Alive Again: Awakening (Book 1)

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When Brandon finally did return, the rest of us were halfway through our dinner. Apparently, someone had snagged several leftover dishes out of our fridge, so cold macaroni and cheese and mixed vegetables it was.

Our conversation stopped when Brandon entered the hut.

Beetle wiggled his fingers and a few of his bug friends picked up Brandon's wood bowl of mac and cheese, courtesy of Maple, and scuttled it over to him. Brandon sat and began eating.

The temperature had dropped some. I watched as Maple opened the top of our hut and Sting made a circle with some rocks on the forrest floor. He dropped three tiny red spheres into the center. A moment later, a fire lit.

"What are those?" I couldn't help but ask.

"FirePods," Sting answered. "They're made of—"

"Who's taking the first shift?" Brandon interrupted, finishing his last bite. The mood had lightened in his absence, but now seemed to be souring once again.

Sting and Delilah gave him a look.

"O-kay. I guess I'll do it then," Brandon concluded more to himself.

Once we'd all finished eating, Maple re-earthed the bowls she'd created and everyone began their evening rituals. And let me tell you, watching Brandon's team go to bed was without a doubt the strangest thing I'd ever seen.

Beetle nuzzled into a crack in the tree-wall, actually shrinking to fit inside. Delilah converted back into her snake form and curled herself in the other corner. Sting reluctantly told Brandon something, which escalated into a fight about Sting wanting to convert into his molecular form and sleep in the ground water and Brandon objecting. Maple made the trees form her a little cradle thing, and she rolled up inside it. Brandon stepped outside the hut and took a seat for the first watch.

Not knowing what to do, I just leaned my back against the hut wall and closed my eyes.

"Night, team," Brandon called. No one said anything. There was a scuttling noise from Beetle's nook which made my skin crawl, a low hiss from Delilah, a shifting of leaves from Maple, and an irritated swish of Sting's tale.

An hour passed. Once the fire died down, it got really cold, really fast. I'd resigned myself to a more or less sleepless night anyway, but now I was cold too. It wasn't too long after that I heard Beetle detach himself from the wall and hop down to the floor.

He moved around me toward the hut entrance, trying not to nudge my legs, and whispered, "Brandon, I'm cold."

"I checked inventory and Sting used up the last three FirePods we had. You'll just have to deal with it, B," came Brandon's response.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for Beetle. Here was some poor six-year-old mutant child in need of warmth, and all his leader proposed in suggestion was to "deal with it." I heard Beetle start back for his corner.

"Beetle," I called quietly.

"Yeah?"

"C'mere," I said, smiling in the darkness. "You can sleep with me, okay? I'm warm blooded." My parents used to joke about warm blood because my body temperature was usually high. I tried to push the thought of them away before any emotion could follow.

I felt him move towards me. I tried to keep my bug phobia out of mind too, as I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. Beetle shivered slightly, making a little bug sound. I swallowed hard. I pulled him close and he snuggled up. It was a warm feeling. I felt like an older sister, cuddling the baby brother I never had—until the nightmare returned.

My head throbbed. I could feel the heat from the blaze around me, the little boy's arms around my neck. My heart galloped inside me once again. I saw the man pursuing us. He grabbed my brother, I tried to stop him. He pushed me back.

My eyes snapped open to Brandon standing over me. "Let's make a fire," he said simply.

"I thought you'd never ask," Sting muttered, hopping up.

"I'll go find some firewood. Maple, can you—" Brandon began to ask her, when she cried out in protest. Her shriek was muffled from her cocoon. "You can't! You'll hurt the trees! No!" Maple unfurled herself from her tree bed.

Brandon groaned. "Maple, I know how you feel about the trees, but it's freezing in here and we're out of FirePods. It's the only way."

"No! The trees hate fire, Brandon! What if the fire spreads? You'll burn everything!"

"Maple," Brandon rubbed his forehead. "Sting's on watch next, and he'll make sure that doesn't happen."

Maple continued to boycott. Brandon's patience thinned.

"Maple! Give it a rest, will you? It's sometime in the freaking morning and we have to get going in a few hours! If we're all sleep deprived because of the cold, we won't be able to do our best. That's when someone will get hurt! Is that what you want?"

Maple sounded close to tears. "But . . . but you'll hurt them . . . "

"Maple, don't start crying. This is what we're trained for. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices."

I knew I wasn't exactly on Brandon's good side right now, but I felt like I needed to say something. She was only a little girl. A trained mutant combatant, but still.

"Brandon, don't talk to her like that," I whispered forcefully. Beetle was still asleep. I stood gingerly, picking him up as I went.

I didn't have to see his expression to know he was less than pleased.

"You want to freeze to death?" Brandon threw his arms up in the air. "Because last time I checked, warmth in the wilderness requires a fire. We're out of FirePods, which means we have to do this the old-fashioned way. We're all cold and the only way to warm up a little bit is to make a fire. Making a fire requires firewood."

"I get it, Brandon," I said gently. I didn't want to start another fight. "But obviously, Maple's not okay with the firewood idea, so can we compromise?"

Everyone was staring at me. I exhaled.

"Look," I said more softly. "Brandon, Sting, you guys could make a fire by yourselves. Water and electricity will make sparks which will make a fire, without wood. So just point at the ground, and, uh . . . do your thing. Then, we'll have a fire without harming the trees."

"Sting, if the fire starts to rise you can control it," Deilah piped up from the corner. It sounded like she'd transformed back to her regular form. I was thankful that she'd spoken. She rescued me from the awkward silence.

"Do it," Delilah suggested, when neither Sting nor Brandon moved.

Streaming water and crackling sparks sounded. In seconds, a flame erupted at our feet casting a pumpkin-orange light dancing across the walls of our hut.

I tried not to enjoy Brandon's stiff defeated expression, as he said, "Sting, it's your turn. I'm going to bed."

Sting stifled a chuckle in the corner. When he got shocked a second later, he didn't make another sound.