Foreverland Is Dead

tucked into bed with IVs in her arm, too.
    A needle protruding from her forehead.
    “Can you tell me the password?” the woman asks.
    Cyn has no idea what she means. She asks her the question twice. Cyn shakes her head, confused. Lost.
    The woman squeezes her hand and smiles. “You made it out, Cynthia.”

NOVEMBER
    Peel an onion, layer by layer.
    What’s in the middle?

50

    There’s dull pain in her arm, matched only by the sensation in her forehead. Both are persistent.
    Nauseating.
    She rises into consciousness, against her will, harpooned by discomfort and dragged to the surface. Her eyes crack open, not really seeing anything. The lids are weighty, wanting to close, wanting to sleep.
    Pain denies her, pushes them open.
    The beige ceiling is low and curved. It appears to be canvas, held up by hoops. It smells like new fabric. The wind breathes against the walls.
    Somewhere, someone is tapping a keyboard.
    Cyn’s lying in a bed, a dark green blanket up to her chest. Just beyond her feet, a brown curtain is drawn for privacy. She turns her head. On the other side of the narrow room is another bed, the covers turned back, the pillow dented.
    She lifts her arm, pain radiating from inside the elbow. There’s a tube sticking out of her vein, the plastic port taped down. The skin around the insertion point is yellowish.
    She tries to lift her head—
    “Ooh”
    She drops back into the pillow. Didn’t expect that dull pain to bite. She takes several quick breaths, braces to roll onto her side.
    The curtain slides open.
    A slender woman stands at the foot of the bed, holding the curtain. Her teeth are very straight. Cyn holds still, examining her, deciding whether to see what happens next or try to make an escape, despite the pain.
    “Are you thirsty?” the woman asks.
    Her throat is hot. She nods once.
    The woman comes back with a water bottle, bending the plastic straw and putting it to Cyn’s lips. She draws a few swallows. It puts her at ease.
    “Take these, if you can. They’ll reduce the discomfort.”
    She puts two pills between her lips and follows it with water. Cyn swallows them, recalling someone giving her pills before, but not quite remembering whom.
    Or why.
    The woman’s hair is straight, cut at the shoulders and graying. “I’m Dr. Mazyck. Call me Linda.”
    “Doctor?” The word scratches its way out.
    “I’m a psychologist. I work for the military. Do you know where you are?”
    Again, Cyn looks around. Nothing is familiar. A four-wheeler drives somewhere out there, changing gears and speeding off. A generator starts up. In the background, there’s a thumping of propellers, steady and low.
    I should know what that is.
    “You’ve had a long journey.” Linda gently squeezes her shoulder. “You’re safe.”
    Cyn takes another drink. Her forehead has cooled. She touches it without considerable pain. Her back and legs ache terribly. She moves her arm.
    “Do you want to sit up?”
    Linda pulls off the covers and puts her arm beneath the pillow, uses it to slowly lift her into a sitting position. Her clothes are beige and clean, like hospital scrubs. Cyn puts her feet on the ground, expecting it to hurt. When the nausea settles, she reaches halfway down her shin, her fingers walking the pant leg up to expose her feet.
    Her clean, perfect feet.
    “I don’t understand,” she half-whispers. “There was something wrong…”
    “What do you remember?”
    Confusion obscures a thousand thoughts. She can’t pick one of them out of the mental storm, the memories swirling around and around.
    “I was lost.” She looks around. An empty bed across from her. “There were others.”
    Linda nods. Her light blue eyes sympathetic, understanding. But it just doesn’t seem real, just something she’s imagining, not remembering.
    “You have been dreaming.”
    Cyn touches her forehead, very tender around a circular bandage. Tubes dangle from her arm. “What’s happening?” she whispers.
    A door opens at the far end of the room, letting in a draft. Linda stands, walks briskly towards the man hustling inside.
    “Not yet,” Linda says in a semi-hushed tone. “She just woke up. It’ll take a little time for her to understand what’s happened.”
    “There’s no time,” the man says. “The others are still inside.”
    “Don’t push it, Thomas.”
    “Now’s not the time to be cautious, Linda.”
    “Now is exactly the time to be cautious!” She stops him off from going around her.