XV
1125 Words
XV
Jasmine crawled across the ground, struggling to see clearly as shimmering light engulfed the bog.
She was out of breath.
Something had struck her in the chest. Hard.
Her sternum throbbed, and all she remembered was that she opened one of the steel chests and the area filled with light. Her crew had started yelling and her heart had started racing and the only thing she could think to do was call Miri.
One moment she had been talking to Miri and the next—she was on her back, gasping.
She hadn’t even seen what hit her.
All around, screams, groaning, and coughing. She tasted bitter earth and dead weeds, and spit a clod out of her mouth, gagging. A smell that reminded her of stale smoke, misty river water and clove overwhelmed her.
She couldn’t see anything. God, it was so bright!
She put her hand to her face. She was covered in mud, but not bleeding.
Nothing broken, even though her chest felt like it had been smashed.
Good.
She crawled backward. Maybe if she could get away from the light she could find her bearing.
She turned around and crawled as fast as she could, knee-deep in the warm mud.
She stumbled and landed face-first.
The air sweltered above her, making her ears ring.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She began to sweat and her stomach knotted when a loud shrieking ripped through the air.
It was coming back for her.
“Oh, God,” she cried, crawling faster. She pulled herself into a run and even though her lungs were on fire, she ran as fast as she could.
She was getting away. She didn’t know what the hell this was, but she was too young to die. She had too many more things to discover. She still hadn’t been married yet. She hadn’t traveled to all four continents—she hadn’t advanced far enough in her career. She was nobody and nobody wasn’t enough when you wanted fame and fortune and respect in your field. It wasn’t time!
The tree line was a few yards ahead. She could make out the slanted birches and their dark foliage. She steered toward them with every inch of her body, pushing so fast both her legs were in the air at the same time as she bounced through the mud.
A little further, and she could hide in the brush.
A little further and she’d be able to catch her breath.
Her foot caught something and pain exploded in her toes as she fell forward.
It was a log.
She screamed, grabbing her foot. It had to have been broken. She tried to stand, but she stumbled on something else.
Not a log. Not mud.
A person.
Laner.
The mousy college professor lay on the ground shielding his face. Strangely, the pose is exactly what she had expected he’d do; he talked a big game, but he wasn’t suited for the great outdoors. He wasn’t suited for anything other than an air-conditioned lecture hall, she thought.
“You okay?” Jasmine asked, reaching down.
He nodded. He didn’t look hurt.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him. She limped, and her toes tingled until she could no longer feel them.
Laner saw her limping and put his arm over hers. He pulled her toward the trees as the shrieking grew louder.
Whatever it was, it was close and it was almost to them.
The shrieking grew louder like a whistling bomb falling toward them.
The area around them grew brighter.
Doom and fear overcame her and she cried out, but her voice caught in her throat.
They weren’t going to make it.
Jasmine closed her eyes and tears flowed out.
This wasn’t how she wanted it to end.
She hated the tears, hated her broken foot, hated the fact that she was going to die with no dignity.
An incredible wind blew through her, and she felt like she was in a wind tunnel.
Then it was gone.
The light dissipated, and as the bog came back into view and silence set in, Jasmine realized how loud it had been, like a runaway train on rickety tracks. But the whistling diminished, the shrieking evaporated into the night air, and the bright light slowly became a fading gradient that gave way to the night, motes of it dancing down and dying as it hit the mud. Whatever had chased her was gone—and she hoped to God it wouldn’t come back.
“What was that?” Jasmine asked, massaging her foot.
But Laner’s jaws were dropped and he was pointing to the sky.
Jasmine slowly raised her head up and saw several large wisps dancing in the air. They were pink, sparkling, and looked like ghosts.
They roared as they swirled around the campsite. They followed an elliptical pattern. Specks of magic dropped in jagged, sparkling whispers that reminded her of snow, of farm planes spilling pesticides over a field in spring, of magical mystery that had first gripped her as a child and made her want to be a magical researcher.
“Are they alive?” Laner asked.
“No,” Jasmine said. She reached for her phone, but it wasn’t in her pocket.
It had been knocked out of her hand.
She saw it, a black square covered in mud a yard away.
Hopping on one foot, she inched toward the phone.
One of the wisps swung in low and she ducked. It barely missed her before whirling back over the trees.
She hopped faster.
She jumped harder.
A constellation of pain burst through her leg, but she dove, landed on the ground and grabbed the phone with one hand. With her shirt she wiped away the mud from the screen.
She turned on her camera.
Laner ran to her side. “Stay off that foot,” he said.
“It’s not alive,” she said.
“It’s not?” A look of bewilderment crept across Laner’s face and he shook his head. “I guess … I don’t understand.”
Of course he didn’t. Though it was strange for a professor of Magical Sciences not to know his history.
“When magic is stored for a long time, it becomes more potent,” Jasmine said. “When you release it—”
“Wait, so you’re telling me this is magic?” Laner asked, incredulous. He ran his hands through his hair and let out a stressful sigh.
“It’s magic.”
The wisps circled over the camp site one last time, then hovered in place, shaking and shrieking. Then, like rockets, they exploded, taking off into the starry sky, disappearing over the trees.
“And now it’s gone,” Jasmine said, frowning.
But she glanced at her phone screen.
She had recorded it.
Fifteen seconds of magical wonder.
As the dark night returned, the cicadas sang again, and Jasmine fell back onto the ground and lay spread-eagled in the mud, smiling.
“My God!” Laner said. “We’ve got to get you medical attention.”
“My foot is fine,” Jasmine said.
But Laner wouldn’t take no for an answer and he carried her over to a nearby bench.
“Where do you think the magic went?” Laner asked, setting her down gently.
Jasmine searched the sky and breathed out deeply.
“I have no idea,” she said.
- Writer
