Ethereal
Chapter 8

The People in the Trees

I stood there with my mouth open, gawking like a child as the flames continued to grow and feed on the surrounding wilderness. My mind was blank, unthinking, unfeeling, until a shrill scream rolled down the mountain, jolting me back into the present.

I blinked hard, trying to wake up. This was all a dream, just a bad dream.

“A bad dream,” I mumbled to myself, stumbling towards the hill, “a bad, bad dream.” My feet slid on the rocks, now drying in the new morning sun, as I began my ascent back to the orphanage.

While going downhill and into the fields only felt like a few minutes had passed me by, returning up the mountain seemed to take an eternity. My legs burned as I grasped onto the trunks of trees to propel me forward, slipping on wet rocks and falling into the river, soaking the fabric up to my knees. No matter how bad my chest heaved for air, or how tired my muscles got, I couldn’t stop to rest.

The ground suddenly leveled out, and I stumbled out of the tree line and into an open field, stumbling through the grass until I tripped and fell to my knees. The air was much thicker and hotter than normal, and as I looked up I had to shield my face from the bright blaze as the orphanage burned in front of me.

I had only heard one scream from the fields, but now they filled the air like smoke.

My feet shuffled through the grass towards the front door until I broke out into a run towards the fire. My hand grasped the handle and I ripped it away just as quickly, tears brimming my eyes as the skin of my hand began to swell and blister. I ripped open my bag and pulled out a spare t-shirt, wrapping the fabric around my hand before trying again. I jiggled the handle, pushing hard against the door and even throwing my shoulder against it, but it wouldn’t budge. It dawned on me that someone must have locked it. I stepped away to catch my breath and heard a loud groan from above me. I grabbed my bag and twisted backwards just as a large wooden beam snapped and collapsed right where I had been standing just moments ago, blocking the entrance. My eyes skimmed the windows, the roof, looking for faces or any sign of movement, but all was still. It was at that moment that I realized the screaming had stopped.

The smoke curled into my lungs, forcing me to crawl away while the heat of the flames scorched my back and legs. I looked back just as the main hall’s roof collapsed into the building, followed closely by the Matron’s wing. Soon it would all be rubble; everything inside would be nothing but rubble.

I felt my cheeks grow wet as I twisted my hands into the grass by my knees. It felt like I was floating, up, up, up – and I needed an anchor to keep me rooted to the ground. I was the smoke escaping from the fires that were torching the orphanage, fleeing away towards the bright blue sky.

A flurry of motion caught the corner of my eye, silencing my weak cries as I strained to see who it was. Did one of the girls or a Matron manage to make it out? A figure stepped out from the tree line, his face basking in the sweltering heat that radiated from the orphanage. The hope that had filled me was now gone within an instant as something dark passed over me. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t here to help.

The man was soon joined by another man, and another, and as they spread out along the tree line and surrounded the orphanage I was able to see one of the figures holding an emptied jug of gasoline and another a lighted torch.

I watched them, their faces illuminated from the fire, and something in my belly twisted when I saw that they were merely staring blankly off into the distance. The men looked almost bored, their mouths set in a thin line as one of the men shifted his weight in impatience. I knew who they were, and I knew they had been the ones who set the orphanage on fire.

I felt my mouth form the words I wanted to say, but no words came out.

Rebels, I wanted to say. This was the work of the rebels.

The rebels had come. The rumors were true. If they were here, then that meant the Salt Lake and Colorado River Citadels were both lost. Now they were at the orphanage, but instead of taking all of our food rations like I thought they would do, they decided to burn the orphanage to the ground instead. With everyone still inside of it.

Several more shadows moved away from the shadows, both men and women, forming a large crowd around the three men. They all stared at the burning orphanage as the flames burned higher and higher overhead, the charred smoke and ash blocking the sky above. I felt as though I could have sunk into the earth at that very moment, my flesh and bone melting away. I had failed them – every girl in that orphanage – and I had broken my promise to them.

I was too late.

My eyes turned back to the rebels, my skin crawling as I watched them. Some of the rebels had grown bored and had taken to wandering the surrounding area in search of something to do. Others stayed close to the man I had first seen step through the trees, his dark hair hanging low over his eyes as a small smirk tugged on the corners of his lips. He was enjoying this, I realized. He was enjoying the pain and suffering that he had caused.

I looked away, trying to push down all the emotions that were bubbling up inside of me and threatened to spill out of my mouth. I wanted to take my tiny little kitchen knife and run at them screaming, slashing it until something stuck. I wanted to rip out my hair and throw myself into the burning building to search for my friends, possibly the only family I had left in the world.

It didn’t matter how badly I wanted to do any of that, because through all of the turmoil and chaos that swirled inside of my head I knew that I was still very much in danger. I might have escaped the fire, but I hadn’t escaped the rebels. If one of them saw me, there was no saying what they would do to me. If they locked a group of innocent women and children in a burning building, who knew what they would do to me if they caught me? I had to get out, I had to leave, or all of this would have been for nothing.

My hands let go of the grass and push me upright. I took one last look at the orphanage and swallow the bile burning at the back of my throat. Move, I ordered myself, or you’re dead.

I stumbled back into the forest, the hand that I had burned earlier now beginning to throb with pain. I cradled it to my chest, taking a deep breath to steady myself before jogging back down towards the fields and sticking close to the river. I tried to get as much distance between me and the rebels until I couldn’t bare the pain in my hand any longer and stopped to dip it into the river.

The cold water worked like magic, easing the pain until it almost disappeared. I inspected it again, seeing several blisters lining the fatty part of my palm and on a few of my fingers, but it could’ve been worse. I pulled out the same t-shirt that I had used when trying to open the heated handle and dunked it into the river, soaking it before I wrapped it around my hand. Maybe I could replace some burn cream at the village – if it was still there.

Now that I knew for sure that the Head Matron must have been right – the Colorado River Providence had fallen and the second Citadel was destroyed – only the Sacramento Providence remained, the last stronghold against the rebels.

I skidded down the hill, eager to get to the village as soon as possible. I pushed all thoughts of the burning orphanage out of my mind, focusing on the heavy beating of my heart and the harsh rhythm of my feet hitting the earth as I continued onward.

The field swam back into view, but I didn’t stop running. The dark soil blurred into a sea around me, my feet sinking into the wet ground. My boots sunk in the mud and I felt like I was running in slow motion, the earth clinging to me to try and force me down into its depths.