Elijah's Chariot (The Forgotten Children Book 1) (29 page)

Glowing
cinders floated upward into the night sky above the campfire only to finally
disappear, their tiny lights winking out in the starry blackness above. Sean
stared at the sky, trying to remember the last time he’d seen so many stars. It
must have been on the last camping trip with his family. They’d sat around a
campfire, just like this one, while his father pointed out the various
constellations, his mother adding the history and background of all the gods
after which they were named. It was somehow comforting to Sean that Russia, a
land that had for so long seemed so foreign and far away from his own, also had
such beautiful, star-filled night skies. 

“Did
he tell you who sent Elijah? Or who would come for this stone?”

Viktor’s
face was glowing red and orange from the fire in front of him. He held a long
stick in his left hand and absently jabbed it into the coals at his feet. He
looked tired, Sean thought. Then again, he probably did too. It had been a long
day – a long several weeks since the meteorite had landed. Practically a
lifetime.  

“No.
I didn’t ask him – I didn’t have time.” Sean stretched out his hand which held,
and had been holding for the entire afternoon and evening, the smooth, white
crystal that he believed to be a piece of the Source. He’d just finished
telling Viktor, Svyeta and Ryan about his experience with his father, relaying
everything that he’d said about their brains, their new talents and the Source.
As with Viktor, a million questions still filled Sean’s mind. 

Occasionally,
theories and ideas would attach themselves as possible solutions to some of
these un-tethered questions, but he seriously wondered if he would ever find
the real answers at all. Viktor, Svyeta and Ryan had seen visions of their
families too, but they had not relayed any of the information that Sean’s
father had. Theirs had been discussions of shared memories and experiences,
apologies and confessions of love previously left unsaid, with little talk of
the future or explanations of the past. 

Viktor
leaned back into the portable canvas chair that they’d found in one of the
tents. He stared into the flames, mulling over the events of the day, Sean’s
explanation of what had happened to them and his own conversation with his
mother. It had been real, it had to be, he told himself. It wasn’t a dream.
He’d been entirely aware and in control of himself the entire time. Unlike
other pleasant dreams that had always revealed themselves once he’d woken up,
this experience still seemed just as real hours later. He’d sat in this very
clearing, talking with her in a way that he never really had before. She’d
apologized – which surprised him above all else – for the way she’d treated him,
for not being a better mother. But, he’d never thought of her as a bad mother.
That’s just the way she was. He always assumed that it was because of the
difficulty of her life that she was always so short with him. Having to take
care of him, his sister and his grandmother after his father had left. Viktor
had always imagined the anger she must have felt at having her only son be born
a cripple, unable to help in the way that he should. The fact that she had
always pushed him, always been so strict with him had always meant to Viktor
that she really loved him and that she wasn’t going to allow his disability to
be an excuse for not using the one thing he had that did function properly –
his mind. But, apologized she had. Viktor supposed that all mothers probably
felt that way – that they hadn’t done enough for their children, that they had
never shown enough kindness. 

A
small pit of anger began to grow in his stomach as his mind again turned to the
cold, immovable meteorite resting just across the clearing. It sat, heedless of
the havoc and destruction it had caused, the pain that it had wrought in the
lives of billions. Sean’s experience, his finding the white stone, their
abilities all proved that it wasn’t just chance, some freak accident of nature.
Someone had sent it here for some unknown purpose. Someone had deliberately
killed his family and had changed his life forever. 

And
how have they changed my life, Viktor thought. He glanced down at his body –
his two hands, the straight fingers and fully movable wrists, his arms and
legs. I was a cripple – only half a person really, Viktor mumbled to himself.
And now I’m whole. I’m free to live a life that I thought I would never have.
Whatever, whoever did this to us – they changed us. But, they’ve also given us
new life. I would never have traded my family for this new body, this new
brain, Viktor told himself. I could never have done that. But, the choice
wasn’t given to us – it was made for us. And how can we know how many other
children’s lives have been changed for the better? How many others like me in
the world can now move and walk – even possibly run one day? And once all this
death and grief and pain are further away, once we’ve learned how to live in
this new world with our newfound talents, how much good and happiness could
come then? How can we now know what greater good could someday rise out of the
ashes of our former world? 

Ryan
McCaney stood and stretched, reaching his hands out toward the stars. He
stomped his feet on the ground, trying to get the blood flowing again. 

“You
guys get enough to eat?” he said as he picked up the plastic bowls that had
held their dinner – canned soup again. The three nodded and Ryan walked over to
a bag of trash hanging near the entrance to one of the tents. He paused
momentarily to stare at the dancing flames of the fire. They were probably
still thinking about the exact same thing, Ryan thought to himself –
remembering their families and their experiences of the afternoon. It’s
probably better this way, he mused. This makes it all a little better, in a
way, for all of us. 

“I’m
about ready for some sleep – you ready to turn in soon?

Viktor
stood slowly, stretching his back, dropped his stick near the fire and wandered
over to the tent where they had found a few cots. Sean and Svyeta remained
sitting, staring at the night sky. 

“I’ll
be there in a few minutes,” Sean said.

Ryan
nodded and turned to walk back to the tent. 

“My
mother said something that surprised me,” Svyeta said, staring into the fire.
Sean waited for her to go on – she’d been so quiet all afternoon after their
dreams.

“She
thanked me for keeping the family together before Elijah came and… said she was
sorry that I’d had to for so long, but that it was what I was good at. She said
that it was something I needed too – taking care of people. I hadn’t thought of
it like that before, but now I think she’s right. It made me feel good when I
thought they needed me and when I could help them – Zhenya with school, my mom
with the house and my father… with his problems. I know we all feel lost
without our families and I miss mine so much…”

Sean
nodded. “We have a new family now – all of us. And you can take care of us,
because you are good at it. We need that.”

Svyeta
smiled and nodded, pulling her jacket tighter around her neck. 

“We
should go to sleep – it’s getting colder.”

“I’ll
be there soon,” Sean said. 

She
smiled again and walked over to the tent. 

Sean
pulled his gaze down from the twinkling stars in the blanket of night to the
alien stone in his hand. It was somewhat flat and round, almost like a small
disc that had been melted by an intense heat. There was some evidence of its
once jagged edges that had become multiple, smooth, tiny facets of reflective
stone that had been molded and changed, trapped just beneath the almost
translucent surface. Other portions were entirely opaque – just a dense,
swirled cloud of milky-white rock. 

Has
it all been worth it for this, he wondered. How could this little piece, and
the rest that had sunk into the ground, be so important that the lives of so
many could have been so easily traded for it? Is there something that we’re
supposed to learn from all this? Some greater message that we’re missing? What
greater good can be accomplished from so much death?

Suddenly,
the image of little Zhenya’s fluttering dress came to his mind. He could see
her, once again as he had so many times in dreams and waking nightmares over
the past few days, falling forward, her hair spilling around her head. As soon
as she’d hit the ground, she’d stopped moving. Sean had thought that so odd at
the time, how the life seemed to be immediately forced out of her body right
when she hit the pavement, as if only her body stopped, but her soul kept
falling, deeper and deeper into the ground.

The
anger he’d felt when he saw her fall returned to him again, not quite as
forcefully, but lined now with a greater sadness and weariness than before. I
killed him, he thought. I killed him, not just to protect the others, but
because I was angry. I murdered him – I am a murderer. What greater good or
purpose can ever make up for that?

The
next morning, as Ryan, Svyeta and Viktor were sorting through the equipment and
supplies left behind by the research team, Sean found himself wandering along a
path that led out of the clearing, through some white pines that seemed to be
standing as silent sentries along the way. His hands ran softly over the tall,
wild grass that grew in patches, catching seed kernels between his fingers. 

 He
stopped at a break in the forest, a grove of trees that lay to the side of the
deer trail he’d been following. The morning sun was breaking through the
branches, lazily soaring insects caught in its warm rays. Sean looked around
the clearing to make sure that he was alone, then carefully knelt down on the
ground. 

His
sleep the night before had been fitful, plagued by dreams of his parents dying
over and over again, of Svyeta and Zhenya and all the other children in Moscow
alone and starving. And of Elizabeth, left alone and frightened in their large,
lonely home back in Pasadena. Finally, just before dawn, he’d given up on sleep
and gone out to restart the fire for breakfast. 

Sean
pulled out the handwritten letter that his father had given him on that last
day. He didn’t read it again – he’d already poured through the words dozens of
times over the past few days – but just tugged at its corners, absently
wondering how long the paper and ink would last, how long he would still be
able to read it. He could still see his father’s face as he handed him the
letter, his awkwardness in trying to explain it.   

His
dream or vision or whatever it had been came back to him now – both his parents
smiling, holding each other as they disappeared into the brilliant pillar of
white light. Sean imagined both of them together again as they had always been
– trading jokes and teasing as they stood in the kitchen washing dishes or
painting old furniture in the garage. Where were they now, he wondered. Were
they happy? Were they happy with him? How could they be, Sean thought. 

Svyeta’s
face loomed in his mind wearing the look of terror she’d had when Zhenya broke
away, running. Her scream echoed hollowly, then was quickly cut off by the
thundering sound of the gun. 

Sean
squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out Ivan’s bloodied face that came back
to him unbidden, for the hundredth time already that day. He saw his parents
again, imagined them looking on as he punched Ivan in the face. In his mind, he
saw them turn away, their faces white and grave. Tears came now, squeezing out
of his tightly clenched lids, and he buried his head in his hands. 

He
felt pain course through his body, wracking his chest and throat with powerful
sobs. Ivan’s body was again lying on the pavement in front of him and his mind
was reeling, trying to grasp what he’d just done. He remembered the feeling of
panic that had gripped him, seeing Ivan just lying there. He’d wanted him to
stand back up, to have his face be back the way it was supposed to be and for
him to be up and walking around again. But, he’d just lain there, completely
still. 

Sean
heard a sound struggle up from deep in his chest, a pitiful, whining moan that
came out high and ragged between his tears. He squeezed his palms against his
temples, trying to force out the image of Ivan’s face, desperately searching
for some other thought to fasten upon, anything that would take the place of
the dead boy in his thoughts. But, all he could feel was the finality of his
act, the utter despair that filled him and the fear that he would always feel
the stain of Ivan’s blood on his hands, no matter how hard he ever scrubbed
them. 

A
wind blew through his hair, chilling his wet cheeks. He opened his swollen
eyes, peering at the sea of grass, waving ferns and tall trees of the immense
forest.   

Sean
lifted his head to look into the pale blue sky above him, feeling as small as a
stray speck of dust blowing through the vast forest. He cleared his throat and
wiped the tears from his eyes. 

“Mom,
Dad,” he began, but his words were choked short by his constricted throat. “Mom
and Dad, I don’t know if you can hear me or where you are, but … I saw you
yesterday, somehow, in my dream. You were together and you looked happy….”

Sean
paused momentarily before continuing, trying to regain control of the
fluttering feeling in his chest. “I’ve done something… something terrible. And
I can’t fix it – I can’t take it back even though I want to. I just want, I
need to know if… if you can still accept me as your son… after what I’ve done.”

Sean’s
eyes searched the empty blueness above, heedless of the tears that poured
softly down his cheeks. He felt the wind blow through his hair, bringing with
it the scents of the living forest around him.                  

Gradually,
as Sean knelt in the grove of trees, he began to feel a small warmth spreading
through his chest, filling him until it stretched out to his fingertips and
down into his legs. His tears stopped and he was acutely aware of everything
around him, the smells, the warm dankness of the earth and vegetation, the
moisture of the ground beneath his knees. These thoughts of the vitality of the
world around him drove all his previous fears and imaginings away. The death,
fear and pain receded until all he could concentrate on was the sheer
physicality and majesty of the forest around him as his body seemed to be
entirely suffused with some inner heat. 

Suddenly,
the image of the falling green lamp that he’d seen right after Zhenya died
flashed through his mind again. It fell so slowly, finally shattering into
hundreds of pieces on the hardwood floor. He felt more than saw rapid movement
in the background, sensed the hurried patter of feet, running, trying to get
away. And a soft, helpless cry of fear. 

From
somewhere deep within, Sean felt the words the moment before he said them
aloud, as if they had somehow been planted there and were only now blooming
like a softly unfolding rose into the full light of day. Immediately as he felt
them, he felt their truth as well and the unyielding sense of urgency and
responsibility that they carried.  

Sean
opened his mouth and the words came out. “Elizabeth is still alive.”