Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Dr. Lucas Hamilton

Outside the carnival, I find a scene from Hell.

The sky is black. The air is black. It is so fucking dark, I can't see my hand in front of my face. Wind tears at my clothing, and grit scours my skin. It strikes me that this could be Hell itself, not simply a scene from Hell, but the actual location. I wouldn't be surprised, because the carnival reeks of magic and smells like brimstone and defies the laws of physical time and space.

The first mask whips out of my hands, but I manage to tie the second one on. It does nothing for my eyes, so I hoist my jacket over my head and make as much of a hood out of it as I can. It's not like I can see anything anyway.

I've left the carnival by the exit close to the parking lot. Given the storm raging, I have to go back. Whatever magic makes the weather in the carnival stay nice while outside the worst Duster I've ever seen rolls in, I an all for it.

I'm sure I can turn around and step back inside, but when I try feeling my way with one outstretched hand, I can't find the gate. There's nothing there.

I tell myself not to panic. I tell myself I'm sure I'm only turned around and that a careful search in a grid pattern is what's called for here. I tell myself I wasn't the champion tail-pinner of donkeys at childhood birthday parties because I gave up.

It can't be more than four paces away. I make a plan.

One, I will strike out in each of four directions, one at a time. Two, I will go no more than four paces in each direction. Three, If I don't find the gate, I will back up exactly as many paces as I have gone forward, being careful to retrace my footsteps. Four, if this fails, I will make a quarter turn and do it again.

I try this once. Twice. It's the courtly dance, we'd do if Pride and Prejudice and Dante's Peak had a baby. I think my hands, wrists, and ankles—no socks with loafers—are bleeding from the pelting wind and debris.

I want to hedgehog into a ball, but I'm certain the gate is right there! I can find it if I only…

Oh. Oh. We talked about this. We aren't ‘ certain' of anything. We can't know what's going to happen, even if we have a plan, even if we know what we're doing, even if we exercise strict control, we do NOT know what will happen.

Because we don't control anything.

A human life is one long continuous leap of faith, whether we like it or not. I straighten up to my full height, ignore the sting of the wind on my exposed skin, pick a direction, and start walking.

Seconds later, something huge smashes into me. I hear and feel my femur break on impact. The pain is excruciating but it's not over yet. The momentum hurls me. I'm suddenly airborne. I fly up, and up, and then smash into a pane of glass that shatters and slices the bare skin of my face and wrists in a hundred places. A thousand. I'm in the worst physical pain I've ever known, and that's before I fall to the earth with a thud.

I know what's happened. The black-as-pitch dust storm raged so fiercely and loudly, I never saw the car coming. It's a mercy when I can no longer stay conscious, because I don't have to be a doctor to know this is really, really bad.