I almost cried out in relief when we finally hit the deck. It came as a surprise, given I could barely see five feet ahead of me, and I tripped on my own two feet as I landed on the platform, almost crashing into where Jessie stood, who had landed before me.
And then a wave of nausea rolled through me. I gripped the banister of the platform, closing my eyes and clutching my head as I fought to tamp down the dizziness. “Oh my—” I breathed. “Do you guys feel that?”
Robert swore behind me. “It’s this mist!”
I pried my eyes open, looking at my companions, and then ahead of us at the next zip line, which was shrouded by yet more dense fog.
My father grasped at the tree trunk, using it to steadyhimself as he turned around and faced the zip line we had just traveled across.
“We’ve got to turn back,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll get out of this mess, and then talk about what the hell is going on.”
“But Zina,” my aunt gasped. “What has happened to them?”
“We need to get off this platform, now,” my father repeated, urgency pulsing through his voice.
“But—”
“Naomi,” my uncle said firmly, though I could hear the pain in his voice. “We’re going to pass out if we don’t turn back!”
While my uncle steadied her, my father lunged for me, gripped me by the waist, turned me back around to face the zip line, then pushed me off. The wind whipping past my face made the nausea easier to bear—though my head still throbbed—and I heard Jessie and Robert follow immediately behind me, and then the others.
I had no idea why this mist was having this effect on us, but I knew that I needed to breathe in as little as possible. I did my best to control my breathing as we flew through the worst of it and then took a deep breath once we reached clearer air, relishing the feel of it in my lungs. The stinging in my eyes faded, along with the bouts of nausea.
I looked behind me, now able to see each of my companions gliding directly in front of the cloud of fog—which, worryingly, appeared to be spreading.
When we reached the safe platform, my aunt collapsed in tears, my uncle holding her to his chest in comfort. My father’s eyes turned back in the direction from which we’d come, the thick fog just perceptible in the distance.
He cleared his throat, then asked in a low, anxious tone, “Did anyone else notice how shriveled the leaves were back there?”
I frowned at him, alarmed. I had been too preoccupied with my nausea to properly take in my surroundings.
“I noticed,” Jessie murmured, removing the bandana she wore over her hair and wiping her brow with it.
“The bark… it was also soft,” my father went on, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Softer than any bark I’ve ever come across. It practically crumbled under my hands.” He looked toward me, and then to my uncle.
“You think this fog is somehow damaging the trees?” my uncle asked hoarsely, as my aunt sobbed harder.
My father ran a hand down his face, his fingers fidgeting with his beard. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “All I know is what I observed during the few seconds we were standing on that platform.”
“So, what are we going to do?” my aunt managed, swallowing back tears. “Zina’s home isn’t far from there. The fog must have reached them, too.”
“And whatcausedit?” Robert asked.
My father exhaled. “Again, we don’t know. I’m sure we could come up with a dozen worst case scenarios if we stood here speculating, but I don’t think that’s helpful right now. We’ve hit a dead end here, whether we like it or not, so I suggest we hurry back, call an emergency meeting in the hall, and put our collective minds together. See if any of the seniors have experienced this phenomenon before. Then we can consider returning better equipped, and with more experienced scouts.”
“We can try the masks,” my uncle said suddenly.
I frowned at him, confused, then realized what he was talking about.
“From the museum?” Jessie asked incredulously. “Those things are ancient.”
The museum was a special building we had back in the colony, designated solely for relics and pieces of equipment from the founding days. It was basically a storage room for memorabilia but included some things that could potentially be of use, too, like a collection of gas masks—which I guessed had been kept for good measure, back in those apocalyptic days.
“Yes, but they could still work,” my uncle replied.
My aunt nodded, pulling herself together. “You’re right. Those things were built to last, and as far as I know, they’ve never even been used.”
It was true that we’d kept them in pristine condition—along with the rest of the artifacts. While other colonies had been more careless over the centuries, losing equipment or abandoning it due to the need for space, we were apparently a more sentimental bunch and saw value in keeping those memories alive.
