CHAPTER ONE
A small village, twenty-five miles north of Changchun, Jilin Province, China
The day after the closure of the portal in
Siberia
Little Ah remembered the times before the end of humanity. Being only five years old she did not recall much, only the important things like watching television, playing with her toys, meeting her friends in pre-school, sleeping in a warm bed, and always having enough to eat. It had been over a year since the electricity went out and ten months since her parents had abandoned their apartment in Changchun and headed into the country in search of food. By now, Ah had grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground under a worn and dirty blanket, living inside of a tent that only partially kept out the rain and the cold, and eating whatever scraps the villagers could scrounge up that day. She did not enjoy her new life; she had only become used to it. She missed her favorite cartoons, her soft mattress, and hot meals at the table with her family. Most of all, she missed those times when her parents were happy. Although Ah’s mother remained cheerful during the day, she cried at night when she thought her daughter had fallen asleep. Her father was the same way, always smiling and rubbing her hair, telling her things might be bad now but would soon improve. Ah grinned and nodded to make her father feel good but deep down she knew things would not get better. She could see the fear and worry in his eyes and decided to make the best of the situation and not upset her parents. Her old life was gone and would never return.
Ah pulled the smelly blanket under her chin and rested her
head on the backpack she used as a pillow. She had kept only one connection to
those happier, earlier times—Ling Ling, a stuffed panda, the only possession
her parents allowed her to bring when they left home. Ling Ling had seen better
days. One of her eyes had fallen out and the white fur had become so dirty it
blended with the black. For Ah, the stuffed panda was priceless because it
comforted her through the uncertainty. She confided in it when she did not want
to bother her mother or father. She cried on it when she was sad, or clutched
it tight when afraid, both of which happened much more frequently than she
cared to admit. Ah kissed the top of Ling Ling’s head before going to sleep.
She would rather die than leave her panda behind.
A loud commotion outside the tent woke her up. She sat
upright, clutching the stuffed animal to her chest. Yelling came from around
the camp site and people raced back and forth. In the distance, she heard
galloping horses, the noise becoming more intense with each passing second.
Someone barked an order about defending the perimeter. Gun fire erupted. It
lasted for several minutes and mixed with screams. Then, as suddenly as the
uproar began, everything went quiet except for the sound of running footsteps
approaching the tent. Ah tried to remain brave, but her body shivered from
fear.
The flap flew aside as Ah’s mother raced in and rushed over
to her daughter. “We have to get going.”
“Where?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Her mother’s voice wavered. She
grabbed Ah by her left wrist and yanked her toward the exit. Ah dropped Ling
Ling. Breaking free from her mother, the child ran back and picked up the
stuffed panda.
“Hurry up,” her mother snapped.
Ah hugged Ling Ling and joined her mother. Before they could
exit, a man carrying a large gun used the barrel to push aside the flap and
enter. He wore a uniform that Ah recognized as belonging to the People’s
Liberation Army, or PLA. Her mother gasped and stepped backward, dragging Ah
with her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and cried. “Please don’t hurt
us.”
The soldier stared at them, his face expressionless. Turning
his head, he waved for someone to join them. Ah’s mother gripped her tightly
and sobbed.
A young woman entered the tent. She wore civilian
clothes—leather pants, a white shirt, and a tan leather jacket, none of which
were soiled or tattered. Her raven black hair hung past her shoulders, clean
and well groomed. She stood five and a half feet in height and, although by no
means overweight, she did not have that emaciated appearance the others in camp
did. Her deep brown eyes switched between Ah and her mother. After a few
seconds, the woman smiled. “My name is Mei. Please, don’t be afraid. We’re here
to help you.”
“You shot at us,” growled Ah’s mother.
“Your people shot first.” Mei’s pleasant demeanor did not
falter. “We only defended ourselves. Now please, gather your belongings and
follow me.”
“Suppose we want to stay here?”
“I’m sorry. We can’t allow anyone to stay behind.”
When Ah’s mother refused to budge, Mei moved across the tent
and squatted in front of the child. “What’s your name?”
“Ah.” She hugged the stuffed panda.
“That’s a beautiful name.” Mei reached toward Ah. Her mother
held her close but Mei showed no interest in the child. She petted the panda’s
head. “What’s her name?”
“Ling Ling.”
“Do you trust me, Ah? Do you think I intend to hurt you or
your mother?”
For some reason, Ah did not feel threatened by this woman.
Maybe it was Mei’s joyful expression, or maybe the glint in her eyes that
promised her intentions were in everyone’s best interest. Ah swallowed hard. “I
trust you.”
“Good.” Mei grinned. “Do you and Ling Ling want to come with
me?”
Ah glanced up at her mother. “Can we go with her?”
Her mother trembled and, for a moment, Ah thought she might
cry. Finally, she gave in to the inevitable. “Promise me you won’t harm Ah.”
“I promise,” Mei said with sincerity.
Taking Ah by the right hand, her mother headed for the exit.
Mei and the PLA soldier moved aside, each holding up one end of the flap. Once
outside, they followed Mei to a clearing on the western perimeter. Most of the
people from the camp were present, while a group of people she did not know,
each carrying a gun, stood behind and on either side of them. Ah searched for
her father but could not find him. She wondered if he was one of the bodies
lying scattered around the field. Before she could ask her mother, something in
front of them caught her attention.
Three horses approached camp, one in front and two slightly
behind and on either side. The figures riding the rearmost horses wore black
cowls that covered their hands and extended below the stirrups. They bowed
forward in their saddles so that the hoods draped over their faces and hands.
The rider of the lead horse wore a similar cowl, only blood red. Thirty feet
from the group, the last two horses stopped. The animals shook their heads and
stamped their hooves; the drivers remained motionless, as if there they were
not alive. The first horse continued ahead and stopped directly in front of Ah.
As the rider dismounted and approached, Ah tried to get a look under the cowl
but the features remained hidden in the shadows. Mei spoke loud enough for
everyone to hear.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bai, the head of our group.
She will lead you to the Promised Land. All you have to do is trust her, like
we do.”
A flurry of questions followed Mei’s statement as those in
the group asked at once where they were going, how long it would take, and what
they could expect when they arrived. Mei calmed them down when Ah asked, “Are
you going to hurt us?”
“We’re going to save you.”
“Save us from what?” asked Ah’s mother.
“From all of this.” Mei gestured toward the camp site.
“We’re going to save you from discomfort and starvation, and from the Xiongnu. The world as you once knew it has come to an end.
Things will never return to what they used to be. We’re creating a new way of
life and are giving you the opportunity to join us and make this world a better
place. You can stay here if you want, cuddling in fear and living like vermin.
Or you can come with us and have a purpose.”
Ah stepped forward. “Is Ling Ling invited to join?”
Mei began to speak but Bai raised her right hand, cutting
her off. Ah caught a glimpse of Bai’s fingers and shuddered. She wanted to run
away. Then Bai spoke, her voice soft and reassuring, mesmerizing yet unsettling
at the same time. “Who is Ling Ling, my child?”
Ah held up he stuffed panda.
Bai reached out and rubbed her forefinger along Ah’s cheek.
This time the child did not flinch. “Everyone is welcome into this new realm.”
Ah grinned and hugged her panda.
Bai remounted her horse, turned it around, and headed back
the way she had come. As she passed, the other two horses fell in line behind
her. Mei motioned for the others to follow. Ah surged forward, dragging along
her mother. One by one, the others followed until the entire camp was on the
march toward their new destiny.
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