Chapter 1: Alive
Emma shifted under the weight of warm covers. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t her bed. It didn’t feel like her room. A surge of panic coursed through her body. Where am I? What has happened? She urged her eyes to open—and failed.
Why can’t I focus? Groggy best described her mind. Why is it so hard to move? Or maybe achy better defined how she felt. Which was it? A confused mind or a sore body? It was too much to sort out. She couldn’t concentrate. For now, she’d settle on groggy and achy. Her fleeting reality slipped away. Slumber overtook her.
Emma didn’t know if it was seconds, minutes, or hours later when her eyes fluttered open for a moment and then flitted shut. Where am I? She yawned and stretched with a groan. Why does my entire body throb?
“I think she’s finally waking up,” a voice said. It sounded familiar.
“Mom?” Emma croaked. She reached out a hand to touch the voice, but, encountering nothing, her weak arm dropped helplessly to the bed. Emma sighed. Someone stroked her hand. Warm. Comforting. Safe.
“I’m right here, dear,” her mom said. “We all are. Your dad and your sister and brother. Chloe and a girl named Sarah are waiting outside.”
“What happened?” Emma moaned. Something was wrong. She forced her eyes open and squinted.
The image of her mom came into focus. She sat in a chair next to the bed. “You’re in the High Priest’s residence in the Temple Palace. I’ll explain everything later, but first we need to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. My mind’s a bit foggy. I’m sore too. I don’t think that’s going away anytime soon.” With care, Emma shifted in the oversized bed, one far larger than she’d ever slept in—or even seen.
A jolt of pain shot from her right calf to her left shoulder, traveling through her back. She yelped as if shocked by a surge of electricity. “Ouch!” As the pain ebbed, she let out a controlled breath.
“Where does it hurt?” Her dad rose from his chair.
Emma shifted her gaze to him. “All over.”
“Describe it.”
She moved her arm with care and gave an unconcerned wave with the back of her hand. She wasn’t being disrespectful because she knew in her spirit she was okay—at least she would be. She merely needed to give it time.
Her dad opened his mouth as if to protest but then closed it, saying nothing.
“When did you last eat, Emma?” Concern coated her mom’s question.
With effort, Emma shifted her attention—foggy as it was—back to her mom. “I ate breakfast this morning at Sarah’s.”
“You mean Thursday?” Her mom sounded confused. “Before school?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. This morning.”
“Emma,” her mom said gently, “today is Saturday. It’s after noon. You’ve been sleeping for over twenty-four hours.”
“I guess that’s why I’m so hungry. And why I so need to pee.” Emma let go of her mom’s hand and, with effort, eased off the blankets. Taking her time, she slid her legs to the side of the bed and willed her body upright. At least she tried to. Her head spun, and she fell back onto the bed with a grunt. She stared helplessly at the ceiling.
“Do you want us to help you?”
Emma forced her eyes to take in the whole room to see who us referred to. Her mom stretched out a hand. Her dad stood next to her mom. The twins kept vigil at the foot of the bed, concern painted on their uncharacteristically cherub faces. With a deliberate slowness, Emma sat up again and extended both arms. Her mom took one and her dad held the other. Leaning on them for support, she stood, but she didn’t know which direction to head. “Ah, where’s the bathroom?”
Her sister giggled. “We’ve found at least six so far. The closest one is over there.” Hailey pointed to Emma’s right. Her parents guided her in that direction.
When finished, she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She paused in distress at what looked back at her. Having not been washed in three days, her hair showed it, no longer clean and fluffy—instead, oily and matted.
She pushed the tangled, hazel mess away from her face, which revealed a smear of dirt across her left cheek and a zit about ready to erupt on her forehead. Lacking her compact or any other helpful resources, all she could do was scrape her fingernail over it to release the pressure. It worked. Sort of. Gross. Oh, so gross.
She corralled her hair and—lacking a hair clip or ponytail holder—she looped it over itself in a loose knot. It would have to do for now.
She shuffled back to the bed on her own and fell into it with a moan. “Maybe after I get something to eat, I’ll be strong enough to take a shower. I feel gross.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. Definitely gross.
Her dad tipped his head toward her brother, who scurried from the room. Emma hoped he was going to round up some food.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dad asked.
Emma’s mind clawed through a jumbled heap of memories. One image emerged and became clearer. “I spent the night in the Temple and talked with the Sovereign about giving us a new High Priest.”
Her parents shared concerned glances.
“I never wanted it to be me.”
Her mom raised an eyebrow toward Emma’s dad.
Emma clawed her mind for clarity. Some images emerged, faint at first and then clearer. “In the morning, there was a confrontation outside with the SWAT team. The captain was mad and . . . he shot at me with his machine gun.” Emma gasped at the thought. “But the bullets fell to the ground before they hit me.” She glanced at her chest to make sure she was okay. “The Sovereign protected me.”
Emma’s mind struggled to recall what happened next. “I sent the captain back to the prison to release Joshua—to free all the prisoners wrongly arrested.”
Emma shut her eyes as she struggled to pull the next events from her mind. “There were a lot of people there . . . and the media with their cameras and mics. I don’t know if I said something to the crowd or just thought about it . . . The next thing I remember is waking up here.”
“You did, indeed, speak to the crowd,” her dad said. “The media captured everything and broadcast it across the country—around the world. You’re a hero, by the way. We couldn’t be prouder.
“The grand celebration lasted for hours,” he added. “More and more people kept arriving. Thousands, for sure. I suspect even ten. You thanked them for coming and showing their support. Then you excused yourself to get some needed rest. You went back into the Temple and collapsed just inside.”
That last part was a blur. Emma couldn’t decide if she remembered that happening or merely wanted to.
“What you went through is unprecedented,” her dad said. “The medical community has no explanation for what your body—and your mind—endured throughout all that happened to you. Both the night spent in the Temple—which has killed everyone else or drove them to madness—and your body repelling bullets.”
“The Sovereign protected me.” This was all the explanation Emma could offer—and all that she needed. “I’m sore, and it’s hard to focus, but I’m okay. Or at least I will be.”
“Though you underwent an extraordinary trauma, I can confirm your body hasn’t suffered as a result. Your temperature is normal, your pulse is steady, and your heart is strong. As a doctor, I prescribe rest. As your father, I’m nonetheless concerned.”
“I’m fine. No worries.”
But am I?
