Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (2 page)

They always begin the same: “Once upon a time there were three amazing children named Olivia, Samuel, and James. They all lived together at the tip-top of a beautiful mountain with their magical horse named Thunder, who loved them dearly and took care of them.”

Thunder could run so fast he actually flew through the air, with the wind whipping across our backs as we held on tight; always Sam in the front, then Jamie, then me. I suppose I was the one responsible for keeping us from falling off Thunder’s broad back. He had these magic saddle bags, like something from Harry Potter, which could hold any supplies we packed for our mission; Thunder would lead us to our destination and let us go. We were on our own, saving talking animals, magical creatures, ourselves, or the world in general.

Most often, the stories end in a celebration, including lots of food. Mom loves food. She claims she runs almost any chance she gets, just so she can eat. I don’t know if that’s healthy or not, but I run with her so she can have the company. We’ve even done some local races together, so we’ve got this whole competitive thing going on. And even though Mom likes to claim it’s about “bonding,” I think it’s just plain fun to have some time together. She doesn’t have to get so psychological trying to explain it.

Anyway, this evening she tells a tale of a blinding snowstorm and the wondrous Thunder who soars through the sky carrying these three amazing children who must save an angel, a bat, and a Velociraptor from impending doom. Before we can get to the good stuff about the feast, our car gets hit from behind, hydroplanes across the road, and spins until it slams into a wall of rock. Where it crumples like a soda can.

After

(OLIVIA)

I
WAKE UP AND TRY TO TURN MY HEAD,
but I’m in so much pain every fiber of muscle that even thinks about moving whimpers in agony instead. My brain deems it best to go back to sleep, and, without hesitation, I comply.

The next time my eyes open, I see it’s lighter and recognize my lungs can take in air. Those minute details are big for the “chipper-up” portion of my day. Which is only slightly diminished by my sad lack of viable swear words. At the moment, I’d adore anything beyond “ye gads” and “blimey.” Blast my parents for ingraining in me the fear of having an overly-foul mouth. These words come nowhere near to how I wish to express myself.

Just in time, I discover I can turn my head after all, heaving my remaining innards onto the floor beside me. Something crunches under my head as I roll back. Pine needles. What the jeebers have I been doing?

Validating my belief that my parents are harder on me than my brothers, my ears pick up some wonderfully selected curses from somewhere beyond my head. I must have spattered some vomit onto Sam’s foot. Hmm … this might make up for the boogie incident of third grade.

“Are you okay, buddy?” I croak out. “Where is everyone? Where are
we
for that matter?”

From my left, I hear Jamie’s voice. “Man, I’m glad you’re all finally awake. I was starting to worry.”

“Just starting?!” I exclaim. The way I feel, I started worrying at least a hundred years ago. “Can either of you move? Because I can’t much. Hey, are Mom and Dad around? What’s going on? What happened?” No one else can remember either, so I bite back my fear and lie motionless next to my brothers, waiting for sleep to overtake me.

~~~

A
S I SLIP IN AND OUT OF LIFE
, breathing my way back into reality, I’m not much aware of the passage of time, but I am very conscious of the presence of someone warm and caring. That’s what I’m going with, anyway, because otherwise it would just be creepy. We are harbored in a cave of sorts and, though the air feels cold around the edges, a fire crackles and pops between the cave’s mouth and us. Beyond the opening, past the glare of the flames, I can make out dark mounds I surmise are snowdrifts.

“Livs, Jamie?” Sam crows, the first morning he’s able to get up and move around. He’s standing at the entrance of our cave. “Check this out!” He drags over this ginormous, honest-to-goodness Santa pack. I don’t know whether to be freaked out or excited. It’s like Christmas. “Someone’s gotta be around here! I’m going to take a look.”

I’m lying on the ground, on my bed of pine needles. Jamie and I still aren’t able to move without bursts of pain. Sam’s foot, at my eyelevel, is already stepping away.

“No, Sam,” I yelp, grabbing his ankle, and sitting up. “It might not be safe.”

“Not safe? Why? Whoever it was left us presents.
Presents
. It’s not like the pack is anything dangerous.”

“How do you know? We haven’t looked in it yet. Anyway, I’m not talking about the pack; I’m talking about what’s outside. We don’t even know where we are and we haven’t seen anyone around. This could be from some kidnapper guy.”

“You think we’ve been kidnapped?!”

“I don’t know what to think, but you’re not going out there until we all can. Right, Jamie?”

“Sure, Liv,” Jamie agrees. “But I don’t think it could be too dangerous. I mean, what’s stopping anyone from coming in here? It can’t be worse, us going out.”

“Someone
has
been coming in!” I shout. “How do you think we’re still alive? Someone’s been feeding us and cleaning us and treating our injuries!” That thought quiets me down, even as I speak the words. We’d all had really bad injuries, which are healing with more speed than I would have thought possible. “What do you think happened to us?”

“I dunno,” mutters Sam, sitting between the two of us gimpy people.

“You guys think Mom and Dad could’ve left us here?” Though Jamie’s voice is skeptical, I can sense the hope behind it; if they’d left us, it means they might return. I don’t want to feed him false hopes. Better to face up to whatever the worst could be. Sam beats me to it.

“I’ve been thinking ….” He pauses and I can hear his swallow. “The one thing I can come up with is there must’ve been a car accident. Weren’t we going to Mr. Gunther’s? What’s the last thing you can remember?”

 Jamie answers without pause. “Getting in the car. What about you guys?”

“Yeah,” we both reply. Though an accident makes more sense than being kidnapped and beaten, it still doesn’t answer the question about who’s been coming around. Or how we got here.

Sensing he’d lose to my big-sister bossiness, Sam gives in. “Fine; I won’t go out yet, but at least let’s look inside the bag.”

“Fine, yourself, but if something grabs you ….” I sit up and help Jamie get closer to the fire. Sam reaches into the sack and grabs out clothes, books, food, medicine … and weapons. A knife, a bow along with a full quiver, and a slingshot.

“Ha! See? Something dangerous was in there!” I’m triumphant.

“Ha! See, yourself!” mimics Sam in a good-natured tone. He waves the slingshot in front of my face. “It’s not a kidnapper; it’s someone who wants to help us! No kidnapper would give us a way to fight back.”

“Um, then why don’t they take us
home
, Sam? Or a hospital? Why stick us in a dirt cave? It’s winter! People who help people don't keep them stranded.”

“Be quiet, you guys. We’ve been kept warm with the fire, and now we have more gifts to be thankful for.” Jamie sounds like Dad. “Let’s see what the books are about; it’ll help pass the time. And what kind of food is it? I’m starving!”

I separate the books into two piles: “fun” and “educational.” The fun stack is filled with books about kids in crazy new worlds and societies—action adventure stuff that I love, where smart people like us get to save the day. The other pile is nonfiction. Each book in that group is about some sort of survival skill for wilderness living—action adventure stuff I’ve never had to deal with before. I read us to sleep that night, and for some reason all I dream about is a blasted horse.

~~~

I
T’S OUR FIRST FAMILY JAUNT
out of the cave and we’re trying to work our way through the foot-deep snow. We’re on a mountain, just like the ones we drive through to get to Gunther’s, and one thing is hard to miss: We’re completely isolated. Airplanes stubbornly refuse to soar across the sky; helicopters totally fail to drone above our heads. There is no other sign of human life, and our parents are nowhere to be found. Except for where we step, the snow lays in a pristine blanket of white crystalized fluff.

Making visible progress, I am jubilant at the thought of getting somewhere safe and inhabited by people and buildings. We’d shredded the bag and made satchels for each of us. Inside our bags, we’ve put our food and spare clothes and other necessities. The weapons are tucked away, also. I’ve claimed the dagger and Jamie the bow, which he wears slung over his back; Sam’s got the slingshot.

The snowball splatting the back of my head makes me jump. I don’t even have to look to know who the culprit is. “Samuel Riley Williams!”

An all-out scuffle ensues before we proceed, wet and frozen, down the slope. I make Jamie walk in front to keep an eye on him, but it’s me I should have been concerned about; I slip on an icy patch, grab Sam’s shoulder, and pull us both down. He gets to his feet first and stoops to help me. When we stand back up, Jamie’s nowhere to be seen and a hugely out-of-place fog bank is rolling in, obliterating our view.

“Wha—?”

“Hey, Jamie! Where are you?” Sam’s worried shout echoes around me, but there’s not a peep from our youngest brother.

“Jamie!” I spin around, watching the ground to locate his footmarks. Inside, I’m panicked; Jamie is not the brother who’d pull this kind of trick. Now, if Sam had disappeared ….

I turn back to ask Sam if we should split up or what and feel the icy droplets of mist brush against my exposed skin. The fog’s coming fast, and I watch in alarm as Sam’s shadow-form melts away, just as Jamie’s must have.

“Sam?! Jamie?!” I holler, grimacing when I get no answer in return. I grope my way forward, flinching at both real and imaginary obstacles as I push through the dense vapor. Breathing too deep makes me cough, so I hold my breath and hope that also helps to keep my heart from leaping out of my mouth. It does no good. I let out a yelp as I stumble over my own feet and catch myself against the frozen ground. When I stand, the fog is dissipating and I can see the outlines of my brothers. They’re no more than a hundred yards from me, right next to the mouth of our cave.

Less than two minutes ago, we had been nowhere near the mouth of our cave.

After a minor freak-out moment, we decide to head in the opposite direction, this time at a run. Cue the fog. Replay the unexpected arrival at our cave. Repeat.

No matter how many times we try, no matter where we start, if we hit the fog, the end result stays the same. After a while, we stop trying. It was either that or go insane.

~~~

T
IME PASSES IN A BLUR
as we learn how to keep the fire hot and to supplement our food. Every so often a little gift of some necessity appears. Sam’s booby traps and stakeouts never turn up any clues, although one night I awake to the fading sound of amused laughter. Nothing feels sinister about being here, it’s just we can’t leave. We talk about Mom and Dad a lot. The memories, when they come, are not painful. I remember my life up until our trip to Gunther’s, but it feels removed from me. The gap of time, from climbing into our SUV to awaking in our cave, never does get filled.

With warmer weather, new challenges arise: The gifts stop appearing. If we need something, we are responsible for finding or making it. Thanks to the books, we’re capable. Most of the time.

“Oh, frap! Criminy blast-it all!” Dropping my knife and the stick I’d been attempting to whittle into an arrow, I balk over the stream of blood pouring from my finger. I holler in the direction my brothers had taken when they’d left our campsite.

“Um, Jamie? Sam? I need some help; I just cut myself!”

They’d had their fishing poles, so I take off running to where the lake is sometimes found. In my head, I’m crossing my fingers that the land doesn’t try to change on me. With the thaw, we’ve discovered not only does the fog keep us confined to specific areas, but the areas themselves jumble and jump around. Nothing indicates what we can expect to see on any given day. It keeps us on our toes, for sure.

Though frustrating at first, I was quick to adjust my mindset. I stopped stressing over the impossibilities of our lives and fretting over our presumably dead parents. Though that may sound harsh, it’s reality. When life dishes poop, you can either fall into it and stench up your corner of the world, or you can fetch a pooper-scooper and do what you need to do to muck through it.

Besides, trying to hash it out had created more arguments than I care to remember, and always circled back to the unknown. Our parents, who raised us on positive thinking, would not have been pleased. I figure this is our hugest lesson ever, teaching us to focus on what we
can
do and see and learn, instead of the things we can’t.

Now I squeeze my finger on the inside hem of my shirt, applying pressure as I run. “Guys?!”

Jamie races up to meet me. “What is it, Liv?” His eyes go huge when he sees all the red. “Sit down!” he barks. “Keep pressing against it; I’ll be right back.”