Samara stifled a yawn as she crawled out of her shelter's haphazard arrangement of leaves and branches—stretching her back luxuriously, but as she eased into the movement, she felt a painful sting in her shoulders. As she lingered in the stretch, the corner of a patterned cloth caught her eye. Nestled among the forest underbrush was a weathered wicker basket concealed beneath a quaint white and brown checkered cloth dotted with tiny, delicate blossoms. Samara carefully approached it and peeled back the fabric. Inside, she discovered three vibrant red fruits, each roughly the size of an apple. Her stomach growled audibly in response to the tempting sight. Samara gave in to her hunger, sinking her teeth into the juicy, succulent flesh, savoring the blend of peach and plum flavors.
The first and second fruits vanished quickly, devoured with relish. But the third fruit prompted a moment of contemplation. Samara wrestled with the decision, torn between savoring it or saving it for later. Recognizing that it might become her sole sustenance for the day ahead, she gently placed it back into the basket.
“I must have been quite the sight,” she muttered as she looked down at her soiled clothing. Determined to cleanse herself of the grime and sweat, Samara returned to the river.
Approaching the water's edge, Samara observed the river's newfound ferocity, its banks overflowing with the previous night's rain. Gathered around the river's edge were some town children clutching wooden buckets, their tiny hands struggling to hold the weight. Each child deliberately distanced themselves from her, casting sidelong glances and exchanging hushed whispers filled with curiosity and uncertainty.
Kneeling by the river, she cautiously dipped her hands into the icy water, preparing to scrub away the remnants of her muddy odyssey. As she did so, her reflection shimmered on the water's surface, revealing a visage even more unsettling than the one she had encountered the day before.
"You’ve certainly seen better days," she murmured to her reflection.
Stripping off her lab coat, she carefully submerged her head and torso into the icy water. The biting cold of the water had proved challenging to endure for more than a few seconds, yet she persisted, dunking her head repeatedly until the skin on her face became blissfully numb.
A face mask would be heavenly right now.
Samara finished cleansing herself and rose with her coat draped over one arm. She slipped it on, and absently, her fingers delved deep into the pockets, their quest halted by the familiar touch of crumpled papers.
Carefully taking out the first sheet, she unraveled its creases. The ink, smudged and contorted by the previous day's swim. Through squinted eyes and steadfast determination, Samara had recognized a few distinct phrases: "Adjust Coordinates... m phase... power source." As the syllables formed in her mind, a scalding jolt of pain raced through her head.
The serene riverbank before her faded, and she stood in a pristine, expansive chamber. Rows upon rows of high-tech computers hummed in rhythmic synchrony, their screens awash with cascading codes and matrices. Dominating the space was a colossal metallic arch perched on an elevated platform, its presence demanding and ominous. As she drew nearer, a vivid vortex pulsating with a spectrum of colors manifested at its heart. Without warning, a potent and invisible force wrenched her from the ground, magnetically pulling her toward the swirling portal.
Samara blinked, and she found herself back on the riverbank. A gnawing disorientation had gripped her as if she had just stepped off a dizzying carnival ride. Her stomach lurched threateningly as she steadied herself on the bank, fighting the rush of nausea.
What was that?
Her focus was suddenly shattered as a sharp, panicked scream tore through the air. The picturesque riverside scene had morphed into utter chaos, with a young boy's flailing form caught in the river's furious currents.
The other children shouted and pointed, while a few had dashed uphill, desperately searching for aid. A cold realization gripped Samara as she watched the scene unfold– no villager, however swift, would reach them in time to snatch the boy from the river's cruel clutches. Her gaze skimmed the area, hunting for any lifeline she could extend.
My lab coat!
Its substantial length, knotted perhaps, could stretch far enough. A large, flat-topped stone was nestled a short distance into the raging river. If she could reach it, she'd be just close enough to hurl the makeshift rope of her coat towards the boy. Samara took a deep breath and waded into the river, the water pushing relentlessly against her legs, demanding every ounce of her strength to remain upright. Moving as quickly as she could, she reached the rock and scrambled onto it. The watchful eyes of the other children, who had fallen silent, were locked on her in rapt attention.
"Grab this!" Samara cried out over the roaring waters, her voice conveying urgency. The boy stared back at her, wide-eyed, fear evident in his innocent gaze. Samara hurled her coat toward him while gripping one of the sleeves tightly. The coat fluttered through the air before landing in the water, the current quickly carrying it beyond the boy's reach.
"You need to catch it before it touches the water!" she shouted, but it was clear that the boy didn't comprehend her words. Samara employed frantic gestures, miming catching the other end, before tossing the coat toward him again. But the child made no move to grab it, his tiny hands locked in fear.
A voice behind her cried out, and Samara swiftly turned her head toward the group of children. At the forefront stood the young girl from the day before, her gaze fixed on the child in peril as she shouted urgently. Samara couldn't understand the girl's words, but her gestures were all too familiar. It was the same sign language she had used just moments ago.
Samara turned her attention back to the young boy, who now watched her with comprehension dawning in his eyes. Without hesitation, she flung her coat toward him once more. His left hand reached up, fingertips grazing the fabric as it slipped past him. Panic surged through Samara as she quickly threw the coat again, but the relentless current proved too strong for the child to bear with only one hand.
The gasps and screams of the children behind her filled the air; their collective terror was palpable. Without a second thought, Samara dived headfirst into the raging waters. Currents dragged her under, pushing her against jagged rocks and submerged branches that scratched and bruised her skin. She regained some semblance of control and pushed her body against the current's stranglehold, swimming toward the surface. As she broke through, she inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with fresh air and mist. In front of her, the young boy's form bobbed up and down in the water before the rapids reclaimed him, dragging him under.
Samara dove back under and searched for him. Through the murky depths, she spotted his silhouette wavering with the current. She surged toward him, reaching out and gripping his arm just as a massive piece of driftwood barreled by, missing them by mere inches. She had propelled them with powerful kicks toward the water's surface, muscles straining and lungs burning for oxygen.
Their ascent was violently halted as the river smashed Samara against a towering boulder. Gritting her teeth as the pain sent shockwaves through her body, Samara threw out her free arm, fingers seeking a lifeline on the slick stone surface as the strong current threatened to pull them further downstream. She found a jagged crevice, and she clung on, the sharp edge digging into her fingers, drawing blood.
Grasping the boy tightly with one arm, her feet searched for footholds on the boulder's jagged surface. She located a small jutting aperture, and with painstaking effort, she heaved them both up onto the rock's sloped ledge. Desperation set in as she surveyed the area, seeking signs of potential aid. Letting out a resonating shout, Samara's voice strained, aiming to penetrate the ambient noise and signal anyone within earshot.
She carefully positioned her injured hand over the child's mouth and nose, checking for any faint breath. Finding none, she steeled herself and leaned in, attempting to breathe life into the boy's tiny frame. A muffled shout reached her ears. Renewed hope coursed through her as she yelled back, urging the unknown saviors to quicken their pace.
The cries grew closer, but Samara didn't dare look up again. Panic surged through her as the boy continued to lie still.
Am I doing this wrong?
Samara's vision was blurred by the hot tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She leaned down to give the boy one last breath, her chest heavy with despair as his face paled further.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice a tender apology mingling with her silent sobs.
Just as hopelessness threatened to consume her, the boy let out a ragged gasp. His eyes blinked open, and water gushed from his mouth. Samara helped him to his side, her hand rhythmically patting his back, aiding him in purging the cold river from his lungs.
She glanced toward the shoreline and found a large gathering of townsfolk, some atop horses, all having witnessed her relentless efforts to save the boy.
A man with curly red hair dismounted from his horse and strode toward the river's edge. He called out to the others on horseback, who followed his lead. They tied a long rope to the saddle of one of the horses and flung the other end towards her. She caught and tied the rope around herself and the boy, and she submerged back into the water with great care.
The men led the horse away while the others on the shore pulled on the rope with all their strength, laboring together to quickly extricate Samara and the child from the river's grasp.
Once on land, a short, round woman hurried toward the boy, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Soon after, a man navigated through the onlookers and joined the triumphant reunion.
As Samara watched, she felt a gentle tap on her left hand. Glancing down, she discovered the young girl from earlier placing a soft brown cloth in her hand. Noticing Samara's puzzled expression, the girl pointed to Samara's right hand, which still dripped blood from the deep cuts on her fingers. Samara managed a grateful smile and bowed, hoping to convey her appreciation. The young girl seemed to understand and returned her smile.
A man atop a striking horse approached Samara. She was mesmerized by the steed's appearance, which contrasted sharply with the dusty, work-worn horses she had seen in town. Alighting gracefully, the man strode over to Samara and gently placed a long, brown cloak over her, shielding her drenched form from the other men's curious glances. His words were soft and musical but utterly unfamiliar to her ears.
Confusion momentarily clouded the azure depths of the young man's eyes. He tried again, enunciating every word with deliberate care, his voice rising in evident frustration. The young girl stepped forward, bridging the chasm between them with quiet words. The girl's intervention seemed to satisfy him, nodding his head as he retreated towards the other assembled horse riders.
The young man's animated discussion with the red-haired rider captured her attention. His vibrant red hair stood out amongst everyone gathered, and his eyes, a deep emerald, were discernible even from her distance. As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned their gazes briefly, meeting. Caught off-guard, a blush crept up Samara's cheeks, and she hastily looked away. But not before noticing the amused upturn of his lips. With a commanding gesture, he signaled to the other riders, and they rode out, leaving only two of their number behind.
As they ascended back up the hill, Samara's steps were unsteady as she walked; the earlier surge of adrenaline now faded. Her stomach growled, and the memory of her breakfast reminded her that she still had one fruit left in her basket. She used that thought as motivation to persevere up the hill.
Upon reaching the peak, she broke away from the line of townsfolk making their way to the village and headed toward her tree. Locating the basket, she was overjoyed to find the bright red fruit still inside. She bit into it ravenously, sweet juices stinging her fingers as they seeped into her wounds.
"Well, that was dinner," she muttered as the encroaching night air caused her to shiver.
She moved toward the tree's hollow and stepped over the tangled roots when she felt a tugging on the back of her cloak. Turning around, she came face to face with the young girl, who gestured toward the town with her hand.
Exhausted and lacking the energy to resist, Samara didn't protest the young girl's gentle tug. With a weary but agreeable nod, she let the girl take her hand, and together, they descended toward the town.
Their journey led them to a wooden house slightly taller than its neighbors. Quickly, the young girl opened the door, ushering Samara inside. The interior was modest yet inviting. To the right of the entrance was a kitchen with a wooden table and benches flanking it. A woman around Samara's height, her dark blonde hair neatly tucked into a bun, was tending to a flame; with a warm smile, she welcomed Samara.
The young girl gestured for Samara to follow her, and they stepped inside one of the rooms. Inside were two beds, each with a wooden trunk at the foot. The young girl directed her toward the bed closest to the door and walked out but quickly returned, arms laden with a bundle of clothes. She handed them to Samara, and they were accompanied by expressive miming that illustrated changing into the new attire. Samara smiled at the girl's impressive charade skills, nodding to signal her understanding.
Samara swiftly removed her soaked clothes, hanging her wet jeans and blouse over the back of the desk chair. A disquieting realization dawned on her as she examined her modern attire: her lab coat was missing!
With this heavy thought weighing on her, she stepped out of the room, her eyes on the kitchen table. Seated, there was the young girl, accompanied by a boy, and an older man on the opposite bench. She sat next to the young girl, who smiled warmly at her. Samara nodded politely at the older man and the young boy sitting across from her, and they responded with friendly nods in return.
After dinner, Samara offered to help with the cleanup, but the young girl shook her head and mimed sleeping. Samara complied, returning to the room where she had changed earlier. Samara slipped under the cozy covers and noticed that the blanket shared the same pattern as the cloth covering the basket she had received that morning. A warm smile graced her lips as she snuggled in, and, feeling strangely comforted, she gradually drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
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