Fire & Flood (4 page)

Even my brother has never made fun of the freckles that cross my nose and stretch out along my upper cheeks. He knows that I — like everyone else — have a breaking point. And that if he brought them up, I would end him.

Now it’s like they’re mini-cheerleaders, picking up megaphones and refusing to be ignored. I press my lips together in irritation, but my face softens when I see my feather. I was careful not to cut it when I hacked my hair off.

I lean my head back and reinspect my reflection, try to see things in a new light. With curls trimmed close to my head and a roguish green-and-blue feather dangling over my right shoulder, I decide I just might seem like someone who would enter a daring race — and win.

Lincoln Station, I discover, accommodates both trains and buses. I have no idea which I’ll be taking, but I know I’m going to Valden. I decide I’ll just tell the person at the ticket window where I’m headed and let them figure it out.

The station is surprisingly busy for this late at night, or early in the morning, or whatever you call it. The floor is covered in small white tiles, and overhead, there are vast skylights that would probably be pretty awesome during the day. Big round benches dot the floors for people to lounge on, and because the ceiling is high and the floor is tile, every little sound morphs into something like an elephant stampede.

Eventually, I stumble upon the check-in area. It consists of a skittish guy in his midthirties standing behind a large, plasticky counter. He’s wearing a navy suit with a crisp white dress shirt. His tie is yellow, which pleases me to no end. The guy spots me approaching and runs a hand over his canary-yellow tie. Then he does it again. And again. It’s either his first day on the job, or my being a girl makes him extremely uncomfortable.

“Hi,” I say to the nervous guy. “I need to go to Valden.” No point in beating around the proverbial bush.

My request pushes Yellow Tie Man over the edge. His eyes get enormous and he actually starts to sweat. “Valden?” he croaks.

“Yeah, Valden. I’d like to go there.” I lay my allowance on the counter as proof of my seriousness.

The guy looks around like a SWAT team is about to bust up this convo and pushes my money back toward me. “Are you
sure
you want to go to Valden?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure.” But now the guy’s glistening brow has become a
dripping
glistening brow, and I’m suddenly not sure at
all. Maybe Valden
isn’t
somewhere I want to go. Maybe it’s in the center of a volcano, and that’s something I’d like no part of. “Can you remind me what state Valden is in?”

The yellow tie trembles, and so does the man behind the shoddy counter. “It’s not a place. It’s just a word to let me know —” He stops to wipe his forehead, and I feel my own brow prick with sweat. This explanation does not make me feel better about things.

Eyeing my backpack, he slides a ticket across the counter. I expect it to be laced with acid that’ll burn my skin off, but as I take it, I realize my fingers will survive. And so will my allowance, since this dude is apparently giving me a free ride. I shove the cash back in my pocket.

“Where do I go?” I try to sound more confident than I am. Which is not at all.

“You’ll take train 301. Down that way.” He points over his shoulder to the right. Then he backs up, like he can’t wait to get rid of me. As I start to head in the direction he indicated, he throws his hands over his face. “Oh my gawd. I almost forgot. Why do I keep forgetting?” His hands fall. He searches for something under the table, looks around again, and reaches across the counter. “Put this on your shirt.”

It’s a small gold serpent pin, and it’s fairly heavy. When I attach it over my heart, it tugs the cloth of my long-sleeved shirt down, and the snake glares up at me with a glittering green eye.

“It will identify you,” he says.

I had figured as much, but it relieves me to hear him confirm my suspicion. As if my figuring out this one thing is a sign from the universe I’ll be okay. “Thanks,” I say. “Nice tie.”

The guy smiles, but I’m not sure I’ve made his day any better. I want to tell him he didn’t exactly soothe my nerves, either, but he clearly wants nothing more to do with me, so I yank my backpack straps tighter and head toward the platforms.

To my astonishment, I get myself onto the appropriate train without killing myself, though I’ll admit it’s far harder to fall onto the tracks than I’d originally thought. A woman wearing way too much rose-scented perfume shows me to my seat, which turns out to be in a sleeper car. When I first get inside the tiny room with a mini window and cute bunk beds on both sides, I can’t help but do my happy dance. Then I wonder exactly how long I’ll be on this train and why I’ll even need a place to sleep. The question doesn’t bode well for my sanity. I mean, trains are cool and all. But not when a small white device has told you to board one to a city that doesn’t exist.

I hear a sharp snap and turn around. A girl my age pushes into the room, acting very much like she owns this sleeper car and all the contents in it — including myself. She has short dark hair, with hard bangs cut razor straight across her forehead. Her eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at me. Seconds later, another girl walks into the room. This one looks a bit younger and a lot less hostile. She’s got long, wavy hair and big blue eyes, and she stares right at me.

“Hi,” Blue Eyes squeaks.

“Hey,” I say with a nod. Then I notice a glint on her blouse. It’s a serpent pin — the same as mine. I glance at the aggressive girl and notice she has one, too. They’re each carrying a bag, and I suddenly realize they’re also packing Pandora eggs.

They’re Contenders,
I think with relief.
I’m not alone.
Then I remember they’re my competition. I wonder how these girls got invitations, and if they also have someone they’re trying to save. I wonder how any of us were chosen to compete in the race. Did whoever’s running this show choose only contestants with sick family members? Do they all have the same thing?

These thoughts make my head spin. Regardless, there’s no reason not to be polite to these girls, no matter why they’re here. We’re all going through this together.

“I’m Tella,” I say to Blue Eyes.

The girl looks at me with such relief that my heart aches. She opens her mouth to respond, but stops when someone new comes through the door.

The first thing I see is a shock of color. The woman’s dress is so bright and so devastatingly green that I almost forget my name. It curves around every bit of her body and ends at the knee. Her bright blond hair is pulled back into a tight twist, and her lips are painted a flashy shade of red. In her left hand is a gold clutch. She’s my kind of girl — a fashion guru, if you will — and I feel underdressed and underkempt in comparison. I wonder where she found her shoes.

“Please, sit.” The woman waves a small hand toward the bunk beds. Her voice is perfectly even, perfectly calm. I wonder if anyone has ever told her no. My guess is if they did, they quickly changed their minds.

Blue Eyes sits on a lower bunk and I sit across from her on the other. Aggressive Girl jumps onto the top bunk above me, her legs dangling in my line of vision. I press my lips together in annoyance and move over so I can see.

The woman closes the door behind her and locks it. Never a good sign. She reaches into her gold clutch and pulls out three blue boxes, exactly like the one I found on my bed but much smaller; so small, I wonder what could possibly be inside. The woman hands a blue box to each of us. When she gets to me, her fingers brush mine. My muscles tighten, but she only smiles. I realize the woman must work for this … race. I eye her closely, looking for clues that’ll help me understand what I’ve gotten myself into — that’ll help me win.

“Open them,” she says.

I lift the lid of my blue box. There’s no miniature pillow this time — only a single green pill. I remove it from the box and lay
it in my palm. It’s the kind of pill that looks like it has liquid inside. It’s actually quite beautiful, and I find the desire to take it compulsive.

“Swallow the pill immediately. If you do not, you will be disqualified.” With that, she unlocks the door and leaves.

I glance at Blue Eyes and wonder if she can hear the hammering of my heart. It pounds so hard against my chest, I imagine I might be having a heart attack. How did this happen? How did I go from homeschool and teasing Cody and Sunday Fundays to this?
I could back out,
I think.
I could just throw up my hands now and decide this is all too friggin’ psychotic.

But then I think of Cody. I know he would do this for me. He wouldn’t even hesitate. Despite all his irritating qualities, I’ve always thought of him as courageous.

“Damn Pharmies,” the girl above me says. “Bottoms up.”

Blue Eyes gasps. Then she looks at me. “She took it.”

I shrug, trying to act like it’s all cool even though I’m about to pass the hell out. Glancing down at the green pill, I make a decision. I will not abandon my brother. I pop the pill into my mouth and swallow. It goes down easily, but I still reach for a water bottle in my bag. I take a few pulls, then hand it to Blue Eyes.

“Here, it’ll help.”

She takes the water with a shaking hand. When she looks at me, the pill close to her lips, I nod. I don’t know why I’m helping her. I probably shouldn’t. There’s no telling what we’re taking. I could be helping her sign a death sentence, for all I know.

The thought sends shivers down my body. I tremble so hard, I have to lie down. Turning my head on the overstuffed pillow, I watch Blue Eyes swallow the pill and then two gulps of water. She lies down on her bunk, keeping her eyes locked on me the entire time.

I look above me and wonder what Aggressive Girl is doing.
Her legs have disappeared from over the side of the bed. “What did you mean?” I ask, tapping the bottom of her bunk.

“About what?” Aggressive Girl says, though her voice doesn’t sound quite so aggressive anymore. It sounds more … drained.

“You said something about Pharmies,” I say. “What is that?”

“Not what —
who
,” she answers, though I can hardly understand her. It sounds like she’s slurring her words.

I move to sit up, to drill her with questions since she seems to know what’s going on. But as soon as I do, the room spins. I drop back down onto the bed and glance over at Blue Eyes. She’s looking at me, her face a mask of fear.

“Who are the Pharmies?” I ask aloud. My voice sounds strange. I’m not sure if I’m talking strangely, or hearing differently.

The girl above me doesn’t respond, and slowly, I begin to sink. Blue Eyes and I hold each other’s gaze for several seconds, like if we can just keep eye contact, we’ll be okay. But then her lids flutter closed and open. Once. Twice. Her cheek presses deeper into the pillow. She doesn’t open her eyes again.

My own eyelids feel like they’re weighted.
It’s just a sleeping pill,
I assure myself.
That’s all we took.
Since I haven’t slept in I don’t know how long, I close my eyes for just a moment. I fully intend to reopen them, but once they’re closed, it feels so good.

“Can anyone hear me?” I ask, my eyes still shut. My voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a wall. Though my arms feel heavy, I manage to tug my backpack onto my chest. I wrap my arms around it, praying my egg is safe inside. When my feather falls over my neck — tickling my skin — it reminds me of my mother.

I pull her face into my mind, and I let go.

The first thing I become aware of is the sound. It’s a low rumbling and seems to be coming from beneath me.

I open my eyes and immediately close them again. Everything in my body screams for more sleep. I almost give in to the temptation but know I shouldn’t. There’s something I’m forgetting. I force my eyes back open and this time, I take in my surroundings. Or at least I
try
to take in my surroundings. There’s hardly any light to see, and a slow panic twists in my stomach.

Where am I?

Pushing myself up from the fetal position, I feel smooth wood beneath my hands. I throw my arms out and find four walls. They’re close, way too close. My throat tightens when I begin to understand.

I’m in a box.

I go from mild anxiety to full-fledged mania in a matter of seconds. Pounding my fists against the boards, I scream. I swallowed the pill. I’m in a box. How stupid could I have been? I left without telling my family where I was going, got on a train to a city that doesn’t exist, and swallowed a foreign object. Oh yeah, and I also picked up a rotting egg along the way.

My egg.

I feel along the bottom of the box and my fingers touch a corduroy bag that’s not my backpack. Stuffing my hand in, I sigh with relief when I find my smooth egg tucked safely inside. I pull the bag over my crossed legs and into my lap and wrap my arms around it.

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” I say. I’m not sure who I’m talking to, but I guess it’s my egg. I gently lift it out of the bag and lay it in my lap. “Everything’s going to be okay.” I stroke the outside of the
shell and glance around. The rumbling sound outside is steady. It’d almost be soothing if I weren’t in a friggin’ box.

I consider screaming until someone lets me out, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind if I do. I’m also concerned with how long I’ve been in this thing and how much air is left. I don’t see any air holes, and I know screaming will cause me to use what little air there is quicker. Thanks, horror movies.

I try to steady my breathing and calm my thoughts. It’s not working. I rub my hands over my egg and think that this would be a really good time for this thing to hatch and help a sister out.

I lean over as best I can and whisper, “Please come out.”

Nothing happens.

Rubbing the fabric over my knees, I suddenly realize my jeans don’t feel right. I grab at my legs and stomach. These aren’t my clothes. Oh my God. Someone changed my clothes while I was asleep.

My first thought is:
What creepazoid takes someone’s clothes off while they’re sleeping?
The second is what undies I’m wearing — whether it’s an old skeezy pair or my good Victoria’s Secret stuff. I’m not proud of this last thought.

My box suddenly jerks and a loud hissing sound pierces the air. I’ve heard the sound somewhere; I just can’t quite place it. For several minutes, nothing happens. I continue stroking the egg, reassuring whatever’s inside that everything’s going to be okay. Even though I’m not at all sure it is.

When my box jerks again, I scream for the second time. My hands fly out and I push against the walls beside me. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. Then the box, and me, and my egg start swinging. It’s not much, but the sensation is undeniable.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” I repeat it like a mantra as the box continues to sway side to side.

The box jolts to a stop. I feel like something’s going to happen,
so I tuck my egg back into the new bag. Then I look around, waiting. The front of my box slides open and light blinds me. I blink several times, my arms shading my face. When I lower them, I see dozens of people wearing what look like brown scrubs and tan boots, all standing in a forest-like area. Looking down, I realize I’m wearing the same thing. With the light, I’m able to look around the box. My backpack is gone. I figured it was, but now I know for sure. The food, the water, the cash … the photo of my family. Gone.

Afraid I’ll be stuck forever inside this box, I grab the corduroy bag and scramble outside. When I turn around, I gasp. Two enormous semitrucks are parked several yards away. A hundred or more boxes are stacked on the semis, and someone operating a crane is lifting each one off the bed and placing it on the ground. The semis’ and crane’s windows are tinted, so I can’t see who’s inside, but I do spot two men opening each box that the crane sets down. They’re wearing green, collared shirts and jeans, and they look like they could live in a suburb outside of Boston. One man is tall and lanky, with thinning hair and enormous ears. The other looks almost pregnant with his protruding belly and twiglike extremities.

I turn in a circle and watch as people of all ages, races, and genders crawl out of the boxes. There’s an older woman with short blond hair, who folds her arms across her chest and scowls, and a girl with a determined expression, who can’t be older than twelve. I spot a man who looks like he’s never seen the inside of a gym and young woman who could pass for a physical trainer. Everywhere I look, people. These are the Contenders — I realize. But they’re treating us like livestock.

“Crazy, huh?”

I spin around and see a man twice my age with dark skin and enormous eyebrows.

“What’s going on?” I ask him. I don’t wonder why he’s speaking to me; I just want my questions answered.

“You don’t know?” he asks.

“No. You do?”

He makes a face like he’s sympathetic. “I don’t blame your parents for trying to hide this. I would have done the same for mine.”

I’m guessing he means his own children, but all I can think about is what he’s implying. That my parents knew about this and didn’t tell me. I decide that’s impossible. They wouldn’t do that to me; they certainly wouldn’t do that to Cody. Maybe they knew something might happen. Why else would my dad try to burn the device? But they couldn’t have known … everything.

I notice the man’s brown shirt has the gold serpent embroidered onto the pocket. When I glance down, I realize mine has the same.

“Where are we?” I ask him.

He waves an arm behind him. “The starting line.”

I really study the area for the first time. Trees tower overhead, growing so close together that their leaves create a thick canopy. When the two men let me out of my box (did I really just say that?), there seemed to be so much light. But now it doesn’t seem that way at all. Though there is enough light to see, everything is cast in shadows. A heavy fog lounges above the trees, not helping matters. Even the air feels different, like oxygen is more abundant here, but also somehow thicker.

The thing that shocks me most is the plants. They are everywhere, in every shape and color imaginable. I have trouble finding a spot that isn’t covered by long, looping vines or fat palm leaves. The forest is entirely carpeted in green — a canvas of life. I breathe in the rich scent of earth and vegetation. The woman’s voice inside the
white device said we’d compete across four ecosystems. Remembering this, I suddenly realize this is no mere forest — it’s a jungle.

“We’re in a jungle,” I say to the man with the eyebrows. But he’s already gone.

I turn in a circle and count more than a hundred people in brown scrubs. Some have small tan bags, like mine. Others have enormous bags, and some have none at all. The ones with no bags carry eggs in their arms. I glance down at my own bag. Then I hook the single strap over my head and hang it over one shoulder. Sticking a hand into it, I rub the egg and try very hard not to feel claustrophobic among these trees. Many of the people around me seem okay with what’s happening. Not me. Every muscle in my body aches for home. Since the race hasn’t even started, I feel this doesn’t bode well for my competitive edge.

I hear a hissing sound that I recognize from inside the box. Spinning around, I realize it’s a semi’s brakes clicking off. The two men are climbing inside the crane. All the boxes have been removed from the beds of the two semis, and now the vehicles and monster crane are rolling away from us — going somewhere that isn’t here. I have to fight the impulse to race after them, begging for a ticket home. I’m not cut out for this, I realize. I should be in my lavender-painted room, giving myself a milk-and-avocado facial, wrestling my hair into a messy but fashionable updo. My hair, which is completely gone now.

The two semis pull away and follow the crane at a snail’s pace. They’re leaving us here. What if this is all a sick experiment in which someone somewhere gets off on ripping people away from their homes and dropping them in precarious situations with no hope of survival? How do I know the Cure is real? And is everyone else here racing for the same thing? We’re all totally susceptible, the perfect targets to scam. Just dangle a cure no one knows anything about and say, “Run, monkey, run!”

The woman from the device didn’t begin to answer the questions I have, and I’m guessing no other Contender knows much about this race, either. Yet here we all are.

I have to leave this place. Now.

I push my way past a blur of faces and race toward the retreating trucks.

“Wait,” I yell. “Wait!” The Contenders turn and watch me with visible disgust, but I don’t care. I can’t be left out here with nothing to go on besides
“the winning prize will be the Cure.”

I’m only a few yards away from the semi in the back when a commotion ripples across the Contenders. They’re all moving, shifting their weight, and searching their bags. When I spot a handful of people near me place white devices in their ears, I realize what’s happening.

I stop running and gasp. It isn’t hard; it’s like the air wants nothing more than to fill my lungs. This is the jungle, and apparently its goal is to make everything
grow
. I fumble in my bag, pushing my egg to the side, until I feel the smooth plastic. Pulling my device out, I see the light is blinking. It taunts me to make a decision: keep chasing down my only way out of this hellhole, or stop and listen.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Around me, more than one hundred people raise their arms and press the buttons. I wonder what the message is. Turning back to the trucks, I realize they’re moving too quickly. I could catch up, but I’d have to run and I’d have to run
now
.

As the trucks pull farther and farther away, noises from the jungle amplify. I turn and face the lush, green landscape. In the midday heat, I make out birds calling to one another, and a long,
sharp, whooping sound. I can hear the foliage rubbing together, even though there’s not a trace of wind. A short, low
roo-mp, roo-mp
sound repeats over and over, and somehow, while listening to all the different melodies, a small smile parts my face. This place … it’s miraculous.

Cody would love it.

In a daze, I place the white device into my ear.

I push the red blinking button. When the woman speaks, she sounds almost excited. It’s eerie to hear her normally robotic voice so animated.

“We’ll wait a few more seconds while everyone tunes in,”
she says.

I wonder how long she’s been saying this, and how she could possibly know whether everyone is tuned in. There must be some sort of tracking capability built into the device. Glancing over my shoulder, I note that I can see still the trucks. I could still make it out.

“All right, I think that’s quite long enough.”

Was that a few seconds? I need her to wait. I need more time to decide. My pulse quickens and sweat beads across my arms.

“If you are hearing this message, then you have successfully completed the Pandora Selection Process. It also means you are now at the official starting line.”

Around me, Contenders whoop with excitement. Seriously? They’re about to plunge into a wild jungle, and
that
brings them happiness? Once again, I realize how out of my league I am. I don’t even have a change of clothes, for crying out loud.

“As you may have realized, you are on the outskirts of a rain forest. This will be the jungle part of the course. You will have two weeks to arrive at the jungle’s base camp. You will find this base camp by following the path of blue flags.”

Contestants glance around, immediately looking for the first
blue flag. As for me, I’m watching the taillights of the semi and having a massive coronary.

“If you are the first to encounter a blue flag, you may remove it, but you may not remove the stake it is attached to. Doing so will result in immediate disqualification.”

I wonder why anyone would want to remove the flag to begin with. No one else seems concerned by this.

“While the Cure will be awarded to a single winner at the end of the last ecosystem, we will bestow a smaller prize for each leg of the race. The prize for the jungle portion will be monetary.”
The woman pauses dramatically.
“I’d like to officially welcome you to the Brimstone Bleed. May the bravest Contender win.”

That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say? Because it seriously sounds like she’s wrapping up. So why aren’t I running after the trucks? Why am I not chasing after my only way out of this jungle like my life depends on it? I know the answer — though I wish I didn’t. Cody would do this for me. I am his only hope. I have to believe his cure exists. My only other option is to return home and watch my brother die. If I could even get back home.