Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Molly jogged up the hill that ran between the two cornfields next to the church, heading toward the campground. Blood pumped hard through her body, driven by adrenaline—a nice side effect from her visit to the manse. She caught her breath at the top of the hill, letting her eyes drift across the fields, down toward the main road, and over the rooftops of the encroaching neighborhoods. Through the gap of trees just beyond the neighborhoods, she realized, must be the Adventure Park. A brief second of sadness swept through her as she thought of Tracey. She glanced in the direction of the Perkinson House. The tips of the turrets were barely visible.

Molly jogged the remaining length of the path and down the slope to the inner circle of the campground. The wind slipped through the trees, making eerie, scratching sounds as branches and leaves commingled. The surrounding trees were imposing, as if they had wrapped their branches around the secluded site and were protecting it from outsiders. Molly walked to the wooden box closest to the path where she had found the candy wrapper. She waited for the taste of apple candy to return, simultaneously relieved and discouraged when it did not. She laid her palm against the rough splintering wood on the outside of the box, the ridges and grooves filled the soft creases of her hand. She waited, hoping for the Knowing to take hold. She closed her eyes and opened her mind, willing it to come forward, to bring details of Tracey’s whereabouts. The sound of the wind whispering through the trees swirled around her, the crackling of leaves scattering across the ground created an eerie accompaniment, but she experienced no other sensation. There was no tingling, no fading vision, not even so much as a single goose bump on her skin. She felt bare, hollow—disillusioned.

Molly withdrew her hand, the T scar still blending neatly into her palm. “Damn,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Come on, damn it!” she said through clenched teeth. “I know there is something here!” she pleaded. “Just show me the way, I’ll do the rest.” Her arms and legs shook from the cold. Her undergarments stuck to her skin, wet with sweat, her forehead beaded with perspiration. She jogged around the edges of the campsite, around and around she ran, warming her body and trying to piece together the puzzle of the area. She moved to each box, placing her palm flat against the side, anxiously waiting, hoping for a sign, something to give her pause. When there was no sensation, she lifted each lid, as she had before, and scrutinized the interior. The weight of the lids mirrored the heaviness of her heart. Molly’s frustration grew. She paced the campsite racking her brain with what-ifs. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could control the Knowing, demand that it come forth, as she’d been able to in the police station.

Molly sighed heavily, defeated. Anger rose in her chest, pushing tears from her eyes. Molly hated when she cried, feeling like a weak child. She sucked in a deep breath of the cold air and sprinted up the incline and down the path toward the church. She ran right onto White Ground Road, hoping the Knowing would find her there. She pushed her ear buds into place and ran to the rhythm, fast and hard.

They had been walking so long that Tracey’s legs ached. Weaving in and out of the tunnels confused her, but the metal tracks that appeared in the tunnels farthest from where they slept were more bothersome than the pain in her legs. She had to step in the narrow path between the tracks. Every few steps Tracey would forget to watch her feet and the side of her foot would slip into the crevice along the track, causing her ankle to twist a little. She had no idea how Mummy could walk between the tracks so easily with her huge feet—she never slipped into the crack. Each time they passed an entrance, a hole cut through the dirt wall, Tracey peeked to see if it led to a room or another tunnel. They were all pitch black, until Mummy lifted the lantern and light flowed in, revealing what lay beyond. Tracey thought of each area that wasn’t a tunnel as a room, even though most were no bigger than the size of a closet. A few of them were larger—not as large as their sleeping place, but large enough to have a few rectangular carts stored side by side. The carts were old and dirty with rusty metal and dented sides resting upon a wide base of aged and scarred wood. Tracey was taken with the eight small wheels under the carts, four on either side. She had wanted to play with the carts, take one back with them to their sleeping area—she thought it might make a good doll carriage, even if it was a little heavy—but Mummy had said no. She said she had asked her mother the same thing when she’d first come to the tunnels, long before her mother had died.

Tracey lifted her doll to her chest and hugged it. She had sort of forgotten that she was carrying the doll. She had dragged it part of the way, and now the doll’s toes were brown with dirt. She twisted her body from side to side, as if nervously rocking the doll. “I’m sorry your mom died,” she said. Tracey had heard adults say they were sorry when they talked about someone who was sick, and she thought it was the perfect time to use what she had learned.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We had a lot of fun together.” She turned to Tracey and smiled.

“But she was sick.”

“She was sick. She told me that she was born sick, and that I wasn’t, so I wouldn’t have to worry about getting sick.” She stretched her long arms out to her sides, almost touching each side of the dirt room. “Healthy as can be! And you are, too, little missy.” She tapped the tip of Tracey’s nose lightly with her index finger. Tracey giggled. “Thank you,” Tracey said. “For what?” “For saving me. I’m glad I won’t get sick and die.” “Well, everyone dies, Tracey. You know that, right?” she asked.

“I know, but not until they’re really, really old, usually. Like my one grandma? She’s really old and she’s still alive.” Tracey twisted her doll’s hair. “Hey, how come the toxins didn’t kill her?” she asked.

“Because they don’t kill everyone. Sometimes people are just fine, but I had to make sure that you weren’t one of the ones that got sick,” she smiled. “Remember when we used to play at the park?”

“Yes,” Tracey remembered the two of them playing tag around the big castle.

“Well, I knew you were just the type of little girl that I should save, someone just like me.”

Tracey cocked her head and looked at Mummy, wondering in what ways they were alike. She is big, and I am little. She doesn’t have a mom anymore, and I did, do , she thought.

“You and I, we got along so well, Tracey.” Mummy rested her arm around Tracey’s shoulders. “I knew that you should be saved. I saw how much fun your mom had with Emma and how sometimes you looked really sad. I didn’t want you to be sad. I knew you deserved to be happy, to be saved.”

Tracey couldn’t speak. A giant lump expanded in her throat, tears burned the back of her eyes. She missed Emma and her mother. She missed playing with them. She missed their breakfasts together and the way she and Emma used to stick together when they were bored. She even missed when she used to fight with Emma. Tracey tried not to cry, and Mummy drew her in close.

“It’s all right, Tracey.” She stroked Tracey’s back, her hair, just like Tracey’s own mother used to. “It’s okay to be sad sometimes. I’m sad sometimes, too. My mummy is gone, too, remember?”

Tracey nodded, sniffling back the tears.

“But now I have you!” she stood up and held Tracey’s hand. “You’ll see, Tracey. You’ll see how much I can teach you about God and how to talk to Him. You’ll see how much fun we’ll have—and when you’re a little bigger, I’ll even let you play with the carts!”