28
If I had a quid for every time I’ve woken up sore, alone, and in the dark in the last five days . . . I close my eyes, hoping for a little more rest. Sleep comes quickly.
The second awakening’s much better. At least I can discern the pain’s focal point this go-round: my left shoulder.
In the dim light I run my fingers across my shoulder, feeling for the source of the hurt. I stop on a round metal device, cool to the touch. Its tiny tendrils dig into my flesh. I instinctively scratch at the edges, trying to pry it free. It’s no use; the little metal insect is dug in too tight.
My eyes have adjusted a bit, and I take in my confines, which seem like a coffin at first. There’s a ceiling a few feet above and dark walls on three sides. I can just make out a dim light to my right. I’m in a cubby, just big enough for my body, on an incredibly comfortable mattress.
I push up, but pain explodes in my abdomen, races up my chest, and slams me back into the bed.
My fingers reach for the pain, gently, afraid to ignite it again. My journal—it’s pressed against my stomach, against the hurt. No, it’s on the outside. The Alice Carter notebook is closest to my bruised abdomen and ribs. Running my hand down the journal’s hard cover, I find the silver spider dug into it. The sharp legs reach deep inside, almost to the back cover, like a staple through a stacked sheaf of papers, but not quite deep enough to get through and wrap around. The journal stopped the first shot at the park outside Titan Hall, and that’s probably a very good thing.
I hold the small book up and flip it open. The last, unpierced pages are blank. I set it aside and move to Alice Carter. She’s survived unharmed, and I realize that I’m happy about that. I’d choose her over the journal any day—I’m not sure I want to know any more about myself. The first walk down Future Memory Lane was jarring enough.
I swing my feet out of the bunk, onto the floor. Faint light rises from below, illuminating the space. Three double bunks are arranged in a U-shape. Both of the others on the bottom level are occupied, but the row above is empty. It’s crew quarters. Is this a ship?
I lean forward to look at the other bunks. Yul lies to the right. He’s alive and asleep. The bag he has vigilantly guarded since the crash is missing. Sabrina occupies the other bunk, and I’m relieved to feel a faint pulse in her neck as well.
The double doors directly ahead slide open, flooding the room with blinding light. I hold my right arm up, squinting, barely able to make out a suited figure. It taps a panel, and darkness overtakes me.
The pain’s gone when I wake up, and so is everything else: the cramped bunk, the metal burr in my shoulder, my journal and notebook—and my tattered clothes. I feel a little self-conscious as I sit up, inspecting the tight, layered white garments someone has dressed me in.
The room I’m in is spacious, spotlessly clean. Across from the king bed, there’s a desk against a long wall. To my right, a wide window looks out on the sea. A glass door opens to a glittering bathroom. Beyond the bathroom, another door, solid wood, presumably leads out of the room. It feels like a posh hotel.
I stare out the window for a moment, searching for clues about where I might be. All I can see is a featureless expanse of blue ocean all the way to the horizon, punctuated only by whitecaps on the surface and birds in the air. My first thought is that I’m on a huge ship, but I don’t sense any motion.
The outer door hisses open when I approach, revealing a long corridor and similar wooden doors. I step to the first, but can’t open it. Panicked, I move back to my own. To my relief, it opens. Must be keyed to me somehow.
What to do? Stay and wait, or make a go for it? The stay-and-wait option is unappealing, but hey, the make-a-go approach hasn’t exactly worked lately either.
I march to the metallic door at the end of the corridor and pause anxiously. It parts, revealing a wider hall with a different character: that of an office building. No. A hospital. Something in between.
In contrast to the first wing’s carpeted floors and wood-paneled walls and doors, this space is all tile, glass, and concrete, clean and clinical. A series of glass doors line the walls, and to my surprise, the door to the far right swings open.
I inhale, unable to move.
Two people in white coats stride out quickly, purposefully, fully engaged in their conversation, which echoes in the high-ceilinged space.
“Is there a backup plan if they can’t make it work?”
“Not really, besides weathering the attack.”
“So that’s a no.”
They exit through sliding doors at the end of the hall, letting in a warm gust of wind with a salty tang.
I venture closer to the nearest glass door and peer in. The room is empty—a lab, similar to what you might find at a university. High tables with black tops and sinks cover the space. Glass cabinets line the windowless walls.
Two silver tables on casters lie just inside the door, each with a zipped body bag on top.
I push through the swinging glass door into the lab, closing the distance quickly to the body bags. A device that looks like an air pump sits at the foot. I pull the zipper of the first one back. A plume of frigid, foggy air rises. When it clears, I’m staring down at Yul. I stagger back, panting. God.
I zip the bag shut. I’m pretty sure of what I’ll find at the next, but unable to stop myself, I rush to it and pull the zipper down just enough . . . Sabrina. Also motionless. Dead.
Outside the lab, I hear the double doors at the end of the corridor open.
Without taking the time to zip up Sabrina’s bag, I run to the other side of the lab and duck, crouching behind the farthest table.
Footsteps echo, drawing close.
In my mind, I can see the fog rising from Sabrina’s body bag like smoke from a signal fire, screaming, “Hey, she’s in here.” Instead, I hear real voices in the corridor.
“The access log says she just exited her room.”
“Should have posted someone by the door.”
I don’t dare look. When I hear them enter the residential wing, I bound up, out of the lab, and down the corridor, pausing only for the doors, which seem to take forever to open.
The area outside is a vast concrete promenade that looks straight down into an endless canyon, a wide river flowing through the center. Why is this so familiar?
I can’t tear my eyes away from the drop-off. We must be a thousand feet up. . . .
I’ve seen this place. From another angle, from a sandy beach—in Titan Hall. This is the Gibraltar Dam, the center of it. We’re in a mini-city at the center of the dam. One side looks out on the sea, as my room did. This side towers over the valley the Titans created between Europe and Africa.
The doors open behind me.
“Harper! Stop!”
I know that voice. I turn, not believing my eyes. It can’t be.