by Ross Buzzell
“What’s going on? You’re hallucinating. You got hit in the head; this isn’t possible.”
He repeats to himself just about the time the tree gives way and breaks in half from the force he is applying to it. The tree falling in two before him causes Doug to stagger back; he looks at his arms in horror as they have not begun to look normal one bit. A rustle in the trees catches his attention. His emotions already on a razor’s edge, he turns to the source of the sound and feels his entire body grow heavier now, not just his arms. His head on a swivel, he looks around; all his senses are heightened as adrenaline courses through his body.
“Who’s there?!”
A strange sensation, like that of having his arm pulled in a rope, overtakes Doug’s right arm, but he pays it no mind. There is someone out there and they could have been responsible for the cave in.
“Be at peace, Doug Stephenson.”
A woman’s voice echoes out; it is soft and friendly. It floats on the breeze like a leaf falling from a tree with a slight Swedish accent. Doug lifts his arm in an attempt to protect his face in case an attack is imminent. He flinches a bit as he sees a stalactite protruding from his forearm. “You’ll worry about this later, Doug. Keep focused on the other unknown!”
“How do you know who I am?”
he calls out, his eyes locked on one of the larger trees across from the former clearing that is now an upheaval of a sink-hole. Danielle very slowly emerges from behind the tree, her hands up to show she has no ill intent. She keeps her voice even and soft as she speaks with Doug.
“I am the Emissary, the knowledge base of all things Boronian.”
He keeps his eyes on her. He does not trust her, but there is something about her voice, her demeanor that makes him want to trust her. He does not let his guard down for a moment; there are still questions that need to be answered.
“What is a Boronian?”
Gradually, Danielle takes a few steps towards him. Doug begins to get tense. He can see that she notices and she stops. The blonde lowers her hands, placing them in her black jacket pocket as she continues to speak.
“A very powerful and honorable people, a people who, to save their planet, sent a faction to this world ten thousand years ago.”
Doug lets out an audible laugh at the proposition that he is part of an alien species, or that aliens exist in the first place.
“What are you saying? That I am part of this alien race? Is this an invasion that has been in the works since the beginning?”
He has to admit, his sarcastic tone may have been laid on a little thick even for him. Gradually, the stalactite begins to withdraw back into his forearm with a fleshy “mush” sound. His stomach turns at the sight and sound; it is disgusting but not graphic. Danielle continues to speak; this distracts him once more as she approaches while speaking.
“Not an invasion, an exodus. A sickness threatened their race and to save the lives of his people, the High King Ro Lorian sent them here where this world’s atomic structure would not feed off of and kill them like their home world’s was doing.”
As Doug realizes that she is not a threat, his body begins to grow lighter as his arms begin to revert back to their natural, fleshy form. This doesn’t make sense to him. “How could there be an entire race out there that directly influenced Earth this much but left no trace?”
“What does this have to do with me?”
he asks, almost dreading the response.
“Like you, I was born on this Earth, and also like you, I have both human and Boronian DNA. When he landed and released his energy, it activated the dormant genes that have always meant to be realized granting you, me, and others with powers to be the guardians of those who cannot protect themselves.”
Doug pauses for a moment. She was speaking of protection, not exploitation. He feels his heart steady as his dark brown eyes lock with her brilliant blues. She seemed to emanate peace and control, and the way she carries and presents herself shows no sign of threat. He takes a few steps towards her, lifting his hands before him in the process.
“What was all of this then, if you know so much?”
Danielle looks at his arms, and then she looks up and down his form. This makes him feel slightly uncomfortable, causing him to turn himself sideways as he can feel her almost peering into his soul.
“Your DNA structuring suggests that your family was a minor back on his world. That means that you should be able to absorb and mimic any geode of a certain density. That is how you survived the cave in, which is how you managed to get out.”
It returns, the churning of his stomach, as if he is about to hurl his lunch onto the forest floor. In a matter of minutes, a man who has traveled the world, climbed Everest, and gone on un-protected safaris just to see the glory of the animal kingdom in its habitat without cars around to distract them was thrown for such a loop that he is not sure how he can bounce back.
Doug falls to his knees, fighting the churning in his stomach, his legs giving out because blood rushes away from them. His heart pounds so hard he hears it like battle drums. His breathing becomes shallow as he fights to take a breath, but sheer panic completely encompasses him. The pounding of his heart is so loud he does not hear Danielle approach, but he feels the soft skin of her hand gently slide along the nape of his neck, then to his shoulder. Instantly, he feels a wave of peace wash over him as if she was the source. His heartrate begins to slow; he feels strength return to his extremities and his breathing becomes even-paced once again. Doug turns his gaze to her; she has a peaceful smile on her lips.
“So what are you, some kind of peace-bringing lexicon?”
he asks as she hooks her elbow into his and helps him back on his feet. She is strong; it takes him by surprise for a moment.
“Something like that. Had I been born on his planet, I would have been born into the line of record keepers. Thus I have been granted the cumulative knowledge of his people. The Emissaries would be sought after for their wisdom and guidance and he needs one now more than ever.”
This is a lot to take in, but a glorified records keeper? This somehow is too much. Shaking his head, Doug heads to his jeep, which is miraculously still there.
“Hey, thanks for the explanation of this whole thing, but it’s a bit much for me. I have work I need to get to, so if you don’t mind, I’m leaving.”
Doug steps into the car and feels around for the keys, only to realize they are under about seventy feet of rock. He closes his eyes and slams his head into the wheel out of frustration. A loud “HONK” echoes through the woods followed by a few more short blasts as he bounces his head off the wheel three more times.
“You cannot leave, Doug; he needs our help for what is to come, both of us.”
Doug gets out of the car, frustrated and now a little angry. Slamming the door, he holds in a roar and keeps his voice quiet, but his anger is evident.
“Who is this ‘he’ you keep talking about? And what happens if I decide not to let you kidnap me?”
Her face is stern; her voice is very “matter of fact” as she speaks:
“He dies.”
Doug lets out a little scoff, shaking his head as he does.
“And why is that my concern?”
Danielle continues in the same tone:
“Because if he dies, this planet dies with him.”
That last part catches his attention. He feels his frustration evaporate immediately, only to be replaced by a tiny bit of fear. “How could the death of one man doom this world?” He leans in, interested in what she now has to say.
“I’m listening.”
Chapter: 6
Pit-stop at the Arch
Natalie opens her eyes, grogginess gripping her as if she did not have a restful sleep. The rocking of the bus was not what woke her, though; it was the fiery orange of the morning sun peeking over the horizon that nearly blinded her awake. She puts up her hand to block the light while looking around the transport as she turns to realizes j
ust how uncomfortable it was sleeping pressed against a window, as her body is stiff from being in the same position all night. Gradually, as if fighting against her own body she pushes her hands into the air and stretches; it helps a little bit but not much. She tilts her head to one side, fighting the tension pain in her neck until she feels three distinct “pops” reverberate through her neck and spine. The moment her neck pops, she feels herself loosen up a bit.
Grabbing her bag, she holds it close to her side as she carefully makes her way to the front of the bus, her hands finding the headrests of the empty seats she passes to help steady her. She stops at the front row and notices that there is a new driver. A heavier set African American woman with short hair that is frazzled out in all directions as if she tried to get it under control, but her hair had other plans. She glances into the rear view mirror at Natalie and a warm, homey smile forms on her lips as she speaks:
“We are about an hour outside of St. Louis and we happen to be ahead of schedule. If you want to stop and get something to eat or use the restroom, just let me know. Okay, darlin?”
Her voice is like honey, thick and slow with a Georgian accent but sweet and sincere like that of a mother. Natalie shakes her head as she can see signs for the city pass them on the relatively empty highway.
“That’s okay. Thank you, though. The sooner we get there, the better.”
The bus driver shakes her head, glancing back at her in the rear view mirror.
“Mmmm, girl, you are crazy! We’ve been drivin all night and you haven’t even used the bathroom. There’s a diner up here a ways. I’m hungry, so we’re stopping!”
Natalie laughs as she sits down in the chair behind the bus driver.
“You weren’t giving me a choice, were you?”
The driver shakes her head.
“Mm-mmm, I’ve been drivin most of the night and I’m hungry. I was just letting you think the stop was your idea!”
Her voice is entwined with a chuckle; this causes Natalie to laugh as well before leaning back in her chair as the bus continues to bounce down the highway. Off to the right, tucked up against the edge of a forest of oak trees, stands an old fifties-style diner made of aluminum with teal paint along the top and edges leaving the center of the establishment a signature silver. A halogen sign sits above the entrance, but it is not glowing. It has probably been out for months, if not years, and no one tried to fix it. As the bus pulls into the parking lot, the sound of gravel giving way under its weight reverberates through the transport before it comes to a stop, its brakes squealing as they slow the bus’s massive weight. The door swings open and the driver turns in her seat to look back at Natalie.
“This is the best diner in a hundred miles. Now I’m goin in to eat andI strongly suggest you join me because you do not want to miss out on their pancakes.”
Clearly, Natalie is not going to be given a choice and fighting to push onward would only slow things down. Although the idea of stopping feels like ants under her skin, Natalie nods in acceptance and leaves the bus. The humid air almost takes her breath away upon taking her first step outside; she can almost feel her hair beginning to frazzle from the humidity. The sound of cicadas fills the air; it brings a chill to her skin as a warm smile falls on her soft lips, her mind drifting back to when she was younger and would play with her brother outside for hours in the summer and that sound being her lullaby as a little girl. The bus driver pushes past Natalie; this brings her back to the present.
“Stop daydreamin, sweetie, or you’ll miss breakfast!”
Immediately, she follows the driver. Her eyes drift over the metal structure. There are pieces with rust forming on them, but it adds to the character of the diner. The two traverse the old wooden steps onto the small patio before pulling on the glass door. A gust of cold air comes rushing into their faces from the air-conditioning inside just as Natalie takes a breath in. The scent of maple-wood smoked bacon, eggs, and fresh pancakes fills her nostrils. Such a sweet smell that brings a smile to her face. The scent reminds her of when her mother would cook breakfast on the weekends. She could see now why the driver loved this place so much and they have not even eaten yet.
Natalie enters the establishment; the black and white checkered floor is tattered from use as if it were still the original floor from the fifties. Aluminum tables and barstools litter the establishment. The chairs and cushions of the bar stools had been a bright cherry red at one point, but they have been worn down with time. In the corner, a jukebox plays music from the era as its bright lights flicker with age. There are a few truckers eating a pile of scrambled eggs and bacon, one family in a corner booth with two kids who are asleep from their road trip, and both parents gazing adoringly at them. The driver, however, makes a beeline for the bar and hops up on one of the stools and swivels in it like an excited child. A waitress dressed in the style of the era walks over to the driver and offers her a kind smile.
“Can I get either of you anything?”
There is a moment of silence as Natalie approaches the bar stool next to her driver while she decides.
“I will have your waffles, eggs, and bacon, and a coffee. This little twig will have the same thing; it’s been a long night.”
The waitress nods. Turning over to the half wall that allows people to see into the kitchen, she yells their order at the chef as he responds.
“Coming right up!”
Natalie leans against the bar with an eyebrow raised.
“Twig… really?”
The driver shrugs.
“Sweetie you look like if a strong wind were to hit you, it would knock you over. You need some meat on those bones!”
Natalie laughs and shakes her head before pushing off the bar.
“I’ll be right back,”
she informs the driver before turning and heading to the back of the diner to the door with the emblem of a woman on it. Opening the door, she enters. The restroom is of the same aesthetic as the main diner. She goes straight to the sink and begins to wash her hands. Leaning over causes the ring to fall out from behind her shirt, which causes her to stop washing her hands under the warm water upon catching her image in her reflection. She shakes her head as a sliver of doubt begins to protrude into her mind. She takes a deep breath as she begins to question everything over the past twelve hours.
“What are you doing, Nat? You don’t even know if this guy is really friendly or not…”
She sighs, shaking her head before grabbing some paper towels to dry her hands as she continues to speak to herself out loud.
“…I guess I can just stay the night at Aunt Jennifer’s here than head to New York and stay there for the rest of the week. Experience the Big Apple and go home when I’m done. The ticket will still be good.”
She throws the paper towels away. As she does, the lights in the bathroom begin to flicker. Natalie gazes up at them as curiosity fills her. Does this happen often? The lights gradually stop their flickering and return to normal. As Natalie lets her vision fall, she notices that the blue stone in the ring around her neck is now glowing softly. Its hypnotic blue light pulses as if it is a beacon calling out for whoever is listening. Natalie cautiously puts her hand up to the ring. As she touches it, a flood of visions of the man that crashed into her bar flood her mind. A little boy fighting monsters, a teenager climbing with friends and sparring with equals, a young man dancing with a woman around a fire amongst countless others, and finally, a wounded soldier screaming in pain before a bright light cracks through his skin, ending the vision. Natalie takes a step back and drops her hand away from the ring, allowing only the metal to be touching her skin. She is shocked at the visions that have just flooded her mind; no way are they fake. She felt as if she was there. Her resolve is re-kindled; she has to find this man, even if it is a long shot.
“Maybe he’ll come for you,”
she whispers to the ring as its soft blue light pulsates from behind her blouse. Natalie pauses for a moment to re-center herself
. Taking a deep breath, she slows her heartrate, which spiked during the vision, and re-gains her composure before exiting the bathroom and walking back over to the bus driver before sliding into one of the swiveling seats. Before her is a plate full of crisp, fresh, delicious-looking breakfast food, and more importantly, a cup of coffee. Natalie grasps for the steaming brown liquid and takes a sip. It is not the best, but it will get the job done.
“Why is a small town girl like you going to a big city like New York alone?”
The driver asks, curiosity filling her voice as half of her plate is already empty. Natalie stifles a laugh into the mug, which causes some of the coffee to spatter up against her nose and cheeks. She sets the mug down and wipes her face off with one of the cheap paper napkins that sits in a metal dispenser.