Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 40: Hiding

  Where am? I ask myself, moaning. My head pounds with viciousness, and I put my hand on it finding a huge bump in the back.

  I hear something opening—like metal. My mind fills with scenes.

  I remember what happened.

  Forcing my eyes to open, I yell out, “Royce!” Miraculously, the miniature lights are still working, but I can’t see him anywhere. Furniture is turned over and broken pieces are scattered. It’s chaos.

  “Nova! Royce!” cries Donny who had just opened the back.

  “Here!” I call out as I force myself to stand up, even with the nausea and lack of balance that has overtaken me. I’ve got to keep looking for Royce.

  Donny reaches me quickly. He doesn’t look to be in great shape either. His right eye is purple and swollen, looking as if he received a hardy punch, and a trickle of blood travels down the right side of his face.

  He immediately tries to explain, “A tire blew up and—”

  “Donny, we have to find Royce!” I implore of him

  With desperation, we start shoving away parts of furniture. My heart is squeezing itself shut with every passing second.

  “I found him!” shouts Donny.

  Rushing to where he’s at, I pray in a litany, Please let Royce be alive. Please let him be alive. Please—

  Donny pushes aside the heavy bookcase on top of Royce. The shock of seeing him so still and motionless almost paralyzes me, but then I instruct myself to get it together.

  “Is he . . . Is he dea--” Donny stops himself from saying the rest as he chokes.

  “Don’t say it!” I demand.

  I quickly kneel to feel for a pulse, but my hands shake so much that I can’t coordinate myself. Putting my ear to his heart, I exhale profoundly.

  It’s beating!

  He’s alive!

  Donny examines my face and lets out a sound of sheer joy. Royce’s eyes start trying to open. His mouth mumbles words so low in pitch that we can’t understand what he’s saying. I put my ear to his lips.

  “Madrigal,” he says, barely audible.

  “I’m right here,” I state. “We’re going to get you some help.” I turn to Donny. “Is your cell still working?”

  “I think so.”

  “Call emergency. We need to get Royce to a hospital.”

  “No!” Royce manages to push out. My sight snaps back to Royce to find his eyes completely open and him trying to unsuccessfully sit up.

  “Royce—”

  Looking as if he could pass out at any minute, his eyes have a difficult time focusing. “No hospital . . . no . . . no . . .”

  “We have to, Royce,” I tell him. “You’re in very bad shape.”

  “Guardians . . . can’t . . . find . . . us.”

  With overwhelming distress, Donny places his face in his hands. “If they find us then our lives are over.”

  “But Royce will stay alive.”

  “No!” Royce pushes out again.

  “I hate to say this, but he’s right, Nova. Royce and I will probably get executed because you’re with us, and they’ll suspect about the resistance and our headquarters. They know the Supernova prophesy better than we do.”

  I stare miserably at Royce. We’re in a no-win situation. What’ll we do?

  “Nova, we’ve got to do something fast before someone drives by and sees us,” Donny desperately says.

  “We hide,” Royce demands with a choppy, breathless voice as he tries to sit up.

  I let out a deep breath. “Help me get him up,” I tell Donny. I hope I’m doing the right thing because if Royce doesn’t survive this, I don’t know how I’ll forgive myself for not having forced him to go to a hospital.

  Donny and I each take an arm of his and wrap it around our necks. Standing him up, we steady him and ourselves as much as we can. Royce is barely able to stay on his feet—even when leaning on us, but he manages it somehow. Grabbing the scattered backpacks that Donny and I had located during our search for Royce, we carefully start ambling towards the opening. The truck is lying on its side, and it’s jarring to look at. Royce puts one foot in front of the other slowly and with unwavering determination. Agonizing pain jerks his face.

  When we reach outside, the dawn is barely breaking. The pinks and oranges paint the sky in the desert. We are most certainly not in the woods anymore but in a dry place of quiet mystique. Sand and moisture-less plants permeate the area. The turned over semi-truck is completely out of place and odd in this setting.

  I quickly scan in front of me, desperately seeking where to hide. Would a huge Yucca plant do? What about the mesquite trees? Then I see our salvation.

  “Over there!” I exclaim excitedly as I point to an old, dilapidated adobe structure that must’ve been a home at one time. Most of it is already in shambles on the ground, but one room is still standing.

  Donny and I move toward it with Royce in tow. Fortunately, it’s not too far from us but far enough to be away from the frenzied activity that will surely take place when the accident is discovered. Before entering the old house through an entrance with a missing door, I grab a flashlight from my backpack and shine the light in it. While there’s some light coming through the broken windows, I still want to make sure I inspect it carefully—a dangerous animal could be lurking in a corner. Except for a few spiders, everything seems fine.

  Donny and I take Royce inside. I remove a blanket from my backpack and lay it on the concrete floor. Royce’s face softens when we lower him to it, and he can rest.

  “What’ll we do now?” I ask Donny. I notice for the first time that his face is very pale—like a sheet of paper. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he mumbles, his voice shaky and eyes unfocussed.

  “I don’t think you’re fi—” But I don’t finish my sentence. He suddenly jerks forward as if his equilibrium is completely off and holds onto the wall. I rush over to him.

  It’s at that moment that I see it.

  A huge red stain.

  “What is that?!” I ask him, pointing at the left side of his waist.

  “What’s wrong with my cousin?” mutters Royce, barely able to form the words. Donny and I are behind him and out of his line of sight.

  “Nothing,” Donny mumbles, his voice shakier than before.

  Stepping over to Donny, I pull up his shirt. He protests vociferously, but I discover what he has been hiding—a rolled-up, blood soaked rag. After I remove it, a long, deep, bleeding gash comes into immediate view.

  “Donny!” I blurt, shocked.

  “What’s wrong?” mutters Royce.

  “Nothing,” Donny insists. “Don’t tell him,” he whispers to me with a pained voice. “Help me get back to the truck.”

  I nod solemnly. “Royce, we’re going to the semi. I’ll be right back.”

  “But—”

  “Everything’s fine, Royce,” I lie. “I’ll be right back.”

  I put Donny’s right arm over my shoulder, and we stumble out of the dilapidated house. He winces every time we move, but it can’t be helped. As we make it to the 18 wheeler, I’m relieved that the road is desolate at this early hour of the morning. Then I notice a guardian vehicle on the other side of the road. I’d be panicking except for the fact that it’s crashed on its right side, and it’s got a blown tire.

  It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the tire that popped wasn’t ours. The car ran into us.

  An examination of the 18 wheeler confirms my suspicions. Its tires are in perfect shape. I wonder how the passenger in the car is doing. Donny’s face is now green, and his eyes keep trying to close. The cell phone rings as Donny and I arrive at the truck. He plops down in the open back as I grab his cell. It’s his boss on the caller ID. Even though I had rarely used these contraptions, my fake parents couldn’t survive without them. I knew how to work them.

  The cell blares in the quiet desert. Taking a look at Donny’s dire s
tate, I make a quick decision.

  “Donny, you’re going to answer this and say, ‘Accident’, okay?”

  “Huh,” he manages to mutter.

  “Ac-ci-dent,” I enunciate. “Accident—you’re going to say it, okay?”

  “Okay,” he barely mumbles.

  I press the button to answer it. Before I can get Donny to say what I told him, the gruff voice of his boss blasts out. “What took you so long to answer?! Where the blazes are you? I’ve been waiting for my antiques for fifteen minutes?!”

  I tap Donny’s mouth, trying to get him to speak.

  “Answer me!” the guardian’s booming voice explodes from the cell. This seems to slap Donny awake.

  “Ac-ci-dent,” Donny manages to get out.

  “What?!”

  Donny takes a huge gulp. “Accident.” And he passes out.

  “Accident where?!”

  But Donny is completely out. I’m just grateful he had been able to speak at all.

  “Donny! Donny!” the guardian snaps. When he realizes no one is answering back, he yells, “I’ll be right there!”

  I’m brought to action. No telling how fast it’ll take him or emergency services to get here. All vehicles are equipped with tracking devices. I start making it back to the dilapidated house, getting rid of as much of our tracks as possible. Donny’s blood had spilled in some areas, and I cover them with sand as swiftly as I can. Arriving at the adobe remains, I exhale a deep, unwavering breath. Help will be here soon for Donny and even though the passenger in the car that crashed into us is a guardian, I’m relieved that person will get help too.

  The only person not receiving aid is Royce, I mutter to myself.

  He lies perfectly motionless on the hard floor. I rush to him, my hands twitching uncontrollably. Upon close inspection, I realize he’s just passed out. Apparently, I’m the only one awake in this horrid scenario—thanks to him who acted on my vision. He saved my life, but what now? I’m with a gravely injured Royce and stuck in an overwhelming desert I’ve never been in before. And when the ambulance comes for Donny, I can’t ask for help because I’d be signing their death warrants.

  Stop the pity party. You have to think yourself out of this one—for your sake and Royce’s, I tell myself.

  A blare of a crying siren breaks my thoughts. I sit close to the entrance of the old house to decipher what’s happening. I can peek out from a side of the wall without being noticed. Fortunately, a mesquite bush grows almost directly in front of the doorway providing some cover.

  An ambulance, a fire truck, and a law cruiser arrive simultaneously. I have no regrets in having forced Donny to tell his boss about the accident. Even though Royce and I are in danger of being discovered, if Donny doesn’t receive medical assistance fast, he’ll probably die. Deena’s desperate tears would haunt me for the remainder of my days.

  A bright-red guardian sports car grinds to a halt and a furious gray-haired man jumps out. He stomps over to the big rig where he ignores the paramedics working on Donny and steps onto the back of truck.

  “My antiques!” cries the guardian with agony in his voice.

  Burning bile rises to my throat. He’s more upset about the furniture than his employee.

  “What did you do?!” he snaps at Donny.

  “Sir, he’s unconscious,” informs a paramedic. He and his partner had already gotten Donny to a gurney.

  “How fortunate for him,” growls the guardian. “What the blazes happened?!”

  “It looks like that vehicle over there,” the law guard points at the crashed car, “had a blown tire and caused the accident.”

  “What was my employee doing so close to that car?” hisses the guardian.

  I fantasize about pulling out my slingshot and slamming a huge rock into the jerk. I can’t do it, of course, without disclosing that people are in the dilapidated house. I wish I could, though, wish it desperately.

  “Is he going to be okay?” asks the guardian gruffly.

  “We have to get him to the hospital to see the extent of his injuries,” answers a paramedic.

  “Save him so that I can kill him!”

  “The accident wasn’t his fault,” the law guard reiterates, her voice firm.

  “Someone has to pay for what happened to my furniture! Do you know how precious these antiques were?—not only in price but also in their uniqueness?”

  “I can’t say I know anything about furniture,” she grumbles. The law guard doesn’t seem to like Donny’s boss any more than I do.

  “It’s not just furniture!” explodes the guardian. “It’s art!”

  “Art?”

  “Why am I wasting my time talking to the likes of you?” he retorts. “What do you and your kind know about the fine things in life. You’re only a step above the uncivilized, savage others!”

  I squeeze my slingshot in my hand. It would be so easy to send him an example of my art. One that would pummel his elevated senses.

  After the paramedics leave with Donny and the person who was in the crashed vehicle, Royce moans painfully.

  “Water,” he mumbles.

  Relieved that he’s awake, I pull out his canteen from his backpack. We had filled our flasks at the getaway before coming. He takes huge gulps as I place the water container on his thirsty lips.

  “What’s happening?” he asks with a weak voice when he finishes drinking.

  I explain what’s happening outside—toning down Donny’s injuries. Trying to sound confident and unconcerned, I tell him we’ll soon be out of this mess.

  “How?” he asks, his voice filled with worry.

  “We’ll think of something.”

  “Like what?” he questions, his voice still shaky and breathless.

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Madrigal, stay with me, okay?”

  “Why do you even ask?”

  “Stay with me until . . .”

  “Until what?”

  “I’m dying,” he murmurs softly.