The Caldera
a dream story
by Amanda Nester
Lea was hiking up at the caldera with Rich, and the bubbles in the marsh at the eastern end of the lake were black and mournful like the baleful eyes of an inured deer she'd once seen a police officer shoot back in Oak Glen. She and her parents had been in the car on the way home from some school event, when a slight back up of traffic down a wooded road made them crane their necks to see what was going on. As they drove past a dented car on the shoulder, they had a clear view of a doe struggling to stand, the police officer aiming a rifle, and, after a deafening bang that was louder than she'd ever imagined, the deer falling back to the ground. That was the first time Lea had ever seen something die. She'd seen the panicked, lively eyes of the doe as she tried to flee the people and the cars, and then in the next instant, she'd seen the same black eyes glassy, loamy, and dead.
Lea stared at the bubble as it grew, and Rich’s footsteps stopped a few beats after hers did, the old planks of the boardwalk creaking as he leaned over the railing to see what she was looking at. The pitch bubbles expanded, thinned, and then popped with thick, black splashes. All of a sudden, the air grew hot and crackling, Lea’s lips grew tight and her breath short, and the oily skin of the lake made a sound like ripping linen and leapt into flames. Instantly, Lea’s hair was singed to a short, spiky mess and Rich’s eyebrows were smoldering.
Their eyeballs burning, tears streaking down their cheeks, Rich and Lea fled up the face of the mountain. They followed the hiking trail for a time, sprinting through a tangerine corridor of flames until the cracking, hissing, popping of the pine trees was too loud and close and terrible and they turned off the path and began to run straight up into the forest, making for the tree line, where the rock couldn’t burn and crumble and catch. Lea spared a thought to worry for the wildlife in this sudden firestorm, and, as though she had called then up, all the animals of the forest joined them in a great exodus. Deer as light and agile as kittens bounded up their backs and onto their shoulders, birds wings beat in their faces, squirreled scratched their arms and scalp as they appeared, clutched, and leapt to other branches like little blips on a radar.
Lea and Rich’s legs ached, burnt shook, and presently, they were running on all fours, clawing the side of the mountain, begging for forgiveness, watering it with tears. Lea stumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried, as shame with out an antecedent coursed over her. She tasted her seawater tears in her mouth, knew her face was screwed up as though someone had mashed up a wax representation of herself. She didn’t care. She threw her arms about the mountainside and begged it to let her survive.
Rich was tugging her arm, holding her hard and leaving marks in her skin. She glanced up to brush him off, and saw the deer. It was the same baleful deer that had been shot on the side of the road, years ago, in her memory. It was standing calmly, watching her, cocking its head. Behind it, there was a bright red shed, its door open.
“Come on, Lea, into the shed, she’s opened it for us! Come on! Don’t do her the dishonor!” Rich pulled harder and Lea let herself be lifted. Their feet slipping on loose pebbles and slightly larger boulders that were now rolling, clacking and crashing down the mountain, Rich helped Lea to the shed.
They were nearly to the safety of the old garden shed when something hard crashed into the side of Lea’s knee and she slipped out of Rich’s arm and her momentum tumbled her down the side of the mountain a few feet. Lea’s head was ringing when she lifted it and the rock that had unbalanced her lay a few inches from her face. Lea gasped and sat up quickly. The rock had a face. It was a female face. It had delicately arched brows, a long thin nose, closed eyes, and a small mouth that was parted slightly. It was shiny and black, and faintly translucent at the edges. It was completely smooth except for some scratches along the nose and a chip at the edge of the chin. Lea stared at it, and quietly stepped away as though she would wake the beautiful stone face if she moved too quickly.
“Lea,” Rich gasped, skidding into view and holding a hand toward Lea, who was on her knees. “Run!” Rich’s eyes were wide and rimmed with red, his sweaty sandy hair darker than usual, and in pieces on his forehead. Lea took his filthy, charred and blistered hand and together, they dashed for the red garden shed.
Inside the shed, with the door shut, Rich and Lea huddled together on a bench in the corner. A small, dirty window showed the flames that they had outrun catching up with them. From the sky, it seemed, more obsidian faces were tumbling down the mountain, women, men, children, infants, all beautiful carved faces, all seemingly asleep. They glowed as they heated up in the flames, bright, sleeping faces skidding down the mountain.
Lea hid her face in Rich’s sweater, listening to his rhythms, feeling him gasping and breathing beneath her. The black, glassy faces creaked as they piled up against the shed, sounding like a bag of marbles being rubbed together. Lea tried not to listen to the creaking, moaning, scratching of the faces. She listened to Rich’s breaths. She counted them. One in, one out, two in, two out, three in, three out. And in counterpoint, his heartbeats. A-beed, pause, a-beed, pause, a-beed, pause.
Screeching, cracking, tumbling.
Four in, four out, five in five out, six in, six out.
A-beed, pause, a-beed, pause, a-beed, pause.
Seven in, seven out, eight in, eight out, nine in, nine out, ten in , out, in, out, in, out.
A-beed, pause, a-beed. A-beed. A-beed. A-beed.
Lea stared at the bubble as it grew, and Rich’s footsteps stopped a few beats after hers did, the old planks of the boardwalk creaking as he leaned over the railing to see what she was looking at. The pitch bubbles expanded, thinned, and then popped with thick, black splashes. All of a sudden, the air grew hot and crackling, Lea’s lips grew tight and her breath short, and the oily skin of the lake made a sound like ripping linen and leapt into flames. Instantly, Lea’s hair was singed to a short, spiky mess and Rich’s eyebrows were smoldering.
Their eyeballs burning, tears streaking down their cheeks, Rich and Lea fled up the face of the mountain. They followed the hiking trail for a time, sprinting through a tangerine corridor of flames until the cracking, hissing, popping of the pine trees was too loud and close and terrible and they turned off the path and began to run straight up into the forest, making for the tree line, where the rock couldn’t burn and crumble and catch. Lea spared a thought to worry for the wildlife in this sudden firestorm, and, as though she had called then up, all the animals of the forest joined them in a great exodus. Deer as light and agile as kittens bounded up their backs and onto their shoulders, birds wings beat in their faces, squirreled scratched their arms and scalp as they appeared, clutched, and leapt to other branches like little blips on a radar.
Lea and Rich’s legs ached, burnt shook, and presently, they were running on all fours, clawing the side of the mountain, begging for forgiveness, watering it with tears. Lea stumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried, as shame with out an antecedent coursed over her. She tasted her seawater tears in her mouth, knew her face was screwed up as though someone had mashed up a wax representation of herself. She didn’t care. She threw her arms about the mountainside and begged it to let her survive.
Rich was tugging her arm, holding her hard and leaving marks in her skin. She glanced up to brush him off, and saw the deer. It was the same baleful deer that had been shot on the side of the road, years ago, in her memory. It was standing calmly, watching her, cocking its head. Behind it, there was a bright red shed, its door open.
“Come on, Lea, into the shed, she’s opened it for us! Come on! Don’t do her the dishonor!” Rich pulled harder and Lea let herself be lifted. Their feet slipping on loose pebbles and slightly larger boulders that were now rolling, clacking and crashing down the mountain, Rich helped Lea to the shed.
They were nearly to the safety of the old garden shed when something hard crashed into the side of Lea’s knee and she slipped out of Rich’s arm and her momentum tumbled her down the side of the mountain a few feet. Lea’s head was ringing when she lifted it and the rock that had unbalanced her lay a few inches from her face. Lea gasped and sat up quickly. The rock had a face. It was a female face. It had delicately arched brows, a long thin nose, closed eyes, and a small mouth that was parted slightly. It was shiny and black, and faintly translucent at the edges. It was completely smooth except for some scratches along the nose and a chip at the edge of the chin. Lea stared at it, and quietly stepped away as though she would wake the beautiful stone face if she moved too quickly.
“Lea,” Rich gasped, skidding into view and holding a hand toward Lea, who was on her knees. “Run!” Rich’s eyes were wide and rimmed with red, his sweaty sandy hair darker than usual, and in pieces on his forehead. Lea took his filthy, charred and blistered hand and together, they dashed for the red garden shed.
Inside the shed, with the door shut, Rich and Lea huddled together on a bench in the corner. A small, dirty window showed the flames that they had outrun catching up with them. From the sky, it seemed, more obsidian faces were tumbling down the mountain, women, men, children, infants, all beautiful carved faces, all seemingly asleep. They glowed as they heated up in the flames, bright, sleeping faces skidding down the mountain.
Lea hid her face in Rich’s sweater, listening to his rhythms, feeling him gasping and breathing beneath her. The black, glassy faces creaked as they piled up against the shed, sounding like a bag of marbles being rubbed together. Lea tried not to listen to the creaking, moaning, scratching of the faces. She listened to Rich’s breaths. She counted them. One in, one out, two in, two out, three in, three out. And in counterpoint, his heartbeats. A-beed, pause, a-beed, pause, a-beed, pause.
Screeching, cracking, tumbling.
Four in, four out, five in five out, six in, six out.
A-beed, pause, a-beed, pause, a-beed, pause.
Seven in, seven out, eight in, eight out, nine in, nine out, ten in , out, in, out, in, out.
A-beed, pause, a-beed. A-beed. A-beed. A-beed.
The Caldera. By Amanda Nester.
