Rescuing McKenzie

Prologue

In the deep south of North America lies a forest, thick and overgrown with towering trees and leafy brush. Tranquil silence fills the space beneath the canopy as the birds stop their songs and prepare for sleep. I, on the other hand, am not preparing for sleep. Many nights pass and I don't rest at all. I just sit in my doorway and watch the sky, praying that one day the orbiting light will fade away. But I don't think that will happen any time soon.

I prop open the door of my little tree house, latent near the top of the fattest tree I could find. Clean, fresh air free of pollution wisps through my tree, bending the small branches to the brink of snapping. The wind feels good against my hot, sweaty skin, and so will the rain when it begins to fall. Distant thunder follows flashes of light as the clouds take their anger out on the Earth's surface. Then, another sound draws me from my thoughts. It's soft and sad like a child missing their home. My heart wrenches as the radio static pops and crackles as her voice speaks to me.

"Are you still listening?"

"Yes." I whisper to myself. I sit on the ledge with my feet dangling, swinging slowly as I stare into the distance. The sun slowly sinks beneath the horizon, using its last rays of light to display a pallet of brilliant colors. Purple, orange and red cotton candy clouds drift lazily across the sky. The clouds rolling in from the east are angry and dark. Storms are quite dangerous for someone who lives in a tree. Wind gusts bend my tree, swaying the house until I want to vomit, and the lightning strikes so close to my head my ears ring after each crack of thunder. To most, that is enough reason to move to the ground. Each storm threatens to take my life, and yet I can't help but enjoy them.

On the other hand, moving to the ground actually decreases my chances of survival. Any Migrant drone or patrol could stumble upon my wooden cabin easily if it rests on the dirt. However, the trees are perfect hiding spots. No one thinks to look up. Not even us.

I take another sip from the jar sitting on the ledge beside me. The liquid burns my throat, but subsides with time. Soon enough, I won't feel anything. The alcohol will numb my senses and ease the throbbing pain in my chest. McKenzie's sad voice intrudes my thoughts once again.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this."

The substance enters my bloodstream and travels around my body, taking me farther and farther away from the disaster, which was my life. By the time the final light of the sunset disappears and the storm is upon me, the alcohol takes my mind, leaving just my heart. I drift in and out of reality. The empty jar slips from my hand and drops to the soft grass-covered ground below. I see the city's lights. From here, it looks like an aura outlining the forest, highlighting the trees. Thankfully, they are too distant to drown the stars from the sky.

I look up. A hole in the clouds reveals the young night sky, fresh and new like early morning. The only things that aren't swimming in the liquid reality are the rhinestones glittering carelessly millions of miles away. I gaze at them, wrapped in complete awe and admiration. They fill my mind with a sense of longing.

Then there's that one star in particular that I do not enjoy looking at. It drifts lazily across the sky as ball of steady white light, in contrast to the twinkle of the others. However, this light is not a star at all. It's the mothership. It's where they come from.

Suddenly, I feel red. The color consumes my mind and body, filling me with an all-too-familiar emotion. The red waves wash over me and drag me into the whirlpool of pain and rage and guilt. I scream at the top of my lungs as I remember everything I've lost; everything they took. My family, my friends, and my home is all gone because of them. I keep going until no more sound comes out, throat burning, lungs empty. Exhausted, I fall back into the tree house, knocking over a few sticks of deodorant, curling into the fetal position. Angry tears wet my cheeks and hysterical cries fill the forest, silencing the frogs, putting the thunder to shame. I sink deeper into the clutches of sorrow and loneliness.

I calm down after a few minutes, but I don't move.

"Amelia," McKenzie says, breathing heavily. I feel as if she's right beside me. Perhaps if I close my eyes I can see her. I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes of seeing her face, but I'm greeted with empty blackness. Her voice cracks as she speaks. "I don't think I'm strong enough."

I keep my eyes closed, listening, concentrating on her voice.

"I'm not even sure if you're alive," She stops, breathing shakily and sniffling before she continues. "But if you are, you need to listen. I can't do this anymore, not alone." Another pause. "I'm giving you two weeks, and if you don't show I'm turning myself in to the Collectors."

A dense weight falls onto my shoulders as I lay on the wooden floor. At first, I'm angry. How could she be so selfish? Putting a weight on me like that is crazy. But then, it sinks in. Who else is going to save her? She has no one except for me. In that moment of realization, I sit up and gaze toward my broken radio. The shaky voice returns. "Please be alive."

It has been six months of talking into a microphone and not knowing if anyone is listening to her. It took six months for the loneliness to break her. Now it is up to me to save her.