Surviving the Improbable Quest Read online

  A bug lands on him. It resembles a dragonfly, but its eyes are at the end of long protrusions on its head, and it has twenty or more legs. He stares for a moment then shoos the bug away. Worry and confusion creep up Allan’s spine. He crawls faster, trying not to see the strange world. This is all in my head. I’m seeing things. Keep going. He tells himself. I’m on Earth, I’m on Earth, I’m on Earth.

  Allan approaches a twenty-foot cliff. He wishes he’d stayed next to the river. There’s no water around anywhere, not even the sound of it. Confusion clouds Allan’s thoughts, and he has no choice but to ignore the prickling fear that threatens to overtake his body. He chalks his uncertainty up to his fatigue and general bad sense of direction. Once he finds a way around the cliff he’ll find the river. After careful study, he drags himself away into the woods.

  The rocky cliff lowers and becomes a hill. He’ll go around the last large boulder that towers over his head and head back to the river, if it’s still there. Feeling fatigued from scooting backward he switches to crawling on his knees. I’m moving like a freaking slug here.

  As Allan gets closer to the side of the boulder he hears a noise. A rustle. He tries to move faster. Another rustle disturbs the silent woods, but this time it’s louder. Could it be a bear? Or maybe a raccoon? Allan peeks around the boulder and sees a fallen tree. Beyond the dead tree the forest is dense. The tree trunks look wavy, like viewing them through water, and the leaves are more like tufts of cotton than leaves.

  Another rustle. Fear swarms over his thoughts. It erodes his determination, like great waves scooping the sand, carrying it out to a sea of despair.

  The forest is darker and more ominous. The shadows hide things.

  Allan continues scooting toward the camp. He negotiates around crooked trees and pokey, dried leaves and under overgrown, blue ferns. The towering trees block most of the light, keeping the shadows cool. Only slivers of light break through the canopy.

  As the sky dims, the shadows grow longer. Camp has to be around the corner. The parade of never-ending corners is a familiar torture. Allan remembers hiking with his parents. They’d drag him to some dusty trail and try to get him to talk about girls, friends or his dreams. He would bear it for a while until boredom conquered all but his ability to complain. They’d always tell him the trail ended just around the corner, but it never did.

  The temperature drops. Allan hurts, is seeing strange colors swirl in the air and feels a misery he has not felt since his parents died. I give up. You’re wrong Dream Spirit. I can’t do this. He lies on his back and tries to relax, but can’t stop his mind from traveling back to the moment he woke in the hospital.

  #

  Allan had awoken on a stiff bed wrapped in warm sheets. Something was sticking in his wrist, other things were stuck to his head and a plastic clip was wrapped around his index finger. He sat up quickly. Pain sizzled in his brain until he was forced to sit back down. A strange woman burst into his room. She wore baby-blue pajamas with little bears printed all over them. Her mouth moved, but Allan couldn’t hear her voice. Seconds passed before he could hear her. It was as if someone had cranked up the volume: beeping machines, someone in the hallway yelling, heavy footfalls.

  He looked around. Blue and yellow wallpaper, a side table holding flowers and balloons, a window that was dark behind the blinds, a strange man sleeping in a chair with a magazine lying across his chest and ear buds dangling from his ears. A nurse grabbed Allan’s hand and squeezed.

  “It’s okay, hon. Just relax. You’re in the hospital. There was an accident, but you’re safe now.”

  Allan’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He tried to scream, but couldn’t. Another nurse injected a liquid into his IV and instantly Allan relaxed and melted into the bed. His heart slowed and his thoughts stopped. The beeping in the room sang a lullaby rhythm.

  The strange man woke and bounced out of the chair like he was launched by a huge spring. He took Allan’s other hand. Allan yanked it away, not knowing the man. A sliding glass door opened, and a doctor wearing a long white coat entered.

  “It’s okay, kid. Doc’s gonna check you out.” The man had light brown, tousled hair and torn jeans. His eyes looked familiar, but a long fuzzy beard hid his face.

  The doctor swept a flashlight across Allan’s eyes. He peered into Allan’s mouth and ears and spoke quietly to the nurse. He turned back around and smiled wide.

  “Hello, Allan. I’m Doctor Kumar. There is no easy way to say this, but you’ve been in a coma for two weeks. How do you feel?”

  Allan searched for his parents. Where could they be? His mouth wouldn’t open and his head started spinning. He tried to pull his legs to his chest. When that didn’t work, he tried to roll off the bed. The doctor and the bearded man forced him back and pressed him into the mattress. His legs didn’t work. Some hard, plastic thing was strapped to his back, keeping him prostrate. He sobbed and squeezed his eyelids shut, wishing it all away. Wishing to be in his mother’s arms, he saw her in his mind. She was beautiful and strong, but she couldn’t come closer to him. She remained at a distance. Was she mad? She stepped away. No, come back. Help me! Allan thought. The machines beeped out of control and Allan passed out.

  The next day the doctor and the stranger were still there along with two nurses. The doctor put an X-ray print on a light board and turned the light on. “Hello, Allan. So, basically, bones in your lower spine have shattered, and splinters punctured your spinal cord. We cannot fix your spinal cord. You will probably never walk again.” The bearded man grabbed Allan’s hand and, this time, Allan didn’t pull away.

  “I’m your uncle, Rubic,” the bearded man said. Allan hadn’t seen his uncle in a long time. His thick beard made him look different. After watching Rubic speak and absorbing his shape and mannerisms, Allan remembered him. He used to see Rubic on Thanksgiving Day. He’d show up with fireworks on the Fourth of July and was always at Allan’s birthdays until four years ago when he moved to California. “Your parents died in the crash, kiddo.” Rubic’s eyes filled with tears then slid down his face.

  Allan shook his head slowly at first, then faster. He tried to shut out the voices, and when the doctor did not stop talking, he bundled up the bed sheets and wrapped them around his head pressing on his ears. I’m not here. This isn’t happening. I’m sleeping or still in the coma.

  Rubic helped the nurse pull the sheet down and said, “That’s enough bomb shells for today, Doc.”

  #

  During the next week, nurses brought Allan trays of pearl-white mashed potatoes, soggy beans and strange looking cuts of meat. The smell of the food made him nauseous. “Just try one bite,” his least favorite nurse coaxed. Allan tightened his lips. “You’ve got to . . .”

  “Yeah, thanks lady. He’s got all he needs in these bags.” Rubic pointed to the IV bags hung next to Allan’s bed. “Time to scoot.”

  Everything the nurses brought to eat made Allan dizzy or sick to his stomach. They tried Jell-O, popsicles, and pizza. Day after day passed and Allan still refused to eat.

  A month slipped by. Nurses whom, seeing his colossal embarrassment, apologized when washing his private areas. Whenever he pushed a button, two nurses came. Sometimes they carried him by his armpits to the bathroom. Other times they sat with him when he woke crying in the middle of the night. Over time more gifts arrived and filled the room. The color explosion and the smell of the flowers made Allan sick to his stomach. The light filtered through the blinds, but no one opened them like his mother would have done.

  That’s when he met his therapist, Dr. Brooks. She came once a day for an hour just to talk. Allan liked her. She tried to get Allan to talk, but he couldn’t say a word. When she became too annoying, Allan looked at the window and never at his balloons or gift bags or teddy bears with “Get Well’ slogans stitched into their chests.

  Early one morning, the door opened and a nurse entered. In the hallway Rubic spoke to a thin woman wearing a grey professional suit ho
lding a thick binder. Allan could barely hear Rubic’s voice, “Me? Why me? I never agreed to take him. What do I know about caring for a . . . “

  The woman replied, “If not you, there’s always foster care.” The door clicked shut muting their conversation. Allan squeezed his eyes shut fighting back tears. The nurse said something to him, but he didn’t hear her. She fixed his blanket, tucked it under him to ward off the cold and left. The next time the door opened it was Rubic. He was walking backward. He turned and parked a new wheelchair next to the bed. It was shiny with black leather armrests and a seat cushion. A flashy logo on the backrest depicted a wheel on fire. It looked like the Hot Wheels’ logo. Rubic pointed out the side pockets.

  “You can put your iPod in here. Or some chips. Whatever you want. Cool, huh?”

  Allan looked away. I’m still in a coma, so I won’t really need that thing. He thought he was dreaming this endless paralytic nightmare. I need to wake up now, he repeated in his head. Please, somebody wake me up!

  Rubic lifted Allan off his bed by his armpits, which were getting quite sore from all the lifting, and sat him in the new wheelchair. Rubic placed his limp feet on the foot rests and pushed him to a room with five other kids in recovery from some accident or surgery or disease. The room was bigger, had more windows and more TV’s. The nurses brought Allan’s gifts and balloons and situated them around his bed. Allan still didn’t open any of the presents. Their presence was torture, nothing shiny or new or fun could ease his pain.

  After the sun went down, Rubic returned with French fries and ranch dressing. Allan reluctantly took a fry. It was good. It didn’t make Allan want to puke so he ate more. Good, so good.

  The next few days, two aunts, more cousins than he could remember and his only, very elderly, grandmother visited Allan. While pretending to be asleep, Allan overheard his grandmother ask Rubic why he couldn’t speak. Rubic whispered, “Doc says he can speak if he wants to. Nothing wrong with his brain or his throat. But he won’t. He’s still in some kind of shock.”

  Kids from Allan’s school visited him, which made him want to die. They were so loud it was like a crashing gong next to his ear. They tried to give him gifts, and some of the girls had drawn colorful pictures for him—which he wanted to burn. A girl from his English class, Laura, touched his hand. Allan looked away. He used to have a crush on her, but none of those feelings stirred in him now.

  Then his swim team visited. The coach brought him a participation trophy. Allan looked at the trophy and gripped it tightly, trying to bend the plastic golden figure. He wanted to throw the stupid trophy out the window.

  His coach tried to wear a happy simile. “You can still swim. I’ll teach you to tread water with your hands, and you can even race. Compete with other paraplegics.”

  Allan nodded a small nod and looked away. Race with other paraplegics? No thanks. It seems to Allan that any race filled with crippled kids would just be a sideshow. He could still remember that last one-hundred-meter race. They chanted his name. He was important. Not anymore, not now.

  Two more weeks slipped by mostly unnoticed. The special doctor hadn’t been around for over two days. Allan flipped through the TV channels, but nothing good was ever on.

  Rubic came wearing his tan over-sized jacket with the brown patched elbows and torn jeans—it was what he always wore. “Hey.” Allan didn’t smile. He turned back to the TV. Rubic took the remote from him and clicked it off. “Today’s a big day.”

  The words ‘Big Day’ used to bring excitement or enthusiastic curiosity, but the words didn’t prompt reaction. No more big days as far as Allan was concerned.

  “You get to come home.” Rubic flipped the remote around in his hands nervously. “Don’t worry, not my crappy house. Home, home. Your parents made me your legal guardian. They left your house to me. To us.” Tears swelled in Allan’s eyes.

  “Don’t worry, kid. You don’t wanna go there? No problem. We’ll go stay at a hotel. Any one you want.”

  Allan was not excited about going home, but he didn’t fear it. Like everything else that surrounded him, spoke to him, happened to him, it just was nothing to look forward to.

  Chapter 6

  Following Cake

  As Allan lay on the forest floor, sweat soaked and aching, he remembers the last thing Rubic said that day. “Come on kid, home is better than this place. You’ll see. I’ve filled the entire refrigerator up with ice cream.”

  Rubic tried so hard. Allan will try, too. He sits up and keeps heading uphill, hopefully toward camp.

  Thunder booms overhead. Allan looks up to find that dark clouds have rolled over the blue sky. Lightning flashes. Just what I need, more water and mud. Allan drags himself under a colossal, fallen tree trunk. He scoots up another incline. As he pushes through a bush with purple leaves in the shape of W’s, he notices a trail. It’s just what he has been looking for. He presses his cheek to the dirt on the trail, thankful that there will be no more crawling through strange plants and over sharp rocks. Allan hears his dad’s voice in his head: “There is a path to all things good. Follow good things and you’ll never need a map.”

  If the path doesn’t lead to camp it should lead somewhere where he can get help. He’s getting good at scooting backward, crawling on his knees and hopping on his hips.

  “Oh scanta landra panta pong. Beautiful pinta pom.” Sings a strange high-pitched voice. The song is in a different language, but that doesn’t matter. Allan’s expectations lift to the tops of the trees. Here comes someone that will help. From behind a tall fern steps something other than a human. But it’s not entirely an animal. It is something of a mix. It has the head of a salamander but the body of a man. The thing wears a grey threadbare jacket more suitable to a homeless man than an amphibian. Its black glossy skin looks almost slimy. Its eyes are large and its pupils are vertical like a viper’s.

  “The dina is good, the dina is great. The more I serve the more money I make.” it sings this time in English. It carries a large tray with a cake surrounded by purple grapes as big as golf balls. A twig with a leaf sticks out of the cake, but the salamander-man doesn’t bother cleaning it off. He struts by Allan without noticing him. Allan rubs his eyes. Why didn’t it see me? This is nuts! I must be hallucinating. The thing continues around a large outcropping of rock. Allan doesn’t see anything scary about the thing. In fact, it looks quite domesticated. And, well, it carries cake. That’s not only a good sign, it’s a miracle. After all, it’s probably some guy in a costume. Yes, it’s just some dude in a funny costume.

  Allan pauses. What if he’s wrong? What if the person is bad? Just like a bully can trick you with a smile and a wink. Life itself seems intent on delivering Allan pain and sorrow and nothing more, so how can he trust anyone or anything?

  The image of the tall cake tips his decision. The salamander-man will save him and Rubic. Allan follows the salamander-man, but he can’t go fast enough. After Allan rounds the rocky outcropping there is another twist in the trail that cuts through large trees. The salamander-man is too far ahead. Allan scoots and hops. His palms ache and his muscles shake, but he must catch up.

  Come back salamander-man!

  Allan opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. His arm gives out and he falls to his back. He waited too long. Indecision cost him. On occasion, Allan’s father would get impatient with his indecisiveness. He advised Allan to choose or life would pass him by. Even his mother told him that irrational fear led to indecision.

  Allan pounds the dirt. Why does it always take him so long to decide? Indecision is why he didn’t complete that science project. Indecision was why his parents were mad at him and why they crashed their car. Snot and tears run down his face.

  Allan pulls himself up and starts scooting. A squeal turns his attention to his hands. He lifts it to find a small creature smashed into the mud. The creature squeals again, a painful sound. It has a small head, no bigger than a gumball and a snout like a frog. Its neck is long and its body is covered i
n scales. Little horns adorn its head like a mohawk, and it can almost be a large lizard, but it isn’t. Its body is more like a human’s, just like the salamander-man. Allan picks the sad creature up. It cries out and Allan drops it. He’s never seen anything like it.

  From the shadows of the purple plant come a dozen creatures of similar form. They attack Allan by grabbing, hitting and biting. It doesn’t hurt, but they still try. Scowls mark their faces and angry shrieks color their yells.

  Get off me! Allan thinks as one biter draws blood from his forearm. He bats one away and scowls the most evil scowl he can muster. The small creatures flee in a panic, their hurt comrade in tow.

  If this is my imagination then I’m not even awake. I must be lying in that stream, unconscious or even dead. Maybe this is the afterlife. Allan looks around. I do have an amazing imagination. My parents and teachers always said so. Just like in class, when Allan tries to concentrate, his brain switches to his drawings instead of paying attention. He’s good at imagining odd things. It seems most likely he is still next to his uncle lying unconscious in the riverbed.

  Allan laughs and continues crawling, satisfied that his mind is the culprit of all the strangeness. He has to stay focused. No matter how tired he gets, he has to keep going. Dream or not, he’s got a job to do.

  Chapter 7

  Tea Party Rumors

  Allan pursues the salamander-man. It is his best option. He follows the trail through the dense forest, the trees on either side towering over him like skyscrapers.

  The daylight darkens leaving twilight in its wake, and a fog creeps in. Dark clouds crowd the sky above filled with flickering lightning, but no rain. Not yet.

  Voices snap him out of his thoughts. The fog has obscured the trail completely. Allan drags himself toward the voices and peeks around a tree. Forty feet away sit a table and chairs. Sitting at the table are two smaller salamander-people. They, too, have black shiny skin. One has orange spots on its neck and head; the other has yellow markings. They wear funny clothes. One has a collar of towering petals; the other’s collar is made of wires with colorful balls at the ends. They laugh and sip from teacups. The taller salamander-man with the suit cuts the cake into slices and serves each salamander-person.