Foreverland Is Dead

over her eyes.
    She doesn’t feel the earth slam into her face.

2

    Sky. Sky. Sky.
    And boys.
    They’re laughing. One of them, his hair is brown. He has dimples when he smiles. There’s a gap between his front teeth that’s more endearing than goofy. He grabs her hand— Screaming.
    The look on his face.
    And the sky falls, and it’s over. Over.
    Over —
    The girl is nowhere in particular, but feels the dull grind of grit on the back of her head, the bumpy ground beneath it— She sits up, sucking in air like she’s drowning.
    Sun-sti ng on her cheeks. She tries to open her eyes, breathing greedily. Things are a bit blurry. Her face is numb on the left side. Her bottom lip is swollen, the taste of blood.
    This time, though, she rememb ers something. She remembers that it was cold when she awoke in a strange bed inside a bunkhouse; she remembers a dinner house and windmills. The brick house is behind her.
    A few girls are on the dinner house porch. They’re watching another girl walk toward her. She swaggers along the garden where bell peppers swing in t he breeze. Her skin is pasty white, her hair jet black and shaved near the scalp. She’s wearing denim jeans and a stained white shirt. Her boots are heavy.
    She carries a bundle beneath her arm. She stops a few feet away and tosses a pair of jeans at the girl on the ground. Drops a pair of boots.
    “Thought you might want these, Cyn,” she says.
    The girl on the ground squints, not sure what “Sin” means. The black-haired girl smiles, sensing the confusion. It’s a ‘been there, done that’ sort of smile. She crouches down and flips the waistline of the jeans inside-out, revealing a white tag and block letters.
    “ Cyn.”
    That word means nothing to her. It rings no bells, brings no memories. It’s just a word.
    “These were under your bed,” the black-haired girl says. “At least, we figure they’re yours. Everyone else had clothes under their bed, their name tagged on the inside. I’m Roc.”
    She holds out a clear plastic bottle.
    “Water?”
    Cyn doesn’t hesitate, and the water spills over her lips. It washes down her throat, brings small relief to her empty stomach. She tips it up, chugs it all. Roc holds out an apple.
    “Hungry?” she asks.
    Cyn takes it without a word, biting off most of one side. The sugars hit her tongue like a drug. She barely chews before swallowing and takes another bite. It’s nearly gone before she looks up.
    “Figured you were starving,” Roc says. “Everyone is. Found a stash in the middle cabin.”
    The white windmill s rotate in the distance, slower than before. The wind has slowed, not nearly as cold. She recalls the odd sensation on the back of her neck when she neared the brick house.
    “How l ong have I been here?” Cyn asks.
    “ A while. We couldn’t get near you without this going off.”
    Roc turns around and points at the lump. She’s got one, too. And she’s careful not to touch it.
    Cyn remembers something electric wrapped around her face. It feels like days ago, but it was just this morning. Now the sun is overhead.
    “ I woke up last,” Roc says. “Everyone was already outside, the sun was up. You were on the ground; we thought you were dead. The girls told me what happened, said you started wobbling when you got close to the house, did a face-plant right about there.”
    She points a few feet behind her.
    “We tried to get you, but the lump gets strange the closer we get.” Roc scratches her throat like it’s starting to buzz. “There’s like an invisible fence around the place. You could draw a line in the dirt right where things get weird, like we’re dogs with invisible leashes.”
    Cyn notices the scar on Roc’s throat. The raised white line slashes just below her jaw.
    “How’d I get here?” Cyn asks.
    “You mean outside the fence?” She let s loose a humorless smile. “The little one walked out of the brick house like nothing at all, like her leash ain’t working. She got the lump, it just doesn’t do anything. She says she just woke up. We were all standing around trying to figure out if you were breathing or not and she comes out the front door, stares at us. We told her stop gawking and drag you out. She did, but you kept on sleeping. Thought you were dead, but I checked your pulse.” She shrugs. “You just got knocked out.”
    “Where is she?” Cyn looks around. “The girl, where is she?”
    “With the rest of them.”
    N othing makes sense. Roc