Sergei gasped, stumbling back on his hands in a crab-walk when he realized what they were. His heart hammered in his chest as a million possibilities ran through his mind: was this a murder? Some sort of mob hit? A kidnapping? Or maybe something to do with those brownshirts. Something that an average man like him, with a family and a job, couldn't afford to get involved with.
'Oh, my god,' he murmured, drawing a hand over his face. What should he do? He wanted to leave the body, to just go home like he never saw anything, but there was no way he could convince his wife to do the same. 'Why me?'
If he didn't do something now, then it would only be someone else who inevitably drove down this road. Maybe it would lead into a real accident, with injuries and death. Sergei didn't want to touch the body, but he also didn't want anyone else to get hurt.
Still unsure if he was going to take the body or leave it, he approached her once more. He'd have to contact the police. There would be an investigation. He might be a suspect. So would his wife.
They would be very late getting home.
He sighed. Well, it was too late now. Might as well get it over with.
Then Sergei rested his hands on the girl's shoulder. Her skin was very cold, just like a dead body should be.
Then she groaned in response, very much like a dead body wouldn't.
Sergei yelped, jumping back again. He wrung his hands, like he had just burned himself. And right before his eyes, the girl rolled on her back, arms flopping against the cold ground, her lips and fingers a worrying shade of blue.
'Katya!' he called, unable to hide his panic. He scrambled to his feet, cupping his hands over his mouth so the woman could hear him over her conversation on the phone. He saw her shift behind the dark window, her eyes wide under the dim light inside the car. 'Katya! Get the blanket! She's still breathing!'
As Sergei turned back around to look at the girl, he could hear a string of curses as Katya unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the backseat to get their emergency gear. It was meant for the occasion that they might end up stranded in with no gas, if or when it ever happened.
He leaned over the girl, tried shaking her awake. 'Hello? Little girl, are you okay? Can you hear me?'
Sergei could barely wrap his head around this. There was no doubt that the holes in her back were from bullets, yet this girl looked completely fine, if rather frozen, besides that. And she was breathing, somehow, she was still alive.
Her lips moved, but her voice was so soft that he couldn't hear her. Sergei brought his ear closer, but she was just saying gibberish.
Footsteps beside him, and Katya appeared, wool blanket in her arms. She sounded breathless, like she just had a fight with her mother. 'Is she — is she still alive?'
'She's breathing,' He said, which was true, although he didn't know for how long. 'She needs a hospital.'
Katya nodded slowly. Although her face was in shadow, she had gone pale. 'The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Unless you want to call for help —'
'— She'll freeze before then —'
'— Mom will be so angry —'
'— Your mother is always angry —'
'— Sergei!'
'What?' he frowned as his wife tossed the blanket over the girl, her hands flicking like she was afraid to touch the body. 'Let's get her in the car. It'll be warmer.'
The girl was heavier than she looked, and it took both Sergei and Katya to haul her into the backseat. What made it worse was the girl's struggling — somehow, after spending what could've been hours or more in subzero temperatures, she was still breathing, still moving. Sergei wondered if this was normal.
Katya voiced his worries when they returned to their seats and he kicked the car into gear. 'Do you…do you think she is one of them?'
'Them who?' Sergei pretended not to know what she was talking about.
'You know. Those people with the-the fire.' Her voice stumbled over the words. 'Like what they did to that town down south. The smoke in the mountains. Could she be —'
'No.' Sergei said firmly as they got back on the road. It wasn't that he didn't believe his wife, but that he couldn't afford to at this moment. And maybe, yes, he hoped Katya was wrong. 'She is only a child. What could she possibly have to do with the attacks?'
Behind them, the girl muttered something, a language neither of them understood but recognized nonetheless. Katya and Sergei exchanged looks. Katya said, 'She shouldn't be here. They don't let her kind past the borders.'
'We didn't hear anything,' Sergei said, the safest answer. 'We take her to the hospital, then we go to your mother's house. We tell no one. And we pray. We pray that nothing happens.'
'You are a fool, Sergei.'
'And yet, you still married me.'
Soft, warm darkness.
This time, I woke gradually.
Drifting in and out. Unable to cling to consciousness — catching a glimpse of pale green walls before slipping back again. Sounds, noises echoed in my head, rattling inside the hollowness before fading out. Then coming back in loud bursts, making me jump. But I might as well be competing for the Olympics for all that my body responded to my thoughts. Which is, not at all.
My tongue felt thick and dry. I couldn't speak when I had the coherence of mind to try. It scared me — I thought I would choke on my own tongue, and in my panic, I fell back into oblivion.
I felt weightless, like I was floating on lily pads. It didn't hurt to breathe, and as long as I didn't think about my hands or my mouth, I could enjoy the numbing sensation.
And just as I was starting to relax, it left me.
I wanted to cry out, complain, claw it back. Reality was a cold, uncomfortable truth that I couldn't face yet. A dull ache traveled up my arms, down my legs. Something was pressed against my face, but my arms were lead weights. I couldn't lift them to reach anything.
Light pierced behind my lids, for me to open my eyes and look around.
I had never been in this room before in my life, but I could recognize a hospital when I saw one. The washed-out color, the shape of the gurney, the IV tower and the tiny TV set up in the corner. Directly opposite me was a door. To my right, white curtains separated patients from one another. Pale sunlight came in from the veiled window to my left.
Beyond the door was a rush of people — doctors in white coats, nurses in patterned scrubs and clipboards, EMT's rushing past with stretchers on wheels.
It was loud and chaotic. Someone had left the door open, because it wasn't like I was sleeping or anything. The cacophony of shouting and footsteps and machine noises made it hard to focus on anything. The sounds entered my head and knocked everything loose, and I felt like I was barely treading water, being pushed and pulled by a current I couldn't see.
My gaze slid to the TV, finding a news reporter and the captions beneath her. The letters were strange, like someone forgot what the alphabet looked like, but I could barely fathom my own confusion. I could still read the words, so it failed to leave an impact on me.
The reporter, blonde in a blue suit and microphone, stood in front of some smoking ruins of a building. As firefighters worked behind her, she said, '...has been completely destroyed by the blast. Police have yet to determine the cause of this deadly explosion. Although response was quick, there are five reported casualties. No word yet on any suspects, but police believe that this may be a result of foul play...'
I watched, uncomprehendingly, as the report went on, showing different images of the building, before and after the explosion. It looked like it had been some sort of post office, now rendered a charred shell. In the center of the main room was a distinct circle of untouched floor, with black streaks radiating out from it. Against the walls were black silhouettes of people, arms raised like they had been pushed before their shadows were memorialized in smoke and ash.
There was also several civilian videos of the explosion as it happened — all from on the street, the various camera
s shook and crackled as a bright orange cloud erupted from the doors and windows; glass shattered and cars shifted in their parking spots. People screamed so loud it overpowered the speakers and the shots became unrecognizable as everyone started running.
It was chilling to watch, but my body barely reacted to my thoughts. I could only watch in horror as the videos repeated themselves. The reporter wasn't speaking English, I realized, and it was too bizarre to understand how or why - but somehow I understood what she said.
'Oh, good, you're awake.'
I jolted, surprised. Turning my head, a concentrated effort, I looked up at the short-haired nurse who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She had hooded eyes and nicotine-stained fingers, a general air of indifference that made me feel unwelcome here.
She gazed at me, entirely expressionless. 'Do you remember your name? Where you are?'
Still not in English, yet perfectly understandable. I worked my jaw, trying to find the right words. 'I-I don't...what day is it? What happened to me?'
'Just answer my questions, miss,' The nurse replied slowly, counteracting my sluggish but panicked voice. She held up three fingers. 'How many fingers am I holding up?'
'T-three,' I blinked hard several times, trying to grasp what was going on. Was this all real? Was I really in a hospital? Had I gotten hurt, or was it another asthma attack? I could feel the tubes in my nose, feeding me oxygen, and at first I thought that was it. 'M-my mom, where is she?'
'Do you remember your name?' The nurse asked again, raising one eyebrow. 'Once we identify you, we can contact your family. I'm sure they are very worried.'
'A-Amelia...' I tried to say my last name, but I couldn't remember it. I knew I knew it, but for some reason it just wasn't coming to me. 'It's...Amelia...Amelia? Amelia something?'
The nurse looked disappointed, the first recognizable expression on her face. 'Perhaps it will come to you later. You have been unconscious for several days now. It is October 25th.'
I stared at her, shocked. 'October?' I repeated, already shaking my head. 'No, no, that — that can't be right. It's May. It's spring. It-it can't be October, it doesn't make any sense —'
'Miss, you need to relax.' The nurse approached the bed, holding up a hand in reassurance. She placed it on my chest, as I had managed to actually shifting in my bed, jerking on the tubes attached to me. 'There are other questions you have to answer. The police want to talk to you as well. What's the last thing you remember?'
'Um, um,' I closed my eyes, my head falling back against the pillow. I squeezed my eyes as I concentrated on the scattered memories, all out of place. 'A forest. Snow. Mountains. I was lost. I didn't — how did I —?'
'Two civilians brought you here,' The nurse answered the question I couldn't complete, her voice still calm and placating. 'They found you passed out in the middle of the road, eleven at night. You were very lucky — if they hadn't found you, you would've died from the cold.'
'Cold,' I repeated under my breath, the word as real and present to me as a living person. I shivered, even though I was actually quite warm, and I shook my head, wanting to be rid of the memory.
I had been lost. Lost. How? How could it be October? There had to be some big mistake. I couldn't miss... five? Six months! Six months, just gone. But where? What happened?
The questions piled up, but I couldn't sort through them fast enough. I chased them in circles and in my growing confusion, I started to panic, overwhelmed by the uncertainty, the fear. My heart started beating fast, my breath picking up speed. To the nurse, I demanded, 'Where am I now? Who are you? Where's my Mom?'
'Amelia, you need to take deep breaths —'
'Don't call me Amelia!' I snapped, hating the way she said my name. The anger and resentment was sudden and powerful, and I jerked in the gurney, trying to get away from her touch.
'Who are you?' I spat. 'Tell me where I am!'
I started to get up, but the woman pushed me down again. Scared and angered by the manhandling, I brought up my arm — suddenly mobile, suddenly there — and slammed my hand into her shoulder. The woman cried out, falling back hard, grabbing a side table but only knocking it over as she landed on the floor.
I gasped, horrified with myself, staring at my hand. Did I do that? Did I just shove a full-grown woman, twice my size, to the ground?
I tried to bring up my other hand, only to meet resistance. Heart pounding, I jerked forward and looked down. Two metal cuffs, one linking me to the gurney. 'W-what the hell?'
I yanked against the handcuffs — once, twice, three times — before the metal chain snapped like dry pasta and I was free.
I didn't take the time to consider what I just did. Instead, I launched myself off the bed, stumbling over my stiff legs and jelly knees. The tubes in my arm and face pinched and pulled, but I yanked them off impatiently. Then my legs gave out beneath me and I gasped, catching myself against the gurney. The world spun and I felt nauseous for moment.
The nurse was already getting back up, calling for help. Two orderlies rushed in, but I was startled by how small they were. Standing up a little straighter, I cried out as one grabbed my arm and tried to pin it behind my back.
But he was weak, so weak. I wrenched myself easily out of his grip and — entirely on instinct — grabbed the front of his shirt and threw him against the nearest wall. He grunted in pain and crashed to the floor.
The second orderly, alarmed by my strength (that made two of us), let out a roar before attempting to tackle me to the floor.
He didn't even reach me before I backhanded him across the face, knocking him away. It didn't even hurt. The orderly fell across the gurney, dazed, while I totally freaked out.
Legs still shaky, I stumbled over the orderlies as I made my way forward. The nurse threw herself out of my way, utterly terrified and screaming for back-up, but before any reinforcements could arrive, I threw myself out the door.
Perhaps a little too hard. My momentum carried me into the opposite wall on the other side of the door. I braced the impact with my shoulder, and the plaster dented beneath me.
Stunned, I pushed off the wall and careened through the halls, never taking more than a split-second to acknowledge something before taking off again. The corridors were narrow and crowded, and no matter what I did I couldn't help but collide with nearly everyone in my way.
It made no sense — the spaces where I should've slipped through before were no longer wide enough. Everyone here was so much shorter than I expected, when I was so used to being towered over. I felt like Gilligan on the island of Lilliputia, where the world just didn't fit me anymore.
People exclaimed and cursed as I barreled down one hall after the next. I had no idea where I was or where I was going - so I took random turns, hoping to find a door or even a window that led outside.
Just when I felt lost in a maze of endless white halls, I spotted a green sign over a door and made a beeline for it.
There turns and one trip over an empty gurney later, I burst through double-wide doors and found myself on a street in the middle of a city.
A city.
Not New York City.
The cobblestones were freezing under my bare feet, sharp stinging pain that stuck to my skin — but I was so shocked that I didn't even notice. I didn't see the snow or the overcast sky or the people staring at me, the wild and manic girl that just came tearing out of a hospital, wearing nothing but the same white clothes they found me in.
No. The only thing I saw were the buildings, made of stone and wood. The cars, faded paint, outdated by over twenty-years. The cobblestone street, the signs in Cyrillic. The men on the rooftops, carrying guns.
I dropped to my knees in dismay, arms hanging limply, all breath leaving my lungs. I fell into a snow drift, helpless, gaping as the entire world crashed down on my shoulders.
I stayed there until my view was blocked by a sea of legs. Doctors and orderlies having finally caught up with me.
> I didn't react to their presence until one tried to haul me up. Even though I knew there were only trying to help me, my body rebelled, rejecting their touch. At first, I flinched away - but when they grabbed my upper arms, I started to fight back.
The sounds coming out of my mouth weren't human. I didn't realize I was crying until I tasted salt on my tongue. This was wrong. This was all wrong.
I managed to land a punch on one man's face. I didn't know how important he was, but next thing I knew, I felt a sharp prick in my arm and before I could knock away the needle, I was already falling.
The orderlies caught me before my face could hit the ground. The world faded as they dragged me back, my feet leaving paths in the snow and slush behind me. The last thing I saw was the alien sky before passing out completely.I couldn't see much, pinned down. For three days, they kept me on that gurney, using leather straps I couldn't break out of to keep me from trying to escape again.
Eminent Silence Page 18
