Chapter 2: Survival of the Fittest
I headed straight for the mystery man without thought of consequences. In seconds, the front of the car struck the mystery man. I slammed on my brakes as the man flew backward, falling head-first onto the garage’s cement floor and landing on his back. He let out a squally sound and then closed his eyes.
I pressed my palms against my temples where pain throbbed. My heart pulsated there. Fear clung to me like the fierce winds of a tornado.
I rushed from the car to the man. He still breathed but lay unconscious.
Only my instinct was on play. It wasn’t as if I cared about him.
“Forget him!” Monica called.
She headed to the woman while I rushed to catch up. The woman lay in a puddle of blood.
“We need to get you help,” Monica screamed at the woman. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
This felt like a movie, and I, an actor. Yet reality hit. Confusion terrorized my bones. What had I gotten into?
The wind’s howling dissipated.
The woman moaned.
I jumped. I felt cold all over, as if I were in an ice storm. I stood frozen as I listened to the silence. In that silence, a buzzing noise hummed from the woman’s direction. I immediately removed her tape carefully, then while listening, unwrapped her wrists.
She never complained of pain as I tore the gray tape from her one cheek. “No worry ‘bout me. Won’t make it.” She breathed in shallow gasps and then started again. “Listen carefully. You must take the box to Covenant Cove.” Her eyes moved downward. “Beneath my skirt.” A beat followed each word, and each word held no particular tone.
Monica first saw the box, bright against the gray, crumpled jersey of the woman’s skirt. “It’s just a box,” she commented.
“No ordinary box,” the woman replied. “Means life or death. The future of my family lies in your hands.” Again she waited.
I knelt, removed a large scarf from around my waist, and placed it beneath her head.
Her lips turned slightly up at me. I felt like a tiny hero.
“I come from a Native-American tribe in Covenant Cove,” she told us in a strained voice. “Years ago, an army stole golden box from our tribe. The box was never to leave Covenant Cove.”
Her voice was weak, and we had to listen closely.
“A curse put on my tribe. Many died tragic deaths. Fires for no reason . . . Hundreds killed. People drowned. Curse won’t stop until box is returned to its place.”
“And then you,” Monica added. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she laid her fingers against her lips. No apology came.
The woman must not have heard Monica or chose to ignore her words. She continued with, “I left . . . to find box . . . I found family who . . . stole golden box.”
She seemed to find strength, though she maintained her beat between phrases. “No one . . . selfish intentions . . . leaves Cove . . . alive. If one enters . . . good intentions . . . okay.
“This man . . . stole the box . . . and returned more treasures. I . . . saw him . . . back his van with . . . open safe and . . . only the box inside it . . . He thought he could make it . . . out alive. What a stupid man.”
She gasped, and I rose on my heels to help her. Her breathing had created the sound. I’d thought she was dying.
She went on with continued concentration. “I stole . . . box before he left . . . hid it.” Her eyes lowered again. “I would not tell him where . . . box was.
“Where exactly do we take the box?” I asked in a rush.
She gasped and then said, “Inside box . . . a key . . . map and crystal gem. No . . . ordinary . . . gem. Many powers. Man named Akbar . . . Use map to find him . . . Give him box . . . and contents.” She pondered my face, then added, “Deliver the box . . . You be rewarded.”
Her eyelids closed, and her body fell limp.
My mouth felt dry. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t speak. I felt brainless, as if all my thoughts had been stolen.
Then I realized my fists were digging into the palms. I took a deep breath and then another. No calm came. A chill jiggled against my spine.
Automatically, I stepped toward the woman and checked for her pulse on her wrist. There was none. I felt her neck vein. None. Then I held my hand close to her nose, waiting, longing for her living air. But none came.
A woman had died in our presence. We had watched the mystery man knife her. These weren’t teenagers’ ordinary scenes. No one should witness this. I struggled to get a grip on myself as I was overwhelmed with fear. The sight of her dying there made me sad. My eyes became watery and tears slowly rolled down my face.
I folded my arms and stared at the box. Should I touch it? Will it zap me from this world? I made no attempt to get out of there. My curiosity got the best of me.
Monica appeared in shock. She made no moves or sound. Like a stop-action figure in a TV commercial.
I plucked the treasure from the woman’s fabric, feeling awed by its presence. The outside was carved with writing. But not in English. It looked like the dialogue on an Egyptian pyramid. I couldn’t stop staring. It was mesmerizing.
What is the box, really? Did the woman tell the truth? Can the box save or destroy the woman’s family? Is she crazy? Should we deliver the box to a place called Covenant Cove? Is there such a place?
The story the woman told seemed unrealistic. However, there was something about her that made me believe she was telling the truth. It could have been the sincerity in her soft-spoken voice or the fact that she stared directly into our eyes when she spoke, but whatever it was I knew deep down in my heart that it was the truth.
