They stare at me, mouths open.
“It’s worse than putting a fork in an outlet, trust me.”
“Who are you?” the bigger boy asks. He’s wearing a SpongeBob T-shirt.
“Police,” I say. “Go home and forget about it. It’s under investigation. We’ve got the whole area under surveillance.”
The smaller boy looks up, searching the sky for a helicopter, for hidden cameras. His hair is still that baby shade of white-blond.
“That’s right. We’re recording this,” I say. “It’s top secret. If you speak a word to anyone, we’ll know. They’re processing the video footage now. In ten minutes I’ll know your names and where you live.”
“But—”
“I’ll be in touch,” I say, patting SpongeBob’s back. “Just keep quiet and everything will be okay.”
I scan the sky, looking for a helicopter, for hidden cameras. Gray cloud banks gather, a light drizzle becomes steady rain. Under the tree’s umbrellalike canopy of leaves, we stay dry.
“Hurry home.” I twist an imaginary key over my lips.
The smaller boy is first to his bike. In his rush, he has a hard time finding his balance. He finally gets his feet firmly on the pedals, then zooms madly down the hill, toward downtown Ó Direáin.
“Wait up!” the bigger kid calls. He glances over his shoulder at me then disappears, mud flicking behind his bike tires.
I sink to the ground, wasted. My hands tremble. My leg throbs, hot. What can I do? Will they come back? For the next half hour, I stand sentinel at the top of the hill. No sign of them. And I can’t wait any longer; it’s time to go.
I brace myself for the static sting, and it’s fiercer than I remember. My teeth still vibrating, I step inside the oak and wiggle my fingers into the gardening gloves, ready to turn the cold and slick steering disk. The sunlight of Universe Four trickles around the edges of the door until it seals shut, and I’m once again alone. In the dark.
Chapter Fourteen
This time, when the door opens and I step out of the tree, I’m in the middle of the woods. Here in Universe Five, I’m surrounded by trees—elm, oak, hickory, and maple. Other than the twittering of birds, it’s quiet. No sign of Ó Direáin’s high school, no sign of Ennis’s corn-fields. No sign of human existence.
Maybe this is it. This could be the happy-family universe. I’m thinking it’s good to be in unrecognizable territory. That’s what I need. A totally different world. Maybe our house is on the edge of a national park. Or maybe Ó Direáin or Ennis was developed a few miles away, and I’ll find civilization if I walk a while. Mom, George, Patrick, the dogs.
And Dad.
My nerves are still firing after our knock-down. In a good way. I feel plugged in, energized. And it’s a relief to get some of that heavy-as-lead anger off my chest. It makes me wonder … if I’d gone to war with him back in Universe One, I might’ve created a different quantum junction and in turn, an alternative path. Maybe I could’ve talked him out of moving to Ohio if I’d spoken up for myself.
If only.
I attempt to mark my position on Mom’s GPS, but it can’t find a satellite signal. Shaking it and calling it a piece of crap doesn’t seem to help. If I walk a very short distance I might not get lost, and maybe I’ll be able to see the purple glow of the tree if I get disoriented. Even better, I pull a few sheets of blank paper from my notebook knowing I can poke them onto low, skinny branches as I go.
A male cardinal flits nearby. Fungus-covered logs litter the ground. After a few minutes, the burbling of running water leads me to a stream. A walkway of stones dots the water, so I could cross here and continue on. I study the stream and notice that a few of the stones are small, some spaced far apart. The Basic Coordination Skills of Ruby Wright—let’s take a moment to review, class. Yeah, it’s highly probable that I’ll lose my balance, drop my backpack, and soak everything. Including my change of clothes, Mom’s sweater, my postcard from George, my eight-by-ten family photo, and the little snapshot of Mom and me in my red-gingham blouse.
Makes more sense to check the other directions first. I retrace my steps to the portal tree, following the markers I created with my notebook paper. Then I try the opposite direction. This time I’m stopped by an enormous fallen oak, covered in moss, too big to climb over. I start back toward the portal tree when a rustling noise startles me, and I see movement behind a cluster of skinny saplings.
“Hello?” My voice cuts through the air, a strange resonance in this world of wildlife sounds. An acid taste rises in my throat. The singeing rush of adrenaline feels like poison, making my chest contract.
It might be those two boys. They followed me.
More rustling, then a sudden flutter of wings and a sharp cluck-cluck; not more than ten feet away is a startled wild turkey. I leap back, lose my balance, and sit hard on the ground. He’s enormous, a dark-brown mass of brown feathers, probably four feet tall. Cluck-cluck-cluck! Within seconds he’s disappeared into the woods, only his red throat visible for a moment after he’s otherwise vanished. An afterimage.
I hold my hand to my chest. Calm down, heart. It was just a bird. A really huge bird, but that’s all.
As I put my hands down to push myself back to my feet, I feel something hard. I look down and pull a narrow shaft of wood from the debris of fallen leaves and twigs. It’s an arrow.
But it’s not a modern, bought-it-at-Walmart arrow. It looks handmade, like it was whittled, and the arrowhead is flint. It’s in perfect condition. It’s new.
I stand up and find myself eye-to-eye with another arrow, this one stuck into the trunk of a tree. Someone’s been hunting in these woods recently. Maybe today. Maybe right now.
My heart picks up the pace, beating the living daylight out of my chest. Blood rushes through my head in dizzying quantities. I’ve got to get out of here.
What’s going on in this universe? The land hasn’t been developed. Did a major historic event take place, or not take place? No wonder the GPS isn’t working. Satellites were never invented! Is this area still inhabited by Native Americans?
I try to remember which tribes lived in Ohio. Shawnee? Iroquois? What would they do if they found me out here, unable to speak their language, in clothes that would seem foreign to them, with electronic gadgets? I mean, what would they think of my digital camera? Would they murder and scalp me?
I do my best to move noiselessly back toward the tree, but I’m stupidly loud. Every branch that cracks underfoot makes me a target. Why did I have to call out “hello” earlier? Duh!
My tongue turns dry. All I can imagine is that I’m being hunted. I feel light-headed and realize I’m not breathing.
N2 and O2 in, carbon dioxide out. Breathe, Ruby, breathe.
Four notebook sheets to go. I look over my shoulder. I’m hearing things that aren’t there, seeing things that may or may not exist. Was that another wild turkey? A snake? When a falling leaf hits my head, I swing wildly at air.
And to make matters worse, an undercurrent of disappointment gains volume, crescendos. I have to cross this universe off the list. It’s not perfect, not even close.
The last sheet of paper, then the tree.
My hand on the doorknob, I’m zapped, once again, with a surge of static electricity. It’s strong, the strongest current of electricity so far, but it doesn’t faze me. I’m too focused, putting my shoulder into the door and pushing to hurry it open.
I squeeze through the door and into the tree. My back against the inner wall of the trunk, I slide down to the ground and hold my head in my hands, blanching with panic. The door closes too slowly. Please, hurry up, before someone else slips into the tree. Finally, the last rays of sunlight are choked out. I exhale with relief.