by Julia Crane
“Looks like we have a welcoming committee,” Nailah whispered to Callie with a chuckle.
Callie grinned as she adjusted her grip on Nailah’s shoulders. “I doubt it’s everyday that a plane crashes on their island. We’re big news.”
A tall, lean man with gleaming brown skin stepped forward from the center of the line. His demeanor was casual, but confident, and he had shiny, dark eyes and a handsome face. He was wearing loose, white linen pants and a pale blue button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves. “We would like to welcome you to Aionia! It’s a shame that we must meet under such unpleasant circumstances. We are sorry for the loss and tragedy that you have endured. I do hope you find your stay here as pleasant as possible.”
“How do we get home?” someone shouted from the back.
“Where’s a bathroom?” an old lady’s voice croaked.
“I know you have lots of questions, and we will get to them in due time.” The man’s smile never wavered. “Please, follow us inside, and we will show you to your lodgings so that you may freshen up. We shall all meet back in the main hall in an hour. Anyone that needs medical attention, please follow Gretta.”
An older woman wearing a long floral dress stepped forward from the line. Her gray hair was pulled back in a smooth braid, showcasing a broad forehead, almond eyes, and a beautiful smile. She clapped her hands and said, “Right this way.”
As the non-injured survivors entered the temple, Gretta led them away and across the cobblestone quad to a boxy, stone building with huge wooden doors decorated in cast iron divets. Their guide lifted a heavy latch on one of the doors and pushed. The silent group of injured followed her inside.
The entryway was lit by torches placed in iron holders high on the walls. Callie glanced at Nailah, her eyebrows furrowed. “Do these people not have electricity?”
Nailah cocked her head. “I believe there are islands that don’t. Possibly this is one?”
Gretta turned and smiled. “We have several medical practitioners on hand who will get you fixed up so you can relax before the meeting. There are seven patient rooms down this hallway to your left. If you are with family members, please stay together.”
“This place is neat,” Callie said as the group began to walk down the massive stone hallway Gretta had indicated. It was cool and dim. The walls were block stone and lined with the same old-fashioned torches; they cast flickering patterns on the hall around them.
“Go in the first door available, Cal,” Emma said. She was supporting Gran’s weight with Nailah’s help, while Callie hobbled painfully along on her own. “I don’t think Gran can make it much further.”
“Stop fussing over me” Gran grumbled. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” Emma rolled her eyes.
Callie stopped at the first door. It was cracked open, and the thin space between door and frame was merrily lit by more flickering. She glanced at her family with a raised eyebrow. “I guess this is the place.”
She pushed open the door the rest of the way and stepped inside a miniscule room. It held only a single cot and a deep wooden bench. In one corner was a stand with a crude, clay water basin that held a stack of white towels. What a lame excuse for a medical room, Callie thought.
Emma helped Gran get settled on the cot—though she refused to lie down—while Callie plopped onto the bench. Nailah sat next to her and offered to hold Callie’s foot so she could elevate it; she thankfully accepted.
A few moments later, a tall, slender woman with auburn hair tucked back in a clip came in carrying a tray with cups on it. She was wearing a name badge that said Stacey, pinned to the front of her white lab coat. She extended the tray and said, “I’m sure you’re all thirsty. Drink this, and you’ll feel much better.”
Callie was surprised to find there was simply water in the cup. Don’t hospitals usually give juice to people in shock? Water or juice, she guessed it really didn’t matter. She was terribly thirsty, and finished off her cup in one swallow.
“Now, who’s worst off?” Stacey propped her tray on the water basin and turned around to look at them expectantly.
Emma pointed to Gran. “My mother. She was unconscious for awhile.”
The woman walked to Callie’s grandmother and took a seat next to her on the cot. “What’s your name, hon?”
“Belinda. I’m fine. I just banged my head, that’s all.”
The woman put her hands on either side of Gran’s head and tilted it side to side. She felt both sides of Gran’s neck, and then flashed a tiny flashlight in her eyes. “Everything looks great, Belinda. Your pupils are responding just as they should. Just do me a favor and take it easy for a little while. If you don’t mind, go over to the water basin and wash your face and any other cuts while I look at the rest of your lovely family.”
Nailah and Callie exchanged grins. Family. Callie had only known Nailah less than a day, but she did feel like family. I guess that’s what tragedy does, Callie thought. It draws strangers together.
Gran heaved herself to her feet and shuffled over to the basin to clean up while Stacey said, “So, who’s next?”
Emma waved to Callie. “My daughter. Please. Callie.”
“Any injuries, Callie?” Stacey left the cot to sit beside Callie on the bench.
“Yeah. I came down on my ankle wrong when I slid off the plane…” It was the first time Callie had let herself remember the crash and it shot fear through her. The smoke, the fire, the screams…
As if she could read Callie’s thoughts, Stacey placed a calm, cool hand on Callie’s forehead. “It’s alright, Callie. It’s over. You survived.”
Callie couldn’t bring herself to do anything but nod; she didn’t want to cry anymore.
“Let me go get some supplies, and we’ll get that ankle wrapped,” Stacey went on, pushing on her knees as she stood. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
“Shouldn’t she have an X-ray?” Emma asked. Despite her head wound—which had long since stopped bleeding—she was standing near Gran while the older woman washed up.
Stacey paused at the door, throwing a glance to Emma. “We don’t have X-ray machines in Aionia,” she murmured, and then left.
“Are we in a third-world country?” Emma seethed, her fists clenching at her side.
“We’re in the islands, dear. They may not be as advanced as the States.”
“There are Americans here. And British. You would think advancement would be priority to these people!”
Gran paused in her ministrations, pointing the towel she held at her daughter. “Emma Bishoff, you knock that off right now. Getting hysterical isn’t going to change anything. They will do what they can for Callie now, and as soon as we touch down in the States, we’ll take her to a real hospital.”
“What if her ankle is broken?”
Callie jumped, horrified. “Broken? Could it be broken?”
Nailah shook her head. “I doubt it, Calista. You can put weight on it.”
“Look, now you’ve terrified your daughter. Pull yourself together.” Gran swatted Callie’s mother with the towel and turned back to the water basin.
When Stacey returned with a basket of medical supplies, she gently wrapped Callie’s ankle, and then put a butterfly bandage over Emma’s head wound. As her green eyes surveyed the long—but healing—gash, Stacey remarked, “You’ll have a nasty scar, Emma. But it could have been much worse.”
Emma nodded, her eyes sad. “Yes. Yes, that’s true.”
“Now what about you, hon? Any injuries?” Stacey asked Nailah.
Nailah opened her hands to show the doctor her scraped palms. “I don’t believe so. Just bruised and sore.”
“That is to be expected for all of you. The human body isn’t meant to withstand the force of a plane crash.” Stacey smiled. “Lucky girl. Just go soak your hands for a moment in the basin now that Belinda is done.
Nailah nodded and did as the woman asked.
“I’m going to go help another
room now,” Stacey went on. “As long as there isn’t anything else you need from me?”
Emma shook her head. “No, thank you so much, doctor.”
Stacey laughed. “Oh, I’m not a doctor! I’ll send someone in momentarily to take you ladies to your rooms.” The woman swept out the door before anyone else could speak.
“Not a doctor?” There was fire in Callie’s mom’s eyes. Callie recognized the look as one that came around anytime Emma didn’t get her way. “Do you mean to tell me that woman was not a trained medical doctor?”
“Emma,” Gran sighed. “She was probably just a nurse. She most likely was told to check for any life-threatening injuries, and if none were found, to treat. The island may only have a few doctors.”
“I cannot—”
“Mom, just stop. We’re alive, we’re healthy, and we’re going to go home soon. It’s gonna be alright.” It’d been a while since Callie felt like she had to mother her mother. The feeling was almost comforting in its familiarity.
It wasn’t the fact that Stacey wasn’t a doctor or that they didn’t have X-ray machines. Callie knew this. They’d spent the greater part of six years in the most remote and dangerous parts of the world where illness and injury came standard, but medical attention did not. Her mom was used to that. No, where her mother’s issues lie were with the fact that they’d all almost died. Like Callie’s dad.
A young girl the spitting image of Stacey entered the room, dispelling the tension. She couldn’t have been twelve years old with her vivid red hair in identical braids and her small hands entwined in front of her. “Hello. I’m Lisbeth, Stacey’s daughter. I’ll show you to your rooms, if you’re ready?”
“Yes, please, dear,” Gran answered, shooting a warning look at Emma. “Lead the way.”
Lisbeth took them out the front doors of the medical facility and across the courtyard to the temple. Though it was quite different on the outside, upon entering, Callie couldn’t have distinguished it from the building in which they’d just been treated. The same dark, torch-lit hallway opened from the door, only this one with many more sub-hallways leading away from it.
“Please don’t try to navigate the temple on your own,” Lisbeth said, taking them down a hall to the right. “You will get lost. The temple has many, many passages and chambers, and to newcomers, it can feel like a maze. Luckily, where we have guest rooms, we also have a cafeteria and the meeting hall nearby. You should have no need to venture far.”
“What about getting a flight home?” Emma asked, hurrying to draw up beside Lisbeth. “While we, of course, appreciate the gesture of putting us up, we’d rather just take a plane as soon as possible instead of lodging for the night.”
Lisbeth didn’t even look at Emma as she answered, “You’ll get answers in the meeting. Each room has two beds. Are you fine with sharing?”
Nailah was helping Callie walk once more, one long arm supporting Callie’s waist. Her dark eyes caught Callie’s, and she murmured, “Calista? Is that okay?”
Callie couldn’t stand the thought of being separated from Nailah. “It’s perfectly fine.”
“Yes, of course,” Gran answered, bumping Emma with an elbow. “I don’t mind sharing with my little girl.”
Nailah helped Callie into the room that Lisbeth indicated. “We will have breakfast ready for you at the meeting in one hour.”
After Lisbeth closed the door behind her, Callie let go of Nailah to survey the room.
The walls were—surprise—stone, and the large wall in front of them was hung in a heavy maroon tapestry that depicted a large white shield and sword. The beds were identical wooden frames inset with lumpy mattresses and covered with a woven blanket that looked like something Callie would have bought at a marketplace in Mexico. There was a bare table between the beds that held a lit oil lantern, but nothing else.
“This is scant,” Callie said.
“But it’s a bed,” Nailah answered dryly, choosing the one on the left. She stretched out on the blanket; her long legs barely fit on the short bed. “It’s not too comfortable, but it works.”
Callie fell heavily onto her own bed, landing face-first on the fluffy pillow. The action of laying on a bed was amazing, no matter how crude and foreign. Callie’d had her fair share of foreign beds and mats in her lifetime.
The sleepiness began to settle into her bones. The crash, the adrenaline rush, the pain and terror…it had worn her into the ground. She wanted to sleep for days.
“Think there’s time for a nap?” Callie asked, turning her face to the side so she could see Nailah.
Her friend sat up and scanned the walls, eyes narrowed. “There isn’t a clock. How are we supposed to know when an hour has passed?”
“I’m sure Mom will come get us,” Callie answered sleepily. She never even heard Nailah’s reply.
Nailah, Callie, her mother, and Gran were some of the last survivors to trickle into the meeting room. Callie was still weary, but her ankle felt a little bit better—either from an hour’s rest or the wrapping, she wasn’t sure.
The meeting room was a larger version of the bedrooms; each wall was hung with a different tapestry and held more torches. There were several tables, all with the chairs lining one side so that—once seated—the survivors were facing the six people who had greeted them upon entering the city.
Callie didn’t even wait. The minute she took her seat at the table, she started filling her plate with everything in sight. Until they’d walked into the room and the smell had hit her, she hadn’t realized how famished she was.
The six “leaders” sat behind their own table, though they didn’t have any food. Each smiled benignly, waiting for the survivors to get settled. Gretta sat on the end closest to Callie’s table and sipped from a glass of clear liquid as she chatted with the tiny brunette woman beside her.
But what Callie was most interested in was behind that table. On a stool by himself, sat the most gorgeous guy Callie had ever seen.
He had pale, creamy skin and medium-length, light blond hair; it rested sideways over his forehead and tapered down to the collar of his shirt in the back. He held a clipboard on his lap and a pen in his hand. His ice blue eyes flickered over the survivors and seemed to note everything.
Callie couldn’t keep her eyes off of him.
As the noise died down, the same handsome man who had first spoken to them in the courtyard stood. He held up his hands for silence. “Welcome to Aionia! My name is Darren. Together with my five colleagues”—he gestured to the other members of his table—“we are the parliament of Aionia. I hope you’re sufficiently happy with your temporary accommodations.”
A murmur of assent rose from the tables. Across the room, Bill stood up to address the head table. “Yes, we sincerely thank you for your graciousness. However, we would like to know how soon we can get back home.”
The survivors all nodded as one.
Darren cleared his throat and cast his eyes downward. He paused that way a moment before looking back out over the room. “There are some things we need to discuss. I’m going to turn the proceedings over to Maire.”
Maire—pronounced MAW-ree—was the little brown-haired lady sitting beside Gretta. She stood and pushed back her chair, then walked around to the front of the table to address the crowd.
“Ladies and gentleman, this may come as quite a shock.” Maire had a thick Irish accent. “I need you to hold your questions until I’m done speaking.
“Aionia is not an island in the Bahamas. Your plane—like so many planes and ships that came before—went down in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. Technically, it should have landed in the ocean.
“However, it did not. Your plane was transported through a tear in the fabric of reality; Aionia is not a part of the earth’s dimension as you know it. The Triangle works as a vacuum; it sucks anything that comes close enough through that rip and into this dimension. As such, you will not be returning home. There is no way back to the world as you know it.�
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Her matter-of-fact declaration was met with an awkward silence. Several laughs began to trickle from the survivors.
Callie herself giggled. She muttered to Nailah, “How absurd.”
Nailah, however, looked stricken. “It’s true. Everything I’ve ever read…”
“Oh, come on. You can’t believe that!” Callie argued with a shake of her head. “All we need is a plane or boat, we’ll be back to the States by tomorrow.”
Nailah didn’t answer. She stared at Maire, her eyes wide.
“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bill barked. His face was set in stone. “We just want a plane home.”
Callie was almost certain she heard a note of fear in his voice. The very idea of Bill being worried terrified Callie. There was no way it was true; it was ridiculous!
Maire looked down her nose at Bill. “Sir, I would ask that you do not raise your voice at me. There are no planes on Aionia except for the hundreds that have crashed here over the past hundred years, and they are in no shape to be flown.”
“A boat, then,” Bill pushed on.
Maire shook her head, her short brown hair swishing around her face like a bowl. “We do have boats, yes. They are simply for use in the water surrounding the island. If you try to sail to sea, you will meet your demise. The barrier between this world and the next is unbreakable.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jarrett -the-soldier yelled angrily. He stood and slammed both palms to the table, making all the dishes rattle. “There is no such thing as another dimension. We are on a god-forsaken island in the middle of the ocean. We will find a way home. You can’t keep us here.”
“Jarrett ! Calm down.” Bill’s sharp tones cut through the soldier’s ire. He turned cool eyes to Maire and the rest of the men and women at the head table. “Will you try to keep us from leaving?”
Darren reached across the table, his strong hand closing on Maire’s arm to stop her reply. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “We would not stop you if that was your wish. Be advised, however, that you will die when you hit the barrier. You sail that water at your own risk. You’ve been warned.”
