Page 2 of The Lottery

This is January in Toronto.

With a heavy sigh, I redirect my attention to the ship. I’ve seen it from a distance, but this is my first time getting this close. It’s wide and spherical. Brushed metal and flashing parts. A model from an old science fiction movie all grown up.

I have no idea what this journey will be like. I pause, fear crawling up my neck.

Everything I’ve ever known is about to change.

I’m snapped out of my existential dread when something crashes behind me and the rickety bridge shakes under my feet.

I scream, reaching one hand out to grab the railing while clutching my tree more tightly. The metal burns my hand, but I’m more worried about the fall than I am a couple blisters.

In the distance, the door to the ship opens and someone steps out.

I hear him hollering for me to run, but when I try I slip again. Everything is tilted wrong.

I look behind me and immediately regret the decision when I see part of the bridge dangling loosely in the wind, no longer tethered to the other side.

This… isn’t ideal.

Instead of trying to run, I drop my body lower and crab walk, holding on tightly as I do, ignoring the searing pain in my palms and knees from the heat.

Another sound of something snapping. Another shriek torn from my throat as the bridge lurches in the wrong direction.

I’m thrown to the side, crashing roughly into the rails. Pain splits my attention in half and I lose my grip on the tree. It tumbles to the side, away from me but still on the bridge. For now.

Panic rises in my chest. Tears burn my eyes. I taste the sharp acidic bite of bile on the back of my tongue.

I try to move my left arm to reach for the plant but sharp pain shoots through my shoulder and I yank it back, hugging it to my body.

It’s dislocated. It’s happened a few times in the past. The joys of having loose joints.

Shit.

I move to stand but am jerked back at the attempt. My right foot is stuck in one of the grates. I can’t get it out.

Double shit.

Is this really how I’m going to die? After all this?

I look around for a solution and see the figure from the ship moving closer to me.

With each step the bridge sways and jangles, grinding metal against metal.

The columns of fire below me seem to be gaining strength, the flames hungry for more.

When the man is close enough, he reaches for me. “Give me your hand,” he screams.

I shake my head. “I can’t move. My foot is stuck.”

He grunts and shifts closer to me, pulling his shirt off as he does.

I’m not sure if it’s the proximity or the disrobing or the wild adrenaline coursing through my body, but I suddenly realize how absolutely gorgeous this man is. Dark hair with piercing blue eyes and a dimpled chin, scruff with a sexy 5 o’clock shadow. A jawline that could cut glass. Ripped abs that do not look like they were made in the gym. Wide shoulders with a tapered form that guides my eyes down down down.

I blink. What the hell, Zae? Don’t be an idiot. You’re about to plummet into a death furnace and you’re busy counting the abs on this man’s stomach?

I’m so stunned by his god-like gorgeousness I don’t realize what he’s doing with his shirt until he wraps it around my stuck ankle, lessening the friction so he can pull me free. I’m about to mention my busted shoulder but then he yanks my foot from the grate. I cry out in pain, blackness encroaching on my vision as the world tilts around me.

“I’ve got you.” As if I weigh nothing at all—and I’m not terribly petite—he lifts me into his arms and turns toward the ship.

---