Chapter Seven
Shock
“Who are you?” a man shouts. “How did you get in here?”
The little girl looks back and forth from her mother screaming to her father lowering the camera, and starts to cry. The little boy runs closer, and kicks my shin before his father runs to him and pulls him away, probably wanting to protect his kid more than my leg.
I swallow hard. This was a lot easier to pull off in a shadowy basement.
“Next week,” I say, and my voice sounds really shaky. I’m not sure I’d pay attention to it if I heard it. I’d probably think the speaker was crazy.
I clear my throat and try to sound firm and confident. “Next week, you’re going to want to cook out. But there’s a leak in your propane grill—if you try to cook out you’re going to burn your house down, and - and - well, you’re not all going to make it.”
“What?” Mr. Gordon splutters, his eyes wide. His face has gone weirdly pale. “Who are you? How could you know anything about our grill?”
“I’m calling the police!” his wife cries, dragging the little girl behind her into the house.
“Fine,” I say. “Great. Call the cops. But check your grill before you cook out, okay?”
“Daddy?” the little boy says, ignoring me.
Mr. Gordon is kind of gasping. The video camera has slid out of his loose grasp and thumped onto the grass, and he’s scrabbling at his chest.
“Mr. Gordon? Are you okay? No, it’s a heart attack!” I run forward as he slides to the ground. We did CPR in school. I just need to remember the steps in the right order.
“Stay away from my daddy!” the little boy shrieks. He’s punching me and pushing at me, but I shove past him and drop onto the grass beside his father. “Go tell your mother your dad’s having a heart attack,” I tell him. “Hurry!”
The little kid stares at me wide-eyed, then runs toward the house, bawling, “Mommy! Daddy’s heart’s attacking!”
Close enough. I tilt his head back and try to clear the airway. I hold his nose and breathe into his mouth. Then I push his chest. Am I even doing this right?
I don’t know how many times I repeat it before Mrs. Gordon comes running out and shoves me aside to take over. Good—maybe she’s got a better idea of how to do this than I do.
I get to my feet and back away, forcing myself to look away from the two of them to search for the digital lifeline. I briefly see two white, tear-stained faces at the window as I scan the yard, but no sign of the thin filament of white light I saw in Roger’s house—the sunlight must be too bright. But I’ve got to find it to get out of here.
I make myself calm down and think. The lifeline should lead toward where the cameraman was standing. That’s how it worked in the movie, at least. Mr. Gordon had been standing by the porch.
I squint, and finally make it out: a slender, white string of light. I reach out my hand to grasp it, and take one last look behind me at the Gordons. I’m afraid Mrs. Gordon is crying. I don’t think Mr. Gordon is going to make it.
I suddenly remember Tough Kid getting attacked by the power force after he didn’t pay attention to my warning. But the other kids all survived. So did Roger’s parents. Everyone in the Gordon family would have died in the fire. If the rest of them survive and Mr. Gordon dies now, isn’t that better?
But I’m the one who gave him the heart attack, not some leak in a propane tank that was nobody’s fault. This is my fault.
As I turn back to the strand of light, I see the kids’ accusing faces staring at me. They’re going to blame me forever.
My throat is tight as I grasp my digital lifeline and follow it back through the gauzy silver screen into the pit.
An anchorwoman on the news channel is recapping the lead story, something about water quality conditions, and the news ends with video from a baseball game. There’s no story about a household cookout gone out of control and a family dead. And it’s too late to see the story they must have run last week, about Mr. Gordon’s heart attack brought about by a mysterious boy who appeared out of thin air, and disappeared right back into it.
– End Chapter Seven –
