Prism (17 page)

“Damn it!” Zeke said.

“No!” Joy shrieked.

“Wha—” I yelled.

“NO!”

“NOOOOOO!”

The blazing van, once our only source of light, was sizzling into smoke and blackness because of the rain. Everything around me became dark and slick.

“Guys?” I shouted desperately. I could barely see anything at this point. “
Guys!
”

I felt around.

No one was responding. I looked and looked and groped and groped, but I was utterly alone.

“No,” I said to myself, “NO!”

What if they had fallen into the wrong portal? What if the correct portal to our world was still in the cave? What if they were in some other alternate universe: one where food or people didn’t exist?

Or what if they had just fallen down a pit and died?

My face fell into my hands and I wept bitterly, getting drenched in the flood of water cascading from the sky. Out of
exhaustion, I sat down and let the rain wash over me.

To steady my balance, I placed my hands on the ground, down into the mud, letting the ooze squeeze through my fingers, feeling the coolness of the slime quiet my burning hands.

Without a thought to pain, I pounded the ground.

Pounded it.

Pounded it and pounded it and
pounded
it until the ground opened up. I could feel the edge of a deep hole.

Knowing that it was up to me, that I was an inch away from falling into that abyss.

I traced the opening of the pit with my fingers, stuck my hand in, and felt nothing. No rain falling down, no walls, no barriers. Just something that was nothing.

Emptiness.

A space.

A void.

I dried my tears although it was a stupid thing to do. I was completely sodden from head to toe.

“Well,” I said aloud, dangling my legs over the pit’s opening. “Here’s hoping for a world without math homework.”

And with that, I slid my body forward with anticipation and dread.

My body plunging down.

Traveling to somewhere.

Flying through space and through the unknown.

“…yes…a few second-degree burns, some gashes and cuts, and a minor concussion. They all escaped exceptionally well.”

“So she’ll be fine?”

“Given enough time, I’d say yes.” A female voice. “Her hands are going to be bandaged for a while to protect them against infection. There may be a little scarring and blistering from the burns, but it’s not her face, Mrs. Hutchenson. I assure all of you that—”

“Don’t assure her of anything! The school assured us our children would be safe, and they’ve ended up in the ICU of some remote hospital in Timbuktu!”

“El Corazon, Mr. Anderson. And we’re taking very good care—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

My eyelids slowly lifted. I wanted to ask, “Where’s El Corazon?” but what came out was, “Eh eh Coz?”

“Kaida!” I heard Jace shout. “Mom, she’s up!”

“Oh, dear Lord!” she exclaimed. My vision blurred and refocused, and I could see my mother. Another woman was glaring at a woman in pink scrubs.

“Oh, Kaida, sweetheart, can you hear me?” my mother pleaded, catching my weary eye.

“I told you she would wake up once the anesthesia wore off,” the woman in pink scrubs preached.

“Great, lady. Can you give us a little privacy, please,” a commanding man in black slacks ordered the pink-scrubs lady.

“Kaida,” my mother said. “Can you see me? Can you hear me?”

I looked around.

ICU.

Someone had said ICU.

Intensive Care Unit
.

Hospital?

“Thank God,” I croaked aloud.

The room filled with muted laughter. “Thank God is right, dear.” A soft-looking woman in sweatpants gave out a nervous chuckle. Atop her head was a messy gray bun.

“Zekenjoy?” I tried to ask. “Wheh ah Zekenjoy?”

My mother laughed out loud. “They’re on either side of you.”

Slowly my brain began to awaken from a very deep sleep.

The upside was that I could see.

The downside was my hands felt like they were on fire.

I realized I was in a very small room with a lot of people. Besides my parents, there were Jace; Mr. Warwick, the principal of my school; my math teacher, Mrs. Quentin; and another adult couple—the commanding man in slacks and his distraught wife. (I assumed it was his wife. She was definitely distraught.) Not to mention the woman with the messy gray bun and the pink-scrubs woman whom I figured to be a nurse.

“…and another van, driven by Mrs. Quentin here, passed them and saw the fire.”

Mr. Warwick was talking to the nurse.

“Mr. Addison,” I said.

It came out “Mesah Addis…”

“Mr. Addison?” My mother’s eyes became wet. “He’s undergoing surgery for second-and third-degree burns.”

I felt tears in my own eyes. Some of them were from sadness, but others were from happiness.

He
made
it.

Mr. Warwick kept talking. I wished he’d shut up, but then I realized that he sounded just as anxious as my parents.
“Thank God the kids seem okay.”

“Thank God,” the nurse repeated.

The principal’s face loomed over mine. “Kaida, how are you feeling?”

“Quite chipper, I’m sure,” Jace retorted.

I smiled inwardly. It was wonderful to see my Jace even if he wasn’t the exact Jace I left. I wondered where Suzanne was and then realized that babies were not allowed in a hospital.

A hospital! What a wonderful word!

Mr. Warwick blinked. “If there’s anything we can do—”

“I think giving her a bit of peace and quiet would be number one on the agenda,” my father snapped.

“Who’re…other people?” my strained voice tried. I wanted to make sure who I was seeing.

“The people?” My mother asked. “Zeke’s parents, Joy’s mother, and Mrs. Quentin, your math teacher. She saw the accident and picked you up in the rain.” My mother’s voice broke. “Do you remember the accident?”

Did I ever.

“Bits…” I fibbed.

“Nargh,” I heard Joy sputter, waking up from her drugged-out state.

“Praise Mother Earth!” the lady with the bun said. I wondered for a second if she was a pagan.

I reached down to zip up my sweatshirt, feeling cold. Then
I realized that my hands were bandaged and I was in a hospital gown.

“Where…clothes?” I asked.

“I think they threw them out, honey,” my father told me.

“No!” I cried. “No…my clothes.”

“We’ll buy you new ones,” Mom said.

“No…my sweat…!”

“Your clothes—or what’s left of them—are actually in a plastic bag in the closet down the hall,” the nurse said. “They’re full of ashes and mud.”

“My sweat…sweatshirt!”

“Do you want them, Kaida?” Jace asked me.

I nodded as vigorously as I could, although I knew there was no way it had survived the blaze.

The nurse left the room and came back bearing a large plastic bag. I reached to take it from her but realized once again that my hands were completely bandaged.

“What would you like from it?” My mother grabbed the bag from the nurse.

“My sweatshirt.”

“What?”

I thought I was talking clearly, but no one else did. “My sweatshirt,” I tried again. “The pockets.”

It was worth a shot.

Mom took out the sweater and turned each side of the center pocket inside out. A charred piece of paper drifted out as delicate as a fairy.

“The paper…” I mumbled. “Show me the paper.”

Dad bent down and picked up the paper, glancing at it.

“Don’t read it!” I hoarsely protested.

“Sorry!” My father held the piece of paper in front of my face. “Can you read it?”

I nodded.

Most of the note had been charred or burned away. But I could make out a few words and phrases, written in boyish handwriting.

Kaida
,
stationery, my mother’s, gifted with remarkable powers, prism, stay connected, don’t forget me.

Love,

Ozzy.

I felt myself grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I throw it out?” Dad asked.

I shook my head
no
!

“I’ll keep it for you, Kaida,” Jace told me.

I nodded.

My father’s eyes were brimming over with tears. “You’re incredibly lucky…and we’re lucky because you’re lucky!” He blinked, and wet tracks leaked across his cheeks. “Good Lord!” He walked away, covering his face in his hands.

“I’ll go see if he needs anything,” Jace said to my mother. He left the room.

“How long…” I asked my mother.

“What, honey?”

“How…long?” I said again.

“How long are you staying in the hospital?”

I nodded.

My mother kissed my forehead, dripping fat tears on my face. “As long as it takes for you to heal.”

Jacket art © 2009 by Joel Tippie

Jacket design by Sasha Illingworth