by Debbie Kump
Renewed fear gripped my heart. My chest heaved with haggard breaths and I continued my rush downhill, branches whipping my face and arms. I repeatedly reminded myself that this pain seemed minimal compared to the torment I’d endure when they caught me.
And I knew they would, eventually. It was inevitable.
The Ancient Greeks had a name for us: the Classical Elements of Earth (or Gaia), Air (that’s Skye), Water (also known as Hydros), and Fire (you guessed it…that would be me). Separate, we Elementals existed as earthly and corruptible entities. But I heard that once united, our powers would swell, making us capable of immeasurable destruction until we plunged the planet into utter annihilation.
Worse, only when the Four Elementals joined forces did we stand a chance against the quintessential Fifth Element that the Greek philosopher Aristotle described as Aether for the heavenly realm. We would wield total control over the whole Earth, and potentially the cosmos as well. But I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen. I’d never join Gaia, not after what she stole from me. So I kept running.
Spanish moss dripped off tree branches while I staggered down the slope covered in dense shrubs and rocky outcroppings. Overhead, turkey vultures soared on the sea breeze. Now that I had distanced myself from the blaze, the air felt less hostile inside my lungs. It seemed moister, with a lingering hint of brine.
But I had little time to guess my current location. Not with the impending threat of their return. I habitually looked over my shoulder for The Three and moved faster. Luckily, I saw no sign of them behind me.
Up ahead, I noticed a smooth ribbon of black winding like a serpent across the verdant hillside. What is that? I stared at the manmade surface in puzzlement, amazed by its superior craftsmanship. If it was indeed a road, it appeared the flattest I’d ever seen. I wondered how they made it so perfect and smooth, with a bright, dashed yellow line dividing its surface equally in half. Immediately, I remembered galloping down Chicago’s dusty, rutted streets. On a road like this, the mare never would’ve stumbled and spilled me from its back into Skye’s clutches.
But there’s something else. I continued my sprint downhill, squinting for a better look. I spied the crushed corpse of a raccoon lying upon one yellow dash, its bushy striped tail distinctly recognizable. A raven—with coal black feathers like my own eyes and hair—tugged at the raccoon’s bloody entrails.
Before I had a chance to feel sorry for the raccoon or make sense of how it perished, my foot caught a jagged stone, sending me tumbling head over heels down the steep slope. The world blurred as I struggled to halt my wild descent. Twigs and leaves clung to my hair and scratched my sooty arms and dirt-smeared face. My fingers frantically grasped at saplings and exposed roots, but without success. I rolled off the side of the hill, and then dropped several feet through the air to land with a thud upon the smooth road.
My entire body cried in pain from the fall, my muscles and bones already felt strained and fatigued from my ordeal in Chicago. My brain shouted at my legs to keep running. But when I tried to lift myself back up, my tired limbs collapsed beneath me.
One positive thought crossed my mind when my body sank onto the ground. This road must lead to civilization. Perhaps I could find a place to hide and heal before the Elementals located me again. That thought alone reenergized me. Drawing strength from reserves I didn’t know existed, I dragged my battered body to my feet and limped down the road.
I didn’t make it far before an alien sound filled the air. It began like a low rumble, growing louder as it neared. I whipped my head around to notice a silver machine on four wheels speed around the hairpin turn. Back in Old Chicago, I’d heard of automated carriages, capable of moving without the power of a horse. But those wheels were narrow and designed for travel at slow speeds unlike the wide tires that now rapidly approached. And those carriages possessed open tops, not sleek, streamlined contours of enclosed glass and metallic paint like the one before me. Behind the images of sky and trees reflected upon the glass, I spotted two shadowed silhouettes sitting comfortably inside.
Rooted to my spot, I stared at the silvery carriage-like machine with surprise and amazement. In an instant, the driver’s eyes met mine. A look of utter shock passed over his face. He tightly gripped the circular disc in front of him and spun it with a sudden jerky motion. The tires squealed and slipped into a skid, screeching sideways down the road.
I wanted to dodge out of the way, but had nowhere to move with a rocky wall on one side of the road and a steep cliff dropping off the other. So I stood still, my fearful eyes trained on the machine grinding against the road.
At the last second, I raised my arm to shield my face, suspecting this was the end. After all, no fire existed to hurtle me into another location like in the past. The machine skidded closer until the driver’s side door struck my side, knocking me off my feet. On instinct, I stuck out one arm to brace my impact and heard a loud snap when the full force of my body landed on it. Unable to slow my momentum, my body flew backward and slammed my skull against the road.
Then a grisly howl filled the valley floor. It took me a minute to realize I was the one making that ghastly noise.
CHAPTER TWO
I lay on the hard road in silence, unable to move. Though I didn’t perish, I almost wished I had to silence the agonizing pain for the last time. A burning bolt shot up my right forearm, threatening to ignite the entire appendage. I moaned, gritted my teeth, and forced my eyes to flutter open and focus on the blurry scene unfolding. White dots clouded my vision as my aching head rolled toward the silver machine, half expecting Gaia or Skye to pop out one door. Instead, I spotted two boys—about my age, I guessed—leap out opposite sides.
One boy ran his fingers through his short dark hair, making it spike up in the front. Thin sideburns trailed down each of his cheeks, accentuating his clenched jaw and drawing my eye toward the diamonds adorning each earlobe. His fingers gripped his head tightly, threatening to explode.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, no,” he moaned. His hazel eyes moistened and his face filled with dread. “This is so not happening to me.”
“Snap out of it, Micah. You think you’re in bad shape. Look at her,” the second boy said, pointing an index finger at me. His light brown hair was cut short and concealed under a cap.
Their words made little sense in the muddled state of my hazy mind. I raised my uninjured arm to my head to soothe the swelling lump at the base of my skull. But even that minor motion jostled my body to the point of insufferable hurt. So I lay there instead, letting the twigs and dry leaves embedded in my dull, singed hair form my pillow upon the ground while I listened to the voices and approaching footsteps. It didn’t matter that soot and dirt smeared my bare hands and face, or my favorite dress looked burnt and tattered beyond recognition, or that only charred leather remained of my shoes. Nothing mattered anymore except my desire to end the pain.
Micah’s friend with the cap knelt down beside me. “Are you okay?” he asked. His pale blue eyes registered shock and mild repulsion at my ragged appearance.
I barely managed to blink my eyes much less verbalize a reply. My gaze left his for a moment as I dared a frightened glance up the hillside. These injuries would prove the least of my concerns if The Three charged down the slope.
“I dunno, man,” he said, turning back toward Micah. “She looks pretty freaked out.”
“So what’re we gonna do, Sully? Call 911?” Micah whipped a small, flat black object from his pocket, tapped its surface three times with one finger, and then held it to his ear.
Sully looked at me, then back at Micah. “No. It’ll take them too long to get here. We should just bring her to the ER ourselves.”
Though I had no idea what “9-1-1” or “ER” meant, I guessed the “freaked out” part seemed a pretty accurate description of my general state of mind. Besides, I’d learned from my past harrowing experiences with death that I shouldn’t ask. Listen more, but talk as little as possible. You s
ee, for me blending didn’t just conceal my secrets…
It was a matter of survival.
The boy named Sully surveyed me with concern through pale blue eyes. “It’s just down the hill,” he told Micah.
“Seriously, Sully?”
“Well, we can’t just leave her here, can we?”
Micah frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine,” he said in a tone that sounded anything but fine, and joined Sully by my side. He squatted down alongside of me and said in a low voice, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t see you. Honest, I didn’t.”
Sully shook his head. “What Micah’s trying to say is we’re gonna get you some help. Can you stand?”
Help, I repeated in my mind. I definitely needed some help to stand a chance against The Three. I glanced back up the hill, grateful to find it vacant.
Nodding slowly, I let them assist me to my feet. Micah took my good arm while Sully attempted to support the other. But as soon as he touched my forearm, I yelped in pain.
“Oh, God,” Sully said, biting his lip. “Sorry. I totally didn’t mean to do that.”
I knew from experience to remain quiet until I had a better understanding of the language patterns used in my new location. Still, his apology warranted a response. So my brain scanned the conversation I’d just heard, searching for the appropriate words to use and pasting them together so I sounded normal enough to blend in and hide.
“It’s okay,” I replied, masking my grimace of pain with the faintest of smiles.
Sully returned my smile. Fortunately, even in my clouded state of mind, I readily picked up on dialects and accents. If I didn’t, I’d be dead by now.
After he helped me into the backseat of his silver machine, Sully strapped a belt across my waist. Then my seat vibrated when Micah turned a key and shifted a lever to make us roll forward. Despite my efforts to support my arm—which now felt puffy and bruised—every slight movement inside the machine sent a jolt of pain shooting up to my shoulder. When we sped off, I couldn’t stop my eyes from scanning the hillside, half-expecting Skye or Gaia or Hydros to appear at any moment.
But they didn’t. Not yet, at least.
The narrow road wound down the hill and into a town. We soon passed a sign that said Pacifica, Pop. 37,987. Despite the throbbing tenderness in my arm and head, I couldn’t help but stare out the window in shock and wonder. Spacious houses nestled against the hillside with sweeping sides of windows facing the bay below. Shops with attractive, bold signage clustered along the sides of the roads, obscuring the view of the beach from my vantage point. Yet most amazing were the vast number of machines like Micah’s in a variety of colors and styles that moved back and forth in an orderly fashion down the road, following an unspoken set of rules. Each and every one moved along the right hand side of the road and stopped at red lights that dangled across the intersections—a massive leap from my quiet life in Chicago, though I could never let anyone know.
I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on Micah and Sully’s conversation. I tried to remember every word they said to archive for future reference with the hope of avoiding unnecessary attention upon myself. I understood life would seem dramatically different after a jump through time, only I faced the challenge of making it appear ordinary.
A few red lights later, Micah turned the automated carriage inland and drove up another hill before parking in front of a long white edifice bearing a red cross and bold capital letters that spelled San Mateo County Emergency Room.
Maybe this is the “ER” they were talking about. I hoped I could make sense of other new terms as quickly.
Sully offered me a hand out of my seat and into the back of the hospital. My confused and injured brain shifted into survival mode, trying to formulate a believable plan to explain my general appearance while appearing as if I belonged in this time and place. If only it could be that easy.
Micah and Sully walked through a double set of doors that opened on their own with a loud hiss. Though I leapt backward in surprise, the boys seemed at ease and walked through without breaking their pace. With hesitation, I followed, doubly startled when the doors closed behind me a few steps later. Unable to control myself, I slowed my gait and glanced over my shoulder, watching another person approach the entrance. Again, the doors opened and closed like a pair of sentries waiting at attention, ready to admit the individual inside the facility. Amazing, I thought and paused mid-stride, eager to see the doors automatically open once more.
“Let’s go,” Sully called, interrupting my thoughts. He waved me to follow them into a chilled room where calming piano music filled the air. A few people sat in plush chairs along the windowsills, flipping through flimsy paper books decorated in flashy pictures and colorful text. Others whispered into black and silver devices similar to the one Micah had whipped from his pocket when he intended to call 911.
We looked for an available seat when a voice asked, “May I help you?” The woman behind the welcome desk stared at me, her face pale with repulsion. She crinkled her nose at my tattered clothing, sooty face, unkempt hair, and cradled, injured right arm.
I turned away, letting them do the talking.
“We found her on the road,” Micah began, conveniently omitting the part about striking me with his carriage-like machine. “Her arm’s hurt. Maybe broken.”
A strained smile crossed the woman’s lips as she scanned me from head to toe. Then her expression softened until her initial aversion transformed into sympathy. “Take a seat and fill out these forms,” she said, handing Micah a brown board with a shiny metal clip and a pen with a pink carnation wrapped along its side.
Great. I hadn’t even come up with a believable storyline yet and she expected me to answer a bunch of questions already.
I followed the boys to a set of plush teal green chairs, cringing with pain when I settled into one. I blinked, trying to clear my mind and focus on the little amount I had learned so far. But my brain ached, making it difficult to concentrate. How did I ever end up in this mess? Wistfully, I thought of the home and family I lost so very long ago when this entire disaster began, changing my life forever. I sighed and closed my eyes in defeat, sinking deeper into the chair.
“Okay. Since you don’t look like you can complete this stuff, I guess I’ll have to. Lucky me,” Micah muttered. He rolled his eyes and released a weighty sigh. Glancing at the sheet, the flower pen in his hand stood poised to record my response. “Name?”
That’s it? I thought and sat a little taller in my chair. Maybe I could answer these questions easier than I thought and get the help I definitely needed for my arm. I quickly replied, “It’s Jordan.”
Micah scrawled my name in all upper case letters on the first line, then asked, “Last name?”
“Um.” I bit my lip. I’d had so many different last names over the course of my life, depending on my location at the time. Was I supposed to choose one of those or make something up? Plus, how did I even know what surnames sounded typical for this region? My black eyes flitted across the room, searching for a commonplace word, until they landed on the nameplate beside the receptionist’s desk. It read Leslie K. Smith, Receptionist.
“Smith,” I answered, thinking quickly.
“Age?”
Hmm, another tough one. I was almost fifteen when this whole nightmare began. And if I added up at the months I spent in different times and places, it would probably equal about two years on the run. So I guessed that made me around…
“Seventeen,” I told Micah with more confidence than I felt.
“Hey! So are we,” Sully chimed in. But the look on Micah’s face led me to think he couldn’t care less that we shared anything.
“Birthday?” Micah asked, eager to move on.
Was he kidding? No one kept track of actual birthdays back when my mother brought me into this world, thousands of years ago. Back then, parents felt lucky enough to have the child survive and provide another set of hands to help on the farm. Infant morta
lity seemed so common an occurrence that I couldn’t even recall how many babies my own mother lost between my little sister, Sarah, and me. But at least a birthday I could make up easily enough.
“April first,” I said, choosing a random date.
“You were actually born on April Fool’s Day?” Sully asked in disbelief. “That’s pretty cool.”
Again, Micah’s face registered little interest. He proceeded to the next question. “Permanent address?”
I blinked. This is getting ridiculous. I hadn’t had a permanent address since my family died. My eyes darted from side to side, searching for an acceptable answer to this question. Sweat beaded across my brow and I knew I couldn’t keep up this charade much longer, even to fix my injured arm. Maybe I should just admit the truth about my identity. At this rate, they’d find out sooner than later.
“I don’t know,” I conceded in defeat. Another painful twinge jolted up my arm when my shoulders slumped forward, heavy and tired. A discouraged sigh left my lips. I’d never given up this easily before.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Micah asked in disbelief.
I frowned, mumbling, “I just don’t know.” I squeezed my eyes shut and sank lower in my chair. My burning, swollen arm no longer mattered. At this rate, I’d be dead in no time. In my mind, I saw the faces of my family backlit in a bright light welcoming me to my final resting place. I would never avenge their wrongful deaths, but maybe that no longer mattered. Maybe joining them in the afterlife was reward enough.
Sully shot Micah a concerned look. “You don’t think she has amnesia, do you?”
“Oh, please, Sully. You can’t be serious.”
“It’s possible,” Sully replied with a shrug. “She hit her head pretty hard when you came around the turn and—”
Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“I’m just saying—”
