Lightning Only Strikes Twice

White Rock, 1891

Annie rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.

Greens, browns, and blues swirled in a kaleidoscope from hell. Her body felt suspended in space, spinning like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Sweat broke on her brow and cooled quickly in the slight breeze. A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat and her nauseous stomach churned.

Her rapid breath was out of sync with her heartbeat adding to the lightheadedness. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed urge to throw up, and curled into a fetal position, afraid to move.

As the vertigo ebbed, she started to relax. Seconds later, it returned more strongly than before. Clammy heat engulfed her middle. Without warning, she heaved the meager contents of her stomach onto the ground.

Feeling slightly better, she tucked her chin to her chest to stop tremors racking her body. Part of her wished for oblivion. If she was going to die, then just get it over. Another part insisted she focus on something other than pain and discomfort. Choosing the latter option, she concentrated on slowing her breathing and cautiously uncurled her body.

Somewhere a dove cooed. Farther away, a squirrel jabbered.

The sounds were out of place, like a dream.

Above her, daylight poked through a canopy of tree branches. Sharp light sliced painfully across her eyes. Was this a fevered hallucination?

Dirt, trees, squirrels. A forest? Why was she in a forest?

Laughter echoed through the trees. The chatter of young voices and footsteps snapping dry twigs followed. As the voices grew louder, the forest creatures quieted.

She rolled toward the sound. The movement brought her face-to-face with the trunk of a tree. She braced a hand against the rough bark and tried to leverage into a sitting position. Her body refused to obey. The effort drained what little strength she had. With a groan, she collapsed onto her back and closed her eyes.

“Hey, look over there!” a voice shouted. The footsteps sounded closer.

“Is she dead?” a voice whispered.

“I dunno.” A softer voice whispered back. “Maybe.”

Annie opened her eyes. The figure of a boy slowly came into focus.

“See, she’s not dead,” said the boy. “Miss? Are you hurt?” His tan pants were fastened with brown suspenders over an off-white shirt. His face filled with kind concern.