by Ellis, Tara
“Why don’t we play with Goldie?”
Ash lowered the bread and gawked at Jess. “Do you really mean it?”
Jess smiled, not sure why she felt so relieved. She just committed to entertaining the little monster for the next couple of hours. Although, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit she didn’t really want to be alone.
Bringing her fingers to her mouth, Jess whistled for the Golden Lion Tamarin monkey, and Ash bounced excitedly in anticipation. Her friendship with the monkey was a closely guarded one and she rarely shared him with anyone other than her father and Akuba. It was her dad who trained him in the beginning, and once he was satisfied Goldie was tame enough to be safe, he’d allowed Jess to get close. That was when the monkey decided he liked her best and ever since, they visited each other daily. She didn’t like exposing him to Ash because he was such a spaz. She was afraid he’d do something to scare the little monkey, and Jess was very protective of him.
“Here,” Jess said, taking several chunks of dried mango from a pocket and handing it to Ash. “When he gets close, stick one of these out for him. And don’t yell or try to pet him or anything.”
“I’m not a baby, Jessy,” Ash whined, snatching the fruit. His smile quickly returned. “Do you think he’ll sit on my shoulder, like he does yours?”
Jess laughed at his excitement, and she felt a little lighter. Maybe being around someone totally clueless wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “Maybe,” she offered, smiling back. “If you sit really still and let him decide on his own. If you try to make him, he’ll probably run away.”
Ash pursed his lips and thrust his chin out, trying to act as serious as possible. “I promise, I’ll totally do what you tell me.”
Before Jess had a chance to take advantage of his willingness to comply, there was a high-pitched shriek from the nearby canopy of trees. Jess frowned and turned to where it came from. It was definitely Goldie, but he didn’t sound right.
“Cool,” Ash breathed. A small bundle of gold fur rushed down the trunk of a giant tree and leapt to the branch of another, before dropping to the ground only twenty or so feet away.
“Goldie?” Jess squatted and held out a hand, while instinctively sticking out her other one to keep Ash back. “Come here, boy. It’s okay. You’re okay,” she cooed around a rising lump in her throat.
The monkey wasn’t okay. His eyes were red, his nostrils flared, and his mouth hung open while he breathed rapidly, his little body rising and falling with each gasp.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ash whispered. It bothered Jess more that even the young boy could see something was off.
Goldie sat on his haunches, ignoring the fruit offering and instead staring intently at Jess. She stared back, chilled by the lack of recognition she saw in her friend’s eyes. It was like he didn’t know who she was.
Another unrecognizable cry rose from somewhere deep in the jungle and Goldie bared his teeth in response. The birds became silent. Jess was afraid to break eye contact. Any relief she’d found only moments before was gone, and her anxiety slammed back solidly into place. It wasn’t just the hot springs that changed. Something else was wrong in the jungle.
Goldie let out another screech, making both Jess and Ash jump, before running back into the trees. Jess watched him disappear, but the fear remained.
Chapter 15
WILLOW
North of Seattle, Washington
The blackness was complete. Willow blinked against it, but it made no difference. Groaning, she shifted in the driver’s seat and immediately regretted it.
“Ahh,” her voice sounded weak and hollow in the cramped space of her crumpled car, intensifying the impression that the heavy darkness was pressing in on her. Only, Willow knew it wasn’t the dark. It was the car itself, crushed under the ungodly weight of the collapsed tunnel surrounding her.
She tried to ignore the creaking of the twisted metal, the pressure of the roof of the car against her head, and the smell of oil, exhaust, and some other Earthy mix of loam and dirt. With every additional vibration that worked its way through the carnage of disintegrating cement and groaning support posts, Willow held her breath; waiting for the end to come.
An early start out of the city had seemed like such a good idea that morning. She’d even taken the day off from work to give herself a long weekend with one of her sons, who lived up north in Bellingham. Now that he and his wife had a new baby, they rarely came into the city. Willow couldn’t blame them. Seattle wasn’t the thriving metropolis it once used to be, though she still thought the Woodland Park Zoo and Seattle Aquarium rocked. She’d had so many outings planned. Birthdays, Fourth of July on the beach, and Christmas on the lake.
Slowly, Willow moved a hand along the outer part of her right thigh and confirmed the rather large, grotesque lump was still there. She had enough medical knowledge to understand that a compound fracture of the femur would be life-threatening, even if she wasn’t also buried under an expressway.
If her femoral artery was even nicked, she could bleed out in minutes. Since she was still alive after more than an hour, either the artery was still intact, or else her positioning was putting enough pressure on it to staunch the flow. “It’s not like I’m set to go out for a walk anytime soon,” Willow muttered, wincing at the foreign sound of her own voice. She’d worked in emergency medicine during her younger years and knew she was utterly and completely screwed.
At sixty-three, Willow took pride in her trim, muscular physique. She worked hard every day for it. If there was any possible way to fight her way out of the situation she was in, she would have done it. She’d use her bare hands to peel back metal if need be, surviving off rain water finding its way down to her through the several feet of concrete and rebar. Except Willow’s extreme desire to live wouldn’t even get her out of the driver’s seat, let alone the tunnel.
Her left hand squeezed around her cell phone and then relaxed, allowing it to settle onto the seat. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, though it didn’t really make any difference.
Breathe.
She was going to hyper-ventilate again if she didn’t calm down. Less than two hours and she was already in a never-ending hell. The terror clawing at her guts was persistent and powerful. It would be easy to simply give in to it and start screaming, like all the others.
The others.
Willow had found her phone right away after coming to. At first, she didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten there, blind in the dark and confused. But instead of reassurance, the light the phone provided revealed something she never wanted to see again. It took several minutes to decipher the wreckage and views beyond the vehicle, as the details of the events leading up to the accident slowly came back to her.
That was why Willow welcomed the darkness and the blanket it draped over her hellish reality. Perhaps if she refused to acknowledge it, the next time she looked it would be different.
Too bad it couldn’t block out the screams.
There’d been several cars in the three other lanes prior to the collapse. Six thirty in the morning wasn’t early enough to avoid rush-hour in Seattle. Willow wasn’t going to die alone, though it would have been easier. At least then she wouldn’t have had to listen to the rest of them die.
Willow opened her eyes and licked her lips, which were thick and dry. She felt nauseous and was beginning to shake uncontrollably. Nothing she could do about going into shock, though she wished she had a blanket.
She squeezed her phone again and then tried once again to look for a signal. As the bluish light filled the entombed space, Willow squinted against it, her eyes watering. It took a moment to focus and she whimpered at the sight of no bars, or messages. She wasn’t sure if it was because of being under the concrete, or if something else was preventing it from working. Willow had no way of confirming why the tunnel collapsed, though she suspected it was probably an earthquake, especially since it felt like they’d already experienced severa
l aftershocks. One big enough to bring the expressway down, would have to be …
“Don’t think about it!” Willow snarled, angry with herself for not being more disciplined. Worrying about what might have happened to her husband wasn’t helpful. She had to believe that Mark was okay. He was a fighter, too, just like her. If anyone could get to her, it would be him. He’d figure out where she was. He’d—
Willow sucked in a ragged breath and let out a choked sob. She was going to die there. She would never see her sons again, or see her grand baby grow into a beautiful woman. Her husband of thirty-five years would cry at her graveside, if they were even able to retrieve her body.
“Stop it!” she hissed, slamming a fist onto the steering wheel pressed against her stomach. Her heart was racing so fast that it pounded in her ears and she could taste the fear as it spread into her face and stole what remained of her air. She was losing it.
Someone screamed again, louder than before.
“Stop it!” Willow wailed again, raising her voice so that she was yelling. It was a weak yell, but it made her feel better. “For God’s sake, please…Stop!”
Her phone.
Willow brought it close to her face. When was the last time she’d checked it? The painfully bright light sprang on and she saw that it was only a couple of minutes since she’d last looked. Was that possible?
“Twenty percent.” Only twenty percent power remaining. Twenty percent left in a battery that seemed to be counting down the remaining time of her life.
Willow clicked onto the messenger icon and began scripting a goodbye to Mark. She owed him that much. To know she was thinking of him in her final minutes.
I’ll always love you, Mark. Thank you.
Keep it simple. She knew he’d understand. He always did. After so many years together, she wasn’t even sure if it was a testament of unwavering love or perseverance. Perhaps a little bit of both. She saved it as a draft.
Another tremor moved through the Earth, sending out waves of energy that undulated through the wreckage and Willow’s body. The steering wheel shifted, and the roof of the car pressed in, threatening to end her life before she was ready. Another surge of adrenaline intensified her senses, sharpening her perception of the pain in her leg, the deep ache in her stomach and pressure on her chest.
Ignoring her increasing agony, Willow’s finger hovered over the names of her son’s. How? How could she possibly say goodbye? She was okay with meeting her maker, but the thought of the pain it would cause her kids tore at her soul.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered instead, and painfully maneuvered the phone into her back pocket.
It was then that Willow noticed the silence. The screaming had stopped. And she was wrong. Very wrong.
The silence was so much worse.
Chapter 16
PETA
Somewhere above Mauritius island
Indian ocean, 1,200 miles off the southeast coast of the African continent
Drip, drip, drip…
The sound echoed through Peta’s head and seemed to resonate in her soul. It was the same every time: the murky swim within her subconsciousness to break through to the pattering rhythm. Confusion. Then a rush of fear as the memory clarified, the scene shifted into focus, and she was living through it all over again.
Peta sought out the sound and discovered a continuous trickle of dark crimson was pooling beneath her face. She tried to move. Couldn’t. Pinned by things unseen, she struggled to fill her lungs with air against the weight on her chest.
Drip… drip…
No, it wasn’t the same.
Thump… thump… thump
The nightmare faded and was replaced with grey shifting shadows. The ground was moving in an odd sensation under Peta and she became increasingly aware of a sharp, burning sensation on the back of her neck.
“I think she’s coming around.”
Whose voice was that?
She recognized it but couldn’t remember how. Peta attempted to open her eyes, and the lids stuck together like they were glued shut. A moan escaped her swollen, chapped lips and she wished she could simply fall back into a dreamless sleep.
“Peta! Hey, can you hear me?” Devon asked, sounding more concerned than he should for simply waking someone from a night terror.
Devon.
Why was Devon in her bedroom? Feeling more motivated, Peta managed to open her right eye, and was rewarded by a flash of pain. It was too bright. It was never that bright in her room. Wait, she wasn’t in her room. She was moving and there was an odd, sickly smell of rotten eggs and…burning flesh. Something had happened—
As the events of the past several hours came surging back, Peta gasped and tried to sit up. She immediately regretted it and didn’t resist when Devon gently pushed her back.
“Whoa,” he whispered. Brushing her bangs off her forehead with his fingers, Devon leaned in close so she could hear him above the noise of the propellers. “We’re on the Sea King, Peta. We made it, but not without some serious penalties. You need to take it easy. Go slow.”
“How long was I out?” Her tongue was thick, making it hard to talk. “Do we have any water?” She watched as Devon shifted his weight and dug around inside a duffle bag on the floor of the helicopter. Her thoughts were sharpening, although it still felt like she was remembering a bad movie, rather than her own life. She wanted to have a talk with whoever wrote the freaking script.
“Here.” Devon held out an odd-looking water bottle. As Peta took it, she realized it was because the plastic was drooping, partially melted even though it’d been on the helicopter, inside a bag. Water had leaked out around the top, but it was still over halfway full. While she didn’t think the gases would have been able to contaminate it, she sipped it cautiously at first, to make sure the taste wasn’t off.
Swallowing reminded Peta her eardrums had ruptured only a few hours before, and she briefly wondered if there would be permanent hearing damage from it. The constant, high-pitched thrumming of the helicopter couldn’t be helping. If it weren’t for the more persistent pain on her neck, and the precarious situation she knew they were still in, she would have cared more.
“It’s only been a few minutes,” Devon explained, watching her intensely. “I was afraid your mask had a leak or something and that we’d lost you.”
Peta stirred uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. Failing, she rolled to her side and rested awkwardly on an elbow, her head swimming briefly from the motion. Her jumpsuit had been taken off, and was lying in a heap a couple of feet away. There was an odd, starchy residue on it with a reddish hue. Reaching back with her free hand, she poked gingerly at the skin on her neck.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Devon cautioned. Leaning back, he lifted a foot. Still wearing his flip-flops, the exposed skin was covered in weeping blisters. “That methane packed a punch.”
“I passed out because I panicked and hyper-ventilated,” Peta confessed in the most professor-like voice she could muster. “And these burns aren’t from the methane. It was most likely a combination of Sulphur and hydrogen. Both gases were present in the other recorded explosions involving a release.”
Devon pulled his foot back, looking betrayed. “You didn’t think about maybe mentioning that before we went outside?”
Peta took another slow swallow of warm water. “Would it have made a difference?”
Shrugging, Devon scowled at her. “I might have looked for some socks.”
Ignoring the weak attempt at lightening the mood, Peta changed her focus to the open door on the side of the impressively large helicopter. She could just make out the receding western side of Mauritius Island in the fading light. It already looked altered by what were likely the first of many inundating tsunamis to ravage the atoll. She suspected the few minutes Devon referred to was really more like ten or fifteen. Glancing around, she finally spotted several headsets hanging up and gestured to them. She needed to talk with Lieutenant Rogers.
The interior of the Sea King was gutted, except for some rudimentary cloth drop-down seats bolted to one wall. It was used primarily for moving supplies around, and the occasional scientist or military personnel. It wasn’t geared for comfort. It likely worked to their benefit, since there wasn’t much onboard that would be overly sensitive to extreme heat. However, after witnessing the water bottle, Peta worried about what sort of damage the helicopter might have sustained. They had a long flight ahead of them.
“Hey, Lieutenant, Dr. Kelly is awake.” Devon spoke first after they both donned the headgear, the voice activated system automatically transmitting to the pilots in the cockpit.
“Glad to have you back with us, Doctor,” Rogers offered.
Peta strained to make out what he was saying. It seemed the damage to her ears affected the lower frequencies more. “Well, I wish I could say the same. I thought I was in my bed at home waking up from a nightmare, until I opened my eyes.”
“Yeah, the nightmare’s still going strong,” Hernandez quipped. “And the view from up here isn’t any less terrifying.”
Peta mustered up the energy to crawl a few more feet toward the opening, to get a better assessment. Rogers must have looked back over his shoulder to see what she was doing, because he turned the helicopter just enough so she had a clear view to the south. Her sharp intake of breath was enough to activate the microphone, so that everyone heard it.