by Julia Crane
“Fifty-four.” The older man was silent. “We’ve lost twenty-nine.”
“What about the pilots?” Emma asked, her voice a bit stronger.
The older man shook his head sadly. “No, ma’am. Neither survived.”
“But what about the people still inside the plane?” An elderly woman asked from the back of the group. Twin paths of tears had been left through the soot on her face. “We need to get them out!”
The crowd parted as the older man walked forward and placed a calming hand on the woman’s arm. “Ma’am, we sent a couple boys in to check to see if anybody…had survived. Those still on the plane are no longer with us.”
The woman sobbed, pressing a gnarled hand to her lips. Callie’s heart broke.
“We can’t just let them burn,” the woman with the baby said softly. She held her infant closer and tucked her chin to press a kiss to its soft head. Her eyes were closed when she went on. “That’s not right.”
“If we try to rescue the dead, we’ll only put our own lives in danger,” a brusque man with dark, cocoa skin and a shaved head spoke up. He holds himself like a soldier, Callie thought. He was one of the men who had carried Gran.
As if to punctuate his statement, an explosion rang through the forest. Callie whirled away from the group to face the plane.
It was entirely engulfed in flames.
Callie reached behind her with both hands, seeking her mother and Nailah. Their own hands wrapped around hers.
The survivors sat in silence as they watched the plane burn.
“We need to come up with a plan,” the dark-skinned soldier said. His name was Jarrett —Callie didn’t know if that was his first name or last name. She wasn’t too sure which way was up, and blamed the shock.
The group had moved further into the forest—out of sight of the now decimated aircraft. Several men took to carrying the three or four still unconscious victims. Some introductions had been passed around once they’d come to a stop, though Callie hadn’t retained many names. Her vision had tunneled into the small universe that maintained herself, her mother, Nailah, and Gran. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion.
The older man—Bill—swiped a hand over his blood-encrusted hair. “What kind of plan? We don’t even know where we are! We’re lucky we didn’t crash-land into the ocean.”
“We should have crash-landed in the ocean,” the stewardess said. Callie couldn’t remember her name.
Though the six men and the flight attendant had moved slightly away from the survivors to keep their conversation private, Callie was just near enough to hear. Emma’s head was resting on Callie’s thigh, her eyes closed as she dozed, but Callie could feel Nailah’s alertness beside her—she was listening to the group, as well.
“What do you mean?” the skinny red-head demanded. His name was Gavin; Callie didn’t think he was even in his twenties yet.
The stewardess sighed. “We were over the ocean. There wasn’t any land or island in sight. There is no way we could have landed on dry land. For all intents and purposes, we should have hit the water.”
“Well, obviously you’re wrong,” Jarrett declared. Callie found his arrogance obnoxious.
“Jarrett , knock it off. I think Marge would know better than you,” Gavin retorted.
Bill rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Obviously, the plane veered off course during the turbulence. Knocked us near enough to dry land.”
“Good luck, too,” a quiet man named Jorge spoke up. “If we had hit water…”
He didn’t have to finish his statement. Even Callie knew that if they had even survived a water crash, they would have all probably died afterwards from thirst, starvation, or exposure.
“Should we keep walking? See if we can find people?” Gavin directed his question to Bill, the unnamed leader of the group.
Bill glanced around the forest. Where they were was darker than it had been near the clearing—whether from tree coverage or the setting sun, Callie wasn’t sure. The calm sounds of the day were fading, replaced by the more active noises of the night. Callie had spent many nights in jungles, listening to the cries of the big cats and the screeches of the monkeys. It was terrifying; there was no way some of these people could handle that.
“I think we should stay put for the night,” Bill finally answered. “We’ll give the unconscious time to wake up. Rest and restore. We’ll start walking at daybreak.”
Callie was lying awake on the hard ground, her eyes focused on the black sky that peeked through the branches of the trees above. What she could see was so filled with stars that it looked unreal. Every so often, she heard the cry of an owl or the unnerving scream of a monkey. Even having dealt with it all before, it still made her jump.
Nailah was on her back beside Callie, their shoulders pressed together. Her own dark eyes were on the stars. She nudged Callie. “Are you okay?”
Callie pondered the question. It had so many meanings, and so many answers, yet Callie still hadn’t decided how she felt. The shock had begun to wear off, but the numbness hadn’t. “As okay as I can be. You?”
“I guess.” Nailah took a deep, shuddery breath. “I just keep thinking of my mom. She was going to meet me at the airport.”
“Oh.” Callie envisioned a statuesque beauty, an older version of Nailah, searching the airport frantically for her little girl.
They lapsed back into silence.
Emma shifted in her sleep, and Callie glanced over at the motion. Her mother was pressed tightly against Gran, who had yet to wake up. They were barely visible in the darkness.
“This is so surreal,” Nailah said after a moment.
“No kidding.” Callie paused, still stuck on the vision of Nailah’s mother in the airport. “Do you think they’ll find us? When the plane never lands in Bermuda, do you think they’ll send help?”
Nailah’s hand sought hers in the dark, and she squeezed. “I’m sure.”
Callie felt like she had only just lapsed into sleep when she was awoken by a rumble. Her eyes shot open to darkness and silence, but Nailah’s hand—still entwined with Callie’s—tightened.
“What’s that?” Nailah hissed.
Callie let go of her friend’s hand and rolled to her stomach. She pressed her ear to the ground. A steady hum reverberated beneath the dirt; she not only heard it, but felt it in her hands where they pressed into the twigs and leaves. As Callie listened, the hum got louder.
Following Callie’s suit, Nailah rolled over and pressed her own cheek to the ground. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s coming closer,” Callie said, not bothering to whisper. She shot up and turned in the direction of Bill and the others.
He was already sitting up, one ear cocked to the night.
Jarrett had both hands pressed to the ground. “Cars.”
“Cars?” Gavin sat up sleepily and rubbed his eyes. “Where?”
“Ohmigod, cars!” Callie yelled, awakening the other survivors. The initial grumbling ceased as word spread through the group that help was on the way.
“They’re idling now. Close,” Jarrett called. He still had his ear to the dirt.
“They’re looking for us!” Nailah yelled out. “Everybody scream!”
The racket raised from the survivors was eerily loud in the night. The baby started crying to the chorus of “Hey!” and “Over here!” and “Help!” Nailah pulled Callie to her feet.
“Calista, look.” Nailah pointed to where Gran lay.
Emma was gazing down at her mother, silent and crying with a big, beaming smile on her face.
Gran’s eyes were open as she blinked at the stars twinkling through the treetops. Callie’s heart skipped a beat. She took Nailah’s hand and squeezed it. They were all going to be okay.
It was no time at all before a spotlight began to dance through the trees. Callie cheered along with everyone else, and threw her arms around Nailah, dancing with her new friend across the underbrush.
The spotligh
t drew nearer. Footsteps crunched across the forest floor—several sets of them. The closer they got, the more the spotlight illuminated their rescuers.
There were several men and a couple women, all in matching, khaki-colored cotton shirts and pants. They all had gun straps angled across their chests and lit flashlights dangling from their belts.
“We come in peace!” one man intoned. He was tall and lanky, and his prominent features were made eerie in the back glow of his flashlight. His fellow rescuers chuckled.
“Daymar, you’re an idiot,” one of the females shot back. She was a petite woman with the sleeves rolled up on her shirt, emphasizing the muscles in her arms. “Folks, we’re soldiers with the Aionian paramilitary. No worries, we’re here to help.”
A large, imposing man with a muscular upper body and a bald head grinned in the glow of his light. He stood at the head of the group. Tossing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come, he said, “Someone call for a ride?”
The survivors followed the soldiers through the trees until they broke the forest line and climbed a small hill onto a dirt road. Several men and women awaited them at idling vehicles that looked like nothing Callie had ever seen.
“Those are the strangest cars ever,” Nailah pronounced.
Callie tightened her arm around Nailah’s shoulders; her ankle was killing her. “Yeah.”
There were seven in all, and no two looked alike. They seemed to be pieced together from various odds and ends—Callie would have sworn one of them had a base made from the wing of an airplane. None of them were covered; they had crafted roll-over racks like those found on military Jeeps. Some had two headlights, but the majority only had one.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the bald soldier called over the low murmuring of the survivors. “If you would pick a Cruiser and settle in, it’s about a thirty minute ride to Aionia.”
Callie had no idea where Aionia was; she’d never been any good at geography. But if it meant civilization and a plane back to the States, she’d take it.
They’d probably have to sedate her before she could step foot on another aircraft.
There was no way they could continue on to vacation. Not after such an ordeal. Callie was positive her mom would agree, especially with Gran hurt. She needed to be back in her own bed to recuperate.
Two men helped Gran climb into the nearest Cruiser, settling her between Callie and Nailah. Gran rested her head on Callie’s shoulder as Emma slid into the front seat.
The driver was a young guy with a head full of dark curly hair and an unshaven face. Emma turned to him. “Aionia? I’ve never heard of it. Where are we? Is it a small village or something?”
The driver glanced over at Emma, his youthful face stoic. “It will all be explained to you shortly.” As the line of vehicles ahead of them began to pull away, he put the Cruiser into gear and eased forward. “Where are you from?”
“California.”
“Oh, yeah? Do they still have that big HOLLYWOOD sign up?”
What an odd question, Callie thought, raising an eyebrow at Nailah, who shrugged, stupefied.
Emma narrowed her eyes and looked askance at the man. “Yep, it’s still there as obnoxious as ever. I think that will always be a constant.”
The occupants of the car fell silent. On Callie’s shoulder, Gran had gone to sleep, probably lulled by the steady thrum of the engine. Callie had noticed the engine itself was open to the elements right behind their seat. She wondered what happened if it rained; surely the mechanisms wouldn’t work waterlogged.
Something was bothering her mom, and Callie wasn’t sure what it was. She watched as her mom tugged nervously at an ear; it was one of her tells. Emma turned in her seat to smile at Callie. Her eyes fell on Gran, and her face lit up.
She faced the driver once more, this time with purpose. “Why were we picked up by military and not an ambulance? I would have thought medical personnel would have been sent to a crash site. Do you not have medical services? Are we on a military base?”
The driver kept his eyes on the road. “No, it’s not a military base. I can’t answer anymore questions, ma’am. Rest assured, your party will be debriefed when you arrive.” He paused, and then tossed a grin in Emma’s direction. “Aionia is the most beautiful place on earth. You’ll enjoy it here.”
Callie had been listening to the exchange, and at his last declaration, she snickered to herself. Locals always thought their piece of the earth was the most beautiful place in the world; she couldn’t even count how many times they’d heard such a thing in all their travels. Callie doubted Aionia could top New Zealand.
And honestly, even if it is gorgeous, I am so not in the mood for sightseeing. Callie’s immediate needs could only be settled by a bathtub and a comfy mattress.
Emma sighed and rubbed both of her temples, brushing her hair away from her face. The wind was really kicking around the vehicle since it had sped up considerably. “Callie, wake your Gran up. I don’t think she should be sleeping. She may have a concussion.”
Callie gently ran a hand over her grandmother’s head. “Gran, how are you feeling?”
Gran’s eyes opened woozily and it took her a moment to focus on Callie. “I’m a little dizzy, and my head hurts.” She took a shaky breath and her eyes teared up. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t asked you to come on vacation with me—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. This is not your fault. Mom puts my life in danger on a regular basis,” Callie joked, an attempt at levity.
Emma reached over the seat and gently took Gran’s hand. “She’s right, Mom. This is definitely not your fault. It was an accident. I’m just glad we’re all alive.”
The Cruiser didn’t have the smoothest of rides. The dirt road they traveled was rutted by a delta of watermarks, but it was surrounded by lush, green foliage that became more prominent as the sun finally started to rise. The pink sky was clear of any clouds; the forest seemed never-ending.
Callie rested her head on top of her Gran’s and must have nodded off. She woke up to Nailah’s hand as it roughly grabbed her arm.
“Calista. Wake up!” Nailah gasped.
Shaking away the fog of sleep, Callie blinked at the road ahead.
The view that was steadily drawing closer was comparable to one she’d seen before, but she never imagined she’d see something like it that was inhabited and not crumbling to the ground.
Teotihuacán was an ancient Aztec site northeast of Mexico City. She, her mother, and Braden had snuck onto the land as the evening sun set. Though only certain structures still remained in the modern day, Callie could picture the city as the Aztecs had meant for it to appear. The central temple, the strategic avenues… It was one of the moments in Callie’s life when she’d remembered just how small she was in the scheme of the world.
The Cruiser angled down an incline, allowing the passengers an amazing view. A central step temple rose above a sea of pale stone buildings that spread all the way to the sapphire ocean in the distance. It took her breath away—it was Teotihuacán, but not in ruins.
She could make out the normal hustle and bustle of a city: the small forms of people walked in the shadow of the buildings, while vehicles similar to the Cruisers wound through streets forming an elegant wagon-wheel. The wagon-wheel spread out from a central axis of the step temple. It was like an ancient Aztec civilization, pulled from the past and settled right down on the island.
“What in the world…” Emma’s voice rang from the front seat. “Is that Aionia?”
The soldier beamed. “Yes, ma’am. That’s our girl.”
The sun had fully risen by the time the Cruisers passed the first of the city’s buildings. Most seemed to be connected—an ongoing façade with perfectly spaced doors and windows until the buildings were bisected by horizontally running streets. Callie watched them slide by, fascinated. None of the many windows had glass, and very few doors were actually closed. They were dark, as if no ligh
ts were turned on inside, though curious faces appeared in the openings as the Cruisers passed.
Callie was surprised to see such a wide-range of ethnicities. She’d expected—albeit judgmentally—that the island would be like all the others: full of dark-skinned people. But the faces that peered out at the passing cars ranged from the snow-white skin of Anglo-Saxons to the warm glow of the Mediterranean to the ebony gleam of the deep African. Almost every race was represented down the one long street the Cruisers drove.
“Do you think this is one of those Peace Corps places?” Callie leaned over Gran to ask Nailah.
Nailah shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never even heard of the place.”
As they approached the temple, the buildings ended and a courtyard opened around them. There were Cruisers already parked along a tall, stone wall that separated another section of the city from the temple. The soldier driving their vehicle skirted the giant stone fountain in the center of the courtyard and pulled into a spot.
“Ladies, if you’d follow me,” the soldier said brightly. He pushed a button on the dashboard that killed the engine and climbed from the car.
Nailah climbed from the car, and the soldier offered Gran his hand. “Easy, now. Take it slow,” he told her as she slid carefully from the Cruiser.
“Thank you,” Gran said shakily.
The soldier tucked himself beneath one of her arms, while Emma took the other. Callie gingerly stepped from the vehicle and leaned on Nailah with a grateful smile.
The other survivors were being led to the gaping black opening of the temple by their own drivers. Callie felt better being back in the presence of oddly familiar faces. She vaguely remembered reading in the past about the survivors of great tragedies forming close bonds, and she wondered if that would happen to them.
A line of people—three men and three women—awaited them just outside the temple. As Callie had noticed of the population on the drive in, these people were of varying ethnicities as well. Six faces smiled pleasantly as the survivors drew near.
