The Last Gateway

By Cassandra Hamm

I haven’t found the right universe yet.

“What do you think?” Cleo’s feet squish into the swampy ground with each step.

I peer through the tiny tear in the fabric of our universe. On the other side is a different world—blanketed in reddish stone with deep canyons and majestic mountains.

“Well?” Cleo demands.

“We don’t know if there’s any water.” I pull back from the peephole.

“So?” Swamp muck smears my little sister’s face. I doubt she’s noticed. “Come on, Clara, you can’t tell me you don’t want to leave Shaar.”

I stare at the mire beneath my booted feet. What would it be like to live in a world where mud doesn’t drag at my heels, where the air is fresh and clean, where Cleo and I could finally relax? Where I could forget the nightmares where alligators tear at my flesh, like they did to Uncle Raymond?

Already few of us remain. Shaar has so many holes leading to other universes that most people have already jumped, trusting from a glimpse that the world beyond is better than here.

Like Mom did a few years ago without telling us. No goodbye. No note explaining why. Just… gone.

“Come on!” Cleo stomps her foot, sending swamp water everywhere. I swear, sometimes she acts like she’s twelve instead of fifteen. “Anything’s better than here!”

“But what if we choose a world that’s even worse?”

“We come back. Problem solved.”

“What if we can’t? What if it only goes one way?” Maybe Mom couldn’t come back even if she wanted to. Maybe she thought she could check out a new world and then bring us with her. Maybe she regrets leaving us without saying goodbye.

Cleo huffs. “Whatever.”

No one’s ever shown up in our world. If the holes allowed re-entry, wouldn’t people be poofing into our swamp left and right?

Then again, who would willingly come here?

I sigh. “Did you find any other possibilities?”

I don’t know how Cleo does it, but she has an eye for spotting the holes—slight atmospheric disturbances too insignificant for me to see. I spot the danger; she spots the holes.

“Yep!” A grin splits her grimy face. “You’re gonna love it.” With that, she pulls me across the swamp.

I extract myself from her grip and slow, my eyes peeled for mud pits and gators. “Yeah, you said that about the one yesterday, but all I saw was black smoke and massive buildings.”

Cleo stands ankle-deep in swamp water, pausing only to let me catch up. For someone who hates the swamp so much, she really needs to be more careful. “But they were cool buildings!”

I roll my eyes. My feet make loud squelching noises that make me shudder even though I’ve lived here for eighteen years.

We reach the edge of the lake, filled with pond scum and more gators. I only ventured inside one time when Cleo dared me to go in naked. Never again.

Cleo walks in with barely a hesitation.

“Cleo!” I hiss, my heart pounding. “What are you doing?”

“It’s here,” she says.

“In the water?” I half expect a gator to chomp her legs in half.

“Above it.”

I groan. “And exactly how did you discover the hole?”

“I saw it from the shoreline.”

I’m not sure I believe that, but I follow her in anyway. Someone has to take care of her, and that someone is always me. The slimy water seeps through my pants, and I gag. At least the stench is no worse than the rest of the swamp.

I don’t blame people for jumping universes, what with the gator problem we have. I don’t even blame Mom for leaving us.

Oh, who am I kidding? She decided her new world would be better off without her daughters. How could I not hate her?

“There.” Cleo huffs, treading pond water, pointing at a small disturbance in the air.

I swim to her side, trying to stay aware of the more important disturbances—water ones—and peer through the hole. It’s green, so green, but there’s blue, too—water. Drinkable, non-swampy water. My heart aches.

Still, we don’t know what’s really out there. I can’t lead my sister into danger.

“Well?” Cleo’s eyes shine.

The sounds of the swamp—crickets chirping, frogs croaking, wood creaking—join with our ragged breaths as we try to keep ourselves above the algae-choked, rancid water. Each second we stay is a second we could lose our legs—or our lives.

“We should get back to the shoreline,” I say.

She slaps the murky water with her hand. “We can’t stay here forever!” Her swamp-green eyes are wild and desperate. “You’ve got to choose something.”

I choose her. I won’t leave her like Mom did. But what if that green world is hiding dangers worse than gators?

The water ripples. My mouth goes dry. A ridged head breaks the surface between us and the bank.

“Clara!” Cleo screams.

I grab at the hole, tearing at it with my long nails. The fabric is harder than I expected, but it’s no match for a desperate sister. Each tear reveals more and more green.

I turn to Cleo, then to the alligator’s beady eyes behind us, which come closer with each tail stroke. “Together!” I yell, grabbing Cleo’s hand.

We dive through the portal. A sudden, frigid cold makes me gasp, and something slimy passes over me.  Then our bodies collide with grass—beautiful, cool grass. I breathe in its sweet smell for a moment before turning my gaze upward. Greenery surrounds us, only partially blocking a bright blue sky. The roaring of a stream nearby fills me with peace. And, best of all, no gator follows us through the hole, which is already closing back up.

“Clara!” Cleo gasps, squeezing my hand. “Oh, Clara!”

I fold her in my arms. We’re both trembling, but I did it. I kept her safe. “Welcome home, Cleo.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm has always been fascinated by the inner workings of the human mind. She received her B.S. in psychology and continues to apply her knowledge to her characters. No, she is not psychoanalyzing you as you read this. She is a Community Assistant for the Young Writers Workshop, and she works at a library and a puzzle store, where she has full permission to be a nerd and get paid for it.

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