Lilah didn’t reply, but she did turn around to look at him. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if her eyes were still glazed over or not. A small chill ran down his spine, followed by a much greater spasm of fear: what would happen if she started seizing again and fell? Her head might hit a rock… She could break an arm… His thoughts dredged up a chilling article he’d read about a man who’d accidentally bitten off his own tongue in the middle of a grand mal seizure.
The thought sent a surge of adrenaline straight into Stanley’s veins. “I’m coming, Lilah!”
Filled with an overwhelming, formidable love that only a father can possess for his daughter – as well as the unwavering resolve of a man trying to right his own idiotic blunder – Stanley tore across the grass, crossing the distance between himself and his child in three tenacious strides. All the while, he tried not to think about what might happen if he were to be caught between her and another seizure. His heart was thumping ferociously against his sternum as he dropped to the grass and grasped Lilah’s tiny hands in his. At that exact moment, her body went rigid once more.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Stanley whispered, holding her to his chest. “I’ve got you.”
He watched in wonder, terror, and disbelief as the thirty-foot radius of grass surrounding them abruptly changed from green to brown, then back to green again. In between the blades of grass, a carpet of wildflowers bloomed, then shriveled, bloomed and shriveled. He couldn’t keep track of how many times the grass and flowers flourished and died, for everything was moving too quickly for him to register. But at one point, the wide portion of fence that was caught in the bubble disappeared altogether, and the tawny grass within the circle began to rise from the ground in wild, waist-high stalks. They fluttered in a frigid breeze that had not been there moments before.
Stanley felt a violent shudder run through Lilah's little body; whether from the fresh chill in the air or an intensifying seizure, he couldn't be sure. Using his teeth, he carefully drew out the small vial from his breast pocket; then, with both of his arms still wrapped around his shivering daughter, he unscrewed the lid behind her head, filling the dropper as carefully – and as quickly – as he could. There wasn't much liquid left inside the bottle, and his trembling fingertips made the delicate work all the more difficult. Air bubbles rose to the top of the glass tube as he pulled the last dregs of medicine from the bottom of the vial, but as the liquid finally approached the fill line, Stanley slowly began to release the breath he had been holding.
A sudden rumble made that breath catch in his Adam's apple. He whipped his head around as the ground began to shake violently beneath his knees, sending the dropper tumbling into the tall grass. A herd of buffalo had materialized just a few yards away, and they were running – running as though their lives depended on it. Stanley could only stare in horror as the buffalo ran straight past them, sending clods of dirt and dead grass flying into the air around them. Steam rose from their nostrils as they panted and snorted, racing away from some unseen danger. The massive beasts were so close, he could smell the pungent musk of their gnarled, matted coats.
“Jesus!” Stanley yelped as a massive hoof crash-landed a centimeter away from his exposed calf. His head spun around, searching for an escape, but he and Lilah were surrounded.
The stampede seemed to go on forever; it took everything he had not to bury his face into Lilah's downy curls and sob. One by one, dozens of panicked animals appeared from the far side of an invisible partition, where the circle of brown overgrown prairie met groomed green meadow. Then, twenty feet to Stanley’s right, the charging buffalo disappeared into the other side of the unseen boundary, in between the two portions of wooden fence that still existed on either side of it.
When the last of them finally disappeared, a sharp, frenzied cry nearly made Stanley soil his pants. He caught only a glimpse of the half-naked man, his long, black hair adorned with feathers, before a terrible pain tore through his shoulder. Stanley cried out in agony as he clutched his daughter tighter against his chest, doing everything he could to shield her from the attack. More and more battle cries rang out from inside the circle, piercing Stanley's eardrums with their terrible shrillness. Acrid tears burned at his eyes and his belly knotted with pangs of regret; he had promised his dying wife that he would take care of himself and keep their precious daughter safe. Now, because of his recklessness, their remains would be left to rot in a place that was decades – maybe centuries – gone. No one would ever find them. No one would ever know what happened to them. Stanley’s shoulders shook with grief.
“Ow, Daddy,” Lilah whined, pushing away from him. “You’re squishing me.”
Her father let out a startled cry. As he regarded the small, grumpy human standing before him – who appeared utterly unfazed by everything that had just happened – it abruptly dawned on him that silence had once more settled upon the meadow. The grass at his knees was trimmed and green. The fence, and even the blackbird, had returned. It let out a loud caw before flying away to its nest, a sound that made Stanley jump.
When he was absolutely certain that no buffalo herds or arrow-wielding warriors were nearby, he dropped his arms to his side. The movement made his left shoulder blade scream with pain. Stanley craned his head over his shoulder to see what had happened; to his immense shock, an arrow was protruding from the back of his shirt.
“Jesus!” he yelled, jumping to his feet. Without thinking, he reached around to grasp the arrow and yanked as hard as he could. It tore out of his skin, eliciting a yelp akin to that of a wounded dog.
Lilah stared up at him in confusion. “You have owwie?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern. “We’ll see Doctor Koiter. Okay?”
Still heaving with shock, Stanley gawked the sharpened obsidian point at the end of the arrow shaft, glinting red in the sun with his own blood. He didn’t know much about Native American arrowheads, but he certainly recognized what he was clutching in his hand. He gazed at the arrow for a long moment before shoving it in his back pocket. Then, with a heavy sigh, he knelt beside Lilah, running his hands across the grass to try and find her medicine. A quick search confirmed what he already knew; the dropper was gone. Perhaps hundreds of years gone.
Lilah tugged at his shirtsleeve. “We go doctor now, Daddy. Okay?”
“Pharmacy first, little buddy of mine,” he smiled tightly. “Then we’ll go see Dr. Kreuter.”
“Will we say hi to Mommy?”
“Not today, pumpkin. But don’t you worry. Mommy’s watching us all the time and probably has a few choice words she’d like to say to Daddy right about now.”
“Like chocolate? Or caterpillar?” Lilah asked, pulling a clod of dirt from her hair. It smelled faintly of manure. “I like those words”
“Something like that,” Stanley grunted, hoisting himself to his feet. “There might be a word that starts with an ‘F’ somewhere in there too.”
“Does ‘bunny’ start with ‘F’?”
“Nope,” Stanley answered, taking her hand in his. They walked towards the car as the clouds passed by overhead, casting wide shadows across the prairie. Somewhere far away, a blackbird cawed.