Page 53 of Casting Butterflies

No more did I hear Misha and his huffing exertion as he slashed. The guttural cries of the remaining goblins on the hunt. The shrill screams from passengers fighting and fleeing.

“Almost there,” Cedric whispered.

“Ungh.” I strained so hard I worried I’d pop a vessel in my brain.

A creaking noise distracted, but I stayed the course, and suddenly, whatever blocked me was gone. The pressure I’d been pushing against disappeared, but I didn’t cease my effort to force the hole in the ground to close until Cedric murmured, “You can stop now. You did it.”

A good thing because I was out of juice. My knees turned to jelly, and I crumpled, falling to the ground, face first. Cheek pressed to dirt, I blinked to regain focus and managed to lift my head for a second, long enough to see the monster had sheared in half when I’d closed the rift. I’d done it. I’d stopped the goblin invasion.

And with that knowledge, I succumbed to exhaustion.

19

I regained consciousness in a tent. A big one, mind you, but still a tent, the white canvas overhead rippling slightly. The bed I lay on could have used a better mattress. My sore body protested as I pushed myself to a seated position. It took a moment before the dizziness abated enough for me to see I was in some kind of hospital, the kind you see in movies used by the military in the field. Beds lined the long space, some of them holding people. Moving between them, astronauts. Wait, make that folks in hazmat suits. Helmets covered their heads, and every inch of their body had been sealed with fabric that crinkled as they walked.

“What the fuck?” I muttered, which drew attention. A few of the suited peeps clomped in my direction.

“Hello, where am I? Who are you?” I asked, leading to a flurry of conversation, just not with me. They didn’t speak English, nor did they attempt to address me at all. However, I did interest them, seeing as how they checked the beeping monitor that had wires emerging from it, which appeared to be attached to patches on my chest. My blood pressure was taken, along with my temperature, and while I tried to protest at the needle that emerged—because I hate needles!—I got held down as they drew blood.

They poked and prodded me without a word of reassurance. No explanation. Nothing. Who were these people? What was I doing here? What happened after I passed out?

Someone in a military uniform entered the tent, and the hazmat suits excitedly pointed to me. The man, a fellow with white hair buzzed almost to the scalp, a scar that went through an eyebrow and part of his cheek, and an expression that could have been used to scare children into obeying, headed in my direction. Great. Just what I wanted after waking up in a strange place. Having to deal with some military asshole.

I clutched the thin sheet to my chin as if it would offer protection. Where was Misha? Surely, he’d not abandoned me.

The soldier stopped a pace from my bed. “You are American?” he asked in a heavy accent. No hello. How’s it going? That didn’t bode well.

“I’m Canadian, actually. Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You are in military custody, pending an investigation of the events that occurred on the train that derailed a few hours outside of Moscow.”

“Terrible thing. Guess the driver lost control.” I remembered Cedric’s advice of before. Play dumb. Very dumb.

“What do you recall?”

“Not much. I mean, the train stopping obviously, but everything after that is kind of hazy. I must have bumped my head.”

The stony expression revealed nothing of his thoughts or feelings. “What of the gobliny?”

“The what?”

“The creatures that attacked the train.”

Shit, if they knew about them, that probably explained the hazmat gear. Had those little monsters carried something contagious? “Do you mean the goblins? I thought those were just a nightmare.”

“They were real, and there are witness claiming you fought them.” Stated flatly, not questioningly.

“Fought them? That’s crazy. With what? My bare hands?” I uttered a fake, high-pitched laugh.

“They also say you confronted a very large bug-like monster and, in closing the hole it emerged from, killed it.”

“Look at me. Do I look like I have God-like powers such as you’re suggesting? That’s just crazy.” My laughter sounded fake even to me.

“Agreed, and yet, more than one survivor is making the claim.”

“People often make up stories for things they can’t explain. I assure you, I’m not a witch.”

“Who said you were?”