the way his voice cracked.

He stumbled to his left into the living room.

"Mom? Da-," he stopped. He saw a figure standing on unsteady feet, looking into the decorative mirror on the wall.

"Hey Tyler."

"William?" Tyler whispered.

Even after ten years, he knew his brother's voice. William turned around. He looked thin, his cheeks sunk. The wool sweater he wore was in tatters.

"I-I shouldn't have come," he said. "But the fires...I had to see them. You want to sit down?"

Tyler looked at the couch. There was a plastic wolf mask on one of the cushions.

"Don't mind that." William smiled. He shook like a chill went through him.

"Cold?"

"No, hot," Tyler said. "We only have one window unit still working. Have you seen mom and dad yet?"

His brother was alive. After ten years, here he was.

"No, I can't. I wasn't supposed to come back."

"Where did you go? We looked. Mom and dad and the cops, the whole world was looking for you guys. We had to move. We had to leave everything," Tyler's voice waivered. He sucked in air. He tried to count. He tried to calm his anger.

"Where the fuck did you go!" Tyler screamed.

William nodded. He looked at the floor. He turned to the mirror.

"Go to your room. Shut the door. Does it lock?"

They weren't commands. William's voice remained flat.

"What?" Tyler asked.

"Go to your room. Lock your door."

"I'm gonna get mom and dad-,"

William screamed. A garbled, panicked screech. He screamed and slammed his head into the mirror, shattering it and sending out a puff of crumbled drywall.

"It was supposed to be you!" He screamed.

Tyler moved quickly down the hall and closed the door behind him. He pushed a bookshelf against the door while his brother wailed from the living room.

He struggled with his phone in shaking hands. Does he call the cops? Would they talk his brother down or just kill him? He tried to call his parents but neither picked up. A crash echoed in the room, Tyler watched the shelf bounce from the door, the wood crackled.

"Call them. Please. Before I do something to make you," William wheezed from the other side.

"Mom and dad aren't picking up," Tyler said. "Just calm down, I don't know what happened but you're home now, just calm down!"

"Not mom and dad. Just call them."

The door bowed out, like a great force was pushing against it. Pieces of the laminate coating splintered.

"If I call them, they'll kill you," Tyler said.

"Call them. And don't you dare come outta that room."

Déjà vu.

The last moment Tyler saw his brother's face he was four. He barely remembered anything from that age. But he remembered his big brother, eight years old, picking him up and putting him in the closet.

"You go to the back. You hide behind the clothes."

Tyler cried. William had held his arm too tightly. Tyler rubbed the sore place on his arm and cried.

"You stay here. You stay here until mom and dad come home."

Tyler started trying to crawl back out, fumbling over the toys and boxes. William pushed him back.

"You stay fucking there! You come out," William hissed, wiping his eyes. "You come out and I'll beat your ass. You understand?"

Tyler shook his head.

"Don't you dare come outta that closet."

* * *

"Where did you go?" Tyler asked, leaning against the door. He made the call. The 911 operator begged him to stay on the line but Tyler hung up. "After you left me in that closet."

"Far away," William said.

"Why?" Tyler asked. "You know what you did to us? Leaving like that?"

"Yes," William said. "I saved you."

He could hear his brother walk down the hall, into the living room. After several minutes Tyler stood up and faced the door. He gripped the knob but then heard the sirens.

The front door opened. There was yelling. Tyler opened the door. There were gunshots. The men streamed inside, guns drawn, and forced Tyler on the floor. One slammed Tyler's head on the wood laminate floors. Tyler knew most of them, but they didn't seem familiar now.

* * *

William was gone. No body. The police admitted firing at him, but recovered nothing from the house. They questioned Tyler for hours that night in a room with cinder brick walls and a cold metal table. Where was William? Did he say where he was going?

Tyler said nothing. He knew a media frenzy would begin. William was one of the 726. But nothing happened. Lawyers arrived at the station. They took Tyler home. They shook his father's hand and offered condolences to his mother. They were sent, free of charge and care of TexNation. All word of William was buried. As far as the rest of the world knew, the 726 remained firmly in the ether.

When he left the station, he could see the orange flow of the fires on the horizon. They were the only ones in the country seeing it, no one else wanted to look.

His mother cried for two days. They gave her a leave of absence at work as long as she returned Saturday afternoon. That was their busy day, after all. She never said a word to him until the third night. Tyler woke up to see her in his doorway. He checked his phone; it was three in the morning.

"Mom?" Tyler asked.

"We were almost whole," she whispered. She walked back to her room. Tyler sat up and reached behind the headboard of his bed, swatting at the wand until he was able to close the blinds. He didn't want to look outside.