Chapter 5

Another night of fleeing led to another disheartening sight once the sun broke the mountain tops. When I escaped the scab camp, I didn’t know where I was, but I wished I had stayed lost for one more day.

  Waves of nostalgia pressed me to the ground, and memories of a family trip slammed me hard.

  Our parents never traveled, it was too expensive, and mom was sick all the time. Our grandparents were different. Sometimes, when school was out, they would bring us on vacation. Separated by a day’s run from where I found Andy, a weathered sign pulled me towards a place I never thought I’d visit again.

“Welcome to Lake Placid. Site of the 1932 & 1980 Olympic Winter Games.”

  The birds raised their voices in chorus and turned the valley into a concert hall. Sharp screeches from above, deep caws on the treetops, high-pitched whistles, and twangs that bounced off the surrounding forest like vibrating forks. Songs that the town’s noise typically drowned out carried through the basin free of interference. Voices only bird watchers could distinguish at one time.

  Unfortunately, I was the only audience member, and the beast hordes ravaged the auditorium. They wiped out most villages, especially those in the mountains, but walking through debris was like scanning the aftermath of a nuclear bomb.

  I kicked a pile of bluestone bricks from the rubble of a storefront and pulled a stuffed moose from the ground. The thought of seeing the largest North American mammal excited Lia and me when we came here as children. Grandpa didn’t share our enthusiasm. We didn’t understand how big moose were back then. They were cute in the stores.

  I wish I remembered what happened to the moose toys they bought us.

  After dusting the doll off, I clipped it to my waistband and pressed on. The beasts leveled the tightly packed alpine shops and restaurants made from logs and stone, and they buckled the narrow street from the weight of their stampedes. The lamp posts decorated with wreaths and spiraling white lights along the cobblestone sidewalk laid flattened to the ground, bent at the base.

  Twelve years passed since we came to Lake Placid during winter break. Grandpa rented a cabin for a week, where we woke to the aroma of Grandma’s chocolate chip pancakes and Grandpa’s coffee every morning. Wood crackled and popped in the woodstove throughout the night, and deer horns cast shadows on the walls.

  It was probably the best week of my life.

  There were hundreds of crushed cabins around me, but that cabin seemed so unique. Grandma and Grandpa took the largest room downstairs, and although there were two more bedrooms, we refused to sleep anywhere but the second-floor loft.

  As captains of a pirate ship, Lia and I looked down at our deck and scanned the walls for bounty while our crew of Grandma and Grandpa maintained the vessel. Every night we played with the karaoke set Grandma gave us before bed until we got so tired we passed out. Grandpa yelled for us to be quiet, but we laughed cause we knew he wasn’t mad.

  Grandpa loved listening to us. Each time we visited their house, Lia and I would watch musicals at their home. Grandma was a music teacher and wanted us to sing and learn different instruments. Grandpa played the piano for us, and I learned how to pantomime. Lia was a better singer. She said that wasn’t true, but I think everyone thought she was. She excelled at everything.

  She recognized her talents more than anyone else, so she didn’t join me when I took a free ballet lesson. Lia didn’t want to ruin it for me. The classes were too expensive, anyway. Grandma and Grandpa offered to pay, but mom wouldn’t let them, saying we needed to focus on our studies.

  My stomach sank when she told me that; I wanted to shine on stage. But she was probably right. Still, when we were with Grandma and Grandpa, we sang and danced as much as we wanted.

  I continued through the wreckage, and my attention turned towards the lake in the center of town. Unlike the postcards, the lake only appeared blue when waves from the dusty wind crested. The water looked deep, like the lair of some monster. Perhaps some fish or giant turtle burrowed down below.

  The thought of filling my canteen crossed my mind, but I decided against it. My canteen was half empty, but I didn’t want to mix the sweet-tasting brook with the fishy-smelling lake. The brook tasted just like the cabin’s tap.

  On our first morning there, Grandpa raved about how good the water made his coffee and laughed at our tangled hair. Outside the big window in the living room, the snow fell so hard we could barely see, and Grandma served pancakes covered in local syrup, which had a smoky flavor.

  Grandma made pancakes thin and crispy cause she said they were better when they crunched a little. Grandpa always complained about that, and they would get into an argument, but it was nothing like our parents arguing. Grandma and Grandpa used to laugh when they fought. They accepted there was no hope in changing after being married for so long. Their bickering and name-calling was always fun to witness.

  Whenever we were with Grandma and Grandpa, we didn’t want to leave. They spoiled us too much.

  When the snow turned to flurries, Grandpa took us outside to make a snowman. We put on our snowsuits, boots, hats, and gloves—bundled so tight we felt like we’d burn alive when we were inside—and followed him next to the lamp post in front of the cabin. It wasn’t a giant snowman, and we shaped his head all wrong, but that was the only snowman we ever made.

  I kicked through the rubble and lifted signs from the street: Episcopal church, Gap, Eastern Mountain Sports, ADK, and Crepes By the Lake. The wooden awnings that once hung over the doorways were nothing more than tinder. There wasn’t a great deal in the remnants, but I found a large, rugged green hiking pack, fishing line, hooks, and a firestarter flint. Survivors and scabs scoured the village and stripped everything bare.

  Not that there’d be much, anyway. Mountain villages and small towns fell apart after the fourth breach. Shop owners would have packed their belongings and traveled to the larger cities. The town was empty before the fifth breach destroyed the world.

  I recognized a few of the hand-painted shop signs that once hung by chains above the glass storefronts. Grandma and Grandpa browsed the main strip every afternoon during our stay.

  After dinner, we went to the outdoor skating rink, and Grandma taught us how to ice skate. We fell a lot, and Grandpa kept laughing, but he didn’t dare leave the red barrier wall to come on the ice. The falls never hurt, and the snow flurries continued the whole time. White lights and snow turned the night sky thick and gray; it never let up.

  We stayed five nights in that cabin, leaving on December 27th. Two days later, mom went to the emergency room. Doctors said she had a seizure while driving, which caused her accident. After three weeks on a hospital bed, she had a massive heart attack and died in the night.

  Grandma and Grandpa fell apart. Following four miscarriages, Grandma finally gave birth to Mom. They never had another child. Lia and I didn’t see them for two-and-a-half years, only talking over the phone once a week. I’ll never know for sure, but I think looking at us hurt. Grandma and Grandpa said we could have passed for triplets if we were born 34 years earlier.

  My body still sinks when I picture everyone’s faces. Mom only waking from her coma once, crying and pleading with God to let her live. Grandma’s frozen face in her casket, painted like a clown by the mortician with a fake smile. Grandpa staring out at nothing on his rocking chair when we checked on him, a wool blanket covering his lap. Father’s last goodbye at the bus stop before disappearing, and Lia’s screaming face while they held her to the ground. Everyone I ever cared about went away.

  Seeing what happened to the village was heart-wrenching. Restaurants with enormous fireplaces and bars that hosted local bands became rubble. Hotels, cabins, and cottages that sparkled with dancing string lights were nothing more than splintered wood. The beasts twisted the ski jump towers and wrecked the Olympic village beyond recognition.

  Animals marched on the cities by the tens of thousands and destroyed everything humans created.

  We didn’t understand how great things were at that age. The age when parents shielded their children from the ugly parts of the world and made it as bright as their wallets allowed. It didn’t take long for society to snuff out the stars and shatter the rainbows.

  Still, those memories will never fade, and although the town sat in ruins, the scenic buildings would always hold a place in my heart. I couldn’t talk to Lia, I couldn’t see her, and I couldn’t touch her, but I knew she was with me.

  Amy and Lia, Amelia. We were two parts of a whole, a hospital surprise when my mother only prepared one name. Like an amputee, Lia was my phantom limb.

  The sun dipped behind the mountain forests in a purple blaze, and mist formed over the lake before spreading outwards. The temperature fell, and droplets clung to me like morning dew. Something was wrong, I didn’t know what it was, but the mist didn’t feel empty. Like something lived inside, and it advanced through the town like fingers wrapping around their prey.

  I quickened my pace and searched for the road, but the light faded, and I became disorientated in the rubble. Someone panted next to my ears, and whispers trapped me in a fence. I wanted to shout, to scare whatever circled me, but nothing left my mouth.

  A gust of mist pushed me to the ground, cutting my knees and palms. My chest tightened, and I held my breath; my body turned cold. Every whisper blared in my ears like a siren. Every movement in the air raked across my skin like claws. Fast, then slow. Time flowed in a series of spurts, and once the trembling in my legs came under control, I shot off like a sprinter.

  Red bricks, wooden walls, and metal posts—I fell over them all. The list of injuries grew, but I never turned around and climbed through the shattered town until I found a place to hide.

  The stone foundation to a shop on a hill remained intact, and the leftovers of a roof leaned on top. I dove in without caring about any occupants and kicked the beam propping the ceiling until a part of it collapsed. A rotten wood door to a cellar gave way, and I fell in.

  Passing through walls like they didn’t exist, the damp air filled the room with whispers. Names, places, and thoughts traveled through the currents, then abruptly stopped. Footsteps, or what sounded like footsteps, crept in my direction.

  The mist lifted, but not because the sun burned it off; it lifted unnaturally. Something pulled the fog up and pressed hot air down in a rhythmic pattern—a pattern like breathing. The foul scent of compost and rotten flesh filled the room. Then it began.

  Dust fell from the floor above as the vibrations from the snore-like snarl pulsed through the shop, and shelves packed with glass jars crashed down and cut my legs. Whatever the creature in the mist was, it found me, and it wasn’t leaving.

UYScuti

It’s really a beautiful place, especially during winter. If you ever visit NY, check out upstate, it’s beautiful. If you’re able too, leave a comment with what you think. Thanks for reading.