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A large mountain of a man appeared and grabbed my arm. I squealed and tried to get away, but his brute strength prevailed over my desperate attempts at escape. He said nothing as he pulled me toward the line of dark trees in the distance.
Please, stop. Who are you? Where are we going?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t form words. They just sat in my brain, as if trapped in glue. Not only was the beastly man scary to look upon, but he was also armed. I squeaked in protest.
“They will send another android after you,” he snarled. “We need distance.”
His reason for our mad dash through the wildflowers terrified me. They sounded awful, and after you terrified me.
Without any ability to think much beyond my fear, I just went along with the giant man, jogging to his long strides like my life depended on it—because, apparently, it did. The instinct to flee from danger allowed me to ignore the pain and panic that made me want to crumble into a ball and cry.
I couldn’t see much of the man who’d rescued me. I noticed he had a gun, and that alone made my brain sound alarms as my stomach flipflopped. Weapons were lethal objects from long ago, seen only in history books and museums. The Ai ensured our comfort and safety, making such tools obsolete.
Anachronist.
The name buzzed through my brain with an echo of disbelief. Oh, my God, like the aliens, they too were real! He was an Anachronist.
Have I died? There is no way this is all really happening.
Like many of the mythical creatures of lore, I had learned about the Anachronists in school, but never thought I’d ever meet one. They were the wild people of the forest who’d—for unknown reasons—shunned modern technology to live short, simple lives in poverty.
Though Anachronists were human, their existence as a people living on Earth was nearly as fantastical as unicorns and dragons… or extraterrestrials.
“Wake up,” I told myself. “This is a dream.”
It had to be.
When we entered the creepy forest beyond the vast flower field, I was immediately disoriented. Dusk had been illuminated by the full moon, but the trees obscured much of the light from the sky, leaving us mostly in darkness.
However, my rescuer seemed to know his way, and didn’t even slow down as he dragged me along the trail.
After a couple minutes of running across uneven terrain with rocks and roots in thin slippers, I stumbled over my own feet and fell into him, out of breath and about to vomit.
My rescuer caught me before I hit the ground, wrapping strong arms around me, bearing my weight as he lowered me the rest of the way down. Sitting in the dark, damp soil, the mysterious stranger crouched next to me and swung the large sac from his back.
My brain had apparently had enough. Overwhelmed, I covered my face and sobbed into my dirty hands.
“Stop that.” he demanded gruffly as he retrieved an old-fashioned lantern fastened to a strap. Suddenly, a warm glow illuminated the small area around us. “Let me see your arm.”
Sniffling pathetically, I uncovered my face and looked at him. With the soft light cast on him, I was instantly stunned by his beautiful eyes.
“Now,” he insisted, “you’re bleeding.”
I instantly complied. Blood still oozed from the gash and dripped down my elbow. It didn’t even hurt anymore. I wanted to tell him that, that I was just dizzy and nauseated more than anything, but I couldn’t seem to express the words.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “Hold this.”
He thrusted the lamp into my other hand and quickly opened his sack. He retrieved a white cloth of sorts and began tying it around my forearm to staunch the bleeding.
“Are you injured anywhere else?”
I shook my head. Other than the scratches on my legs from the trek through the forest, I was okay. At least physically. I couldn’t say for sure I was mentally.
As he finished first aid, I studied him. My little afternoon cocktail dress and ballet slippers were out of place next to this bear of a man. He was very different from the other males I knew, who seemed pale and insipid in comparison. My rescuer was quite frightening. Dark, muscular, and hairy. Yes, he had facial hair. But more shocking were the rippling muscles that threatened to rip the seams along the long-sleeved plaid top he wore.
Flannel. So strange to me. His shirt and pants were made of a material that I was familiar with but knew to be antiquated. No one wore flannel or denim when there were softer fabrics for the skin. There was no longer a need for people to wear the heavy materials of an everyday laborer. And the Ai technology controlled the ambient temperature outside when the winter months came. There was also no need for jackets unless one went beyond the city.
I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of cracking flora and heavy steps.
