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Chapter Three: Unhappy Landings

Marcus awoke with a moan. He was sprawled face down on the ground, his temples pounding like a drum at a powwow. Half dazed, he rolled himself over. For a time, he lay on his back, waiting for the cobwebs to clear—but soon realized that something felt off: The floor beneath his body was hard-packed earth.

Where the hell am I? As he drew in a breath, the smell of manure crawled up his nose. Oh, crap! That better not be coming from me.

Marcus sat up slowly and glanced around. His eyes could not penetrate the darkness which was everywhere. Although, given the musky odour, he guessed he was in an old barn. How could that even be possible? Had someone spiked his drink at a bush party?

There’d better not be anything drawn on my face.

Just then, a flash of light caught the corner of his eye. Jerking his head sideways, he glimpsed the Alienware logo on Ms. Pratt’s laptop flicker into view. What the hell! What’s that doing here? Astonishment abruptly turned to horror at what he witnessed next. Painted in the emblem’s glow, lay Chad’s lifeless form.

“Chad! Chad, can you hear me?”

Something in the shadows stirred in reply, followed by a groan. “Ohhh… I feel awful. Please Mom, don’t make me go to school.”

“Peyton? Is that you?”

“Marcus! What are you doing in my bedroom? We didn’t…”

“Chill. Nothing happened. Well, not that, anyway. I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re in a barn. Do you recall anything about a bush party, by any chance?”

“A bush party? No way! I wouldn’t be caught dead at one of those. And, as far as barns go, the only one I’ve ever been to is the stable where my father keeps his thoroughbreds.”

Marcus massaged his neck. This was all very strange. Stranger still, was the relief he felt at hearing Peyton’s voice.

“Well, unless your bedroom’s a pigsty…”

“Ha, ha, very funny. Maybe you should concentrate on showering more, and less on being a smartass. I can smell you from here.”

Marcus sniffed his pits, just to be sure. “For Heaven’s sake, Peyton… What part of barn do you not understand?”

“Achoo—achoo—achoo!” a cacophony of sneezes erupted from the gloom.

“Jillian?”

“Marcus? Where are we?”

“In a barn.”

“That explains my hay fever. Wait! Did you say a barn? That’s absurd.”

“Totally.”

“How?”

Marcus scratched his head. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

“For the love of aspirin, my head’s still buzzing. And why is it so dark in here?”

“Hi, Jillian.”

“My God! Peyton, is that you?”

“Yeah, and Chad’s here, too,” Marcus cut in, rubbing his eyes to erase any last bits of brain fog.

“He hasn’t woken up, yet. Guess he drank too much schnapps at the bush party.”

“What bush party?” Jillian asked.

“Just a theory,” Marcus replied, half-heartedly.

“Like your schnapps hypothesis?” Jillian uttered.

Marcus sneered. “If you’ve got a better one, I’m all ears. In the meantime, Sleeping Beauty, here, still hasn’t opened his eyes. Any thoughts on how to wake him? Ooo, I know… Maybe a kiss will do the trick. What do you say, Jillian? You ready to pucker up for your prince?”

“This is no time for jokes, Marcus. His condition might be serious.”

Secretly, Marcus agreed with her, but acting cavalier was his go-to in stressful situations—a kind of camouflage to mask his insecurity. For whatever reason, Ms. Pratt had placed him in charge, a position he’d never asked for, but could no longer ignore. He was Bear Clan and his sacred duty was to protect others, an obligation passed down through generations of bloodlines. The seed planted by Mosôm had not only taken root, but now approached full bloom, brought on by this crazy occurrence.

“Fine,” Marcus said. “No more jokes. But Chad does need your help. You’re the closest thing we have to a doctor. But first, why don’t we shed some light on the subject?” He yanked out his phone, intending to use it as a flashlight. “Damn! It’s dead.”

“Who’s dead!” Peyton cried. “My phone,” Marcus clarified.

“Mine too,” Jillian said. “What about yours, Peyton?”

“Let me check.” A brief pause ensued followed by some ruffling sounds. “That’s weird. It was fully charged this morning. What time is it, anyway?”

“Good question.” Marcus fiddled with the smart watch on his wrist—to no avail. “This is nuts. Somehow, all our devices got fried. So, why not the computer? Wait, that’s it!” Just posing the question had struck a chord. Soon after, a collection of snapshots began parading through his brain: Chad on the computer, pulsating sonic vibrations and his relentless pain, the girls writhing in agony, the room spinning, his vertigo off the charts. And afterwards—this place! “The laptop is the key,” he shouted.

“To what?” Jillian asked.

“To our being here.”

“Oh, great. Just what we need. More of your baseless theories. First, it was a bush party. And now it’s—what? That Ms. Pratt’s computer turned into a carriage and drove us to the ball?”

“Look, all I’m saying is that Chad went crazy on the laptop, and then—bam—here we are.”

“Or, maybe,” Jillian said, “and I’m just spit ballin’ here… that for some crazy reason known only to Chad, he stole it—which, reminds me. I’ve a patient to attend to.”

“C’mon,” Peyton hissed, to the sound of her phone smacking against her palm. “Why is this happening? Ommm Mani Padme Hummm. Ommm Mani Padme Hummm.”

Marcus bit his lip. Never again would he poke fun at that girl for zenning out. In fact, he almost felt tempted to join her. Straining his eyes, he peered into the darkness. “Maybe, there’s a light switch, somewhere.”

“Or, maybe you could light a match,” Jillian suggested.

“A match?”

“Yeah, you know? Tiny sticks used to light cigarettes and such?”

“Jeez, Jillian. We’re not in the Dark Ages, anymore.” Although, that’s where he’d apparently left his brain. Marcus could’ve kicked himself. His Zippo had been in his pocket this entire time, and not once had it occurred to him to pull it out. Some leader I turned out to be. “Just to be clear, cool guys carry lighters.”

“Whatever. Just be careful you don’t start a fire,” Jillian warned.

Marcus flipped open the lid and cranked the wheel with his thumb. Sparks flew from the flint, but failed to ignite. After several botched attempts, he grew weary. “Where are we? In a black hole?”

“What if we’ve been kidnapped?” Peyton cried, halting her chant.

“Nah, it doesn’t add up,” Marcus assured her.” You’re the only person here worth a ransom.”

“Enough with that nonsense,” Jillian cut in, “There are more pressing issues at hand— like helping Chad. And I can’t do that unless I have light to check his pupils for signs of a concussion.”

“There!” Peyton cried. “On the far wall. See it?”

Marcus scanned the void. And then, there it was—a few faint threads of light. As he rose to his feet and drew closer, their contours became more distinct. Sifting through the seams between several planks, shone the pale rays of night. Holy crap! How long have we been out?

“Well?” Peyton prodded.

“It’s a boarded-up window… and what could be our way out.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to look for a door?” Jillian proposed.

Marcus tested one of the planks. “Groping around in the dark isn’t safe. All kinds of pointy things could be lying around. At the very least, removing a strip will give us more light. And even if we find a door, who’s to say it won’t be locked?”

Using both hands to grip the end board’s edges, the athlete heaved with all his might. “This—is—a real—son of a…” he grunted, to its loud creaks of protest.

SNAP!

“…GUNNNN!” As the plank splintered free, Marcus keeled back, landing on his ass with a whump. Moonlight flooded the barn. Springing to his feet, Marcus slapped the dirt off his jeans. Then gaping at his palms, he almost retched. “Oh, yuk!”

“I always knew you were full of—”

“Shut up, Jillian. This is no time for jokes—remember?” He stole some straw from a nearby stack and wiped his hands. “So, where’s the creature that left this behind?”

“Probably out to pasture,” Jillian said, crawling over to Chad and resting his head on her lap.

Marcus knelt beside her. “How’s he doing?”

“Can’t seem to wake him. He exhibits all the symptoms of a coma. There’s one thing I haven’t tried, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Pain. Anyone have a pin?”

Marcus gazed beyond the slot created by the missing board. Just above the horizon, beneath a periwinkle sky, stretched a halo of tangerine, heralding the start of a new day. “Search for a needle in a haystack if you like,” the athlete said, wandering over to the window, “but I’m going for help.” He surveyed the landscape—and winced. “Oh, crap.”

“What is it?” Jillian asked.

“We’re miles from nowhere. Not a single hydro pole or transmission line in sight. No signs of civilization, whatsoever. Not even distant lights—just wilderness as far as the eye can see. Like we’re in Amish country.”

“Maybe you could hitch a ride,” Peyton blurted, her tone desperate.

“No roads, either.” Marcus fished out his smokes and placed one in his mouth—then tossed it to the ground, cursing. What was I thinking? If I hadn’t taken a smoke break before English class, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Why did I even start in the first place?

The athlete thought back to his younger years. Even then, his need to belong tore at his soul, almost steering him toward a street gang. He might’ve joined their ranks, swapping out his regular brand of Players for Peyote (his granddad’s slang for drugs), were it not for his love of swimming and the consideration of his coach. But above all else, it was Mosôm’s ever-present and unwavering devotion that kept him in line.

The medicine that comes from Mother Earth, he had said, holds the power to both heal or destroy. It is up to you to choose the right path forward. You must trust your heart to lead the way.

Marcus stood facing the large double-doors at the end of the barn, now apparent in the dawn’s accumulating light. Beyond them, lay the path forward.

But to where was anyone’s guess.