Page 12 of The Orc Outcast's Conquest

MIRANDA

When Miranda was little and living in the group home, there was an enormous oak tree in the backyard. Every fall Mrs. Clark would give all the kids a rake and they would get the leaves into a massive pile. The bigger kids would take the younger children by their arms and legs and swing them into the pile. They would fall, laughing and screaming, into the damp foliage. The cool crunch engulfed them completely as the leaves fell over their noses and blocked out the sky.

Miranda still remembered the smell of it, crisp and clean. The taste too, as one or two leaves had been sucked into her mouth when she gasped from the exhilaration of the fall. She remembered looking up through the pile, seeing little pricks of blue sky through the gold leaves. It was a happy time. The best.

So, when she experienced that exact memory, she was certain she was dead. She lay on her back, looking up into the bright blue sky with gold and red leaves surrounding her, feeling weightless. She waited for pain, numbness, even the great booming voice of her maker. But she felt none of that. The sweet scent slowly filtered through the dirt and grime caked in her nose and mouth.

She sat up slowly, breaking through the leaves.

The canopy of autumn-glazed trees above her swayed in a gentle, but icy cold breeze. The smell of deep woods—pine and damp—had her gasping, heaving air into her lungs. Filling them up with life.

She pinched her thigh hard enough to bruise and felt pain. She waved her arms and the leaves she had fallen into rustled. In the distance, she heard the babbling of a brook. The sound made her parched mouth tingle with want.

Miranda looked around, unable to believe her own eyes, unable to understand where she was or what she was doing here.

There was no cliff. No dried-up ocean. No blistering sun or dead air.

She was in the center of a lush, beautiful forest. She dug her fingers into the leaves and ripped them up in her hands.

Miranda was not dead. She was not broken and bloody. Her life had not ended with a violent, crushing splat.

She had fallen, but something had caught her.

Something she knew in the depths of her soul did not belong to Earth.

Miranda examined one of the leaves with equal parts awe and confusion. She was no botanist, but she couldn’t place ever seeing or hearing of a leaf that tapered off into spirals. The leaves above her were flooded with the circular patterns and dazzled with bright colors. Reds and yellows blended into a sight so glorious it stole her breath.

Her imagination must have been laboring in overdrive to conjure all this up.

She fell, right? She flexed her muscles, ran her hands over her goosebump-covered arms, torso, legs... nothing. She didn’t feel any pain. No injuries at all.

So, this was a dream. The last gasp before her existence winked out. Any moment now, she’d see a bright light in a tunnel and know this was the end.

She sat tense, twirling the leaf. Her tattered running shorts were getting soaked through from the damp pile. Her tank top and sports bra did nothing to protect her from the frigid air.

Birds twittered, and Miranda stilled, jerking her gaze to the sky.

Birds. Flying right above her.

The trees rustled in a breeze.

This forest was so pretty. Dark trunks breaking into curling limbs that stretched toward the sky. Bright vibrant colors more dazzling than a fiery sunset coated them like a warm cloak. They rustled in a crisp gentle breeze, leaves breaking free and raining down to land upon rich green moss. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen on Earth.

This couldn’t be real.

Miranda’s throat worked, swallowing hard as she prepared for the delusion to end, waiting for this fantasy world to crumble. If she were lucky, the apocalyptic nightmare would disintegrate with it.

Or maybe she was having a complete psychotic breakdown. She’d listen to the delightful forest sounds and follow the singing birds back to a padded white room.

She inhaled. Deep wooded bliss filtered through the muck of her sinuses. She was shaking hard enough that she dropped the mystery leaf into her lap.

She couldn’t be alive. This wasn’t real.

The sound of howling catapulted her into action.

The dogs had followed her. They’d chased her off the cliff. Those damn, horrible beasts that hunted her at every turn. She clawed at her bag, pulling it off her shoulder. She found it miraculous that the wind hadn’t ripped it from her in the fall.

Miranda was about to bury herself in the leaf pile when she heard the stomping of feet, and she froze. Her heart skipped and breath caught.

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