It takes more energy than I think I have in me to push myself to my feet. I lean against a tree and close my eyes for a minute. It’s not that far away. Light means warmth. Safety. Well, relative safety anyway.
I hobble forward, taking small steps. The lights don’t seem to get closer for quite some time. Maybe I’m not moving at all and I just think I am. Every step hurts. One foot and my ankle throbs.The other and my side feels like it’s being stabbed. Or burned. Or… someone is digging their nails into it. I can’t tell.
“You made it,” a man with a rifle says. He smiles. “Looking a little worse for wear, but nice job, buddy. Congrats.”
I give him a tired smile. Fucked-up game.
He touches my hand, and I pause, though I think if I stand too still, then I’m not going to be able to keep moving forward again. If I stop now, I’m stuck right here.
The other man opens the door. They don’t rush me as I shuffle to the light. This is prophetic, right? Don’t the brainwashed say that there’s a bright light at the end of their life? Oh, wait. They don’t like being called brainwashed.
My brain swims so much that I laugh at my own thoughts. Maybe I laugh. There’s a chance that I only laugh inside my head.
“A little further, buddy,” the guy behind me says.
I take another couple of steps inside.
“There you go. Get cleaned up and get some rest. Nice win, kid.” The door shuts behind me.
They’re weirdly courteous. I lean against the wall and close my eyes as I think about that. Why are they so nice?
Hands on my face have me opening my eyes. “Brek. You’re alive.”
I stare at the face that looks so much like Voss that I can’t suck in another breath for a solid three seconds. Okay, now IknowI’m dead. Maybe that bright white light is real. Maybe I’m part of the brainwas—uh… religious?
Nah.
“Say something. Are you okay?”
I shake my head. I’m certainly not okay. Clearly, I’m hallucinating Voss. If I look around, will I see my friends too? Part of me wants to look, but that means looking away from Voss, and I’m not sure I want to do that. Not now that I see him.
“He’s covered in blood,” someone says. Do I recognize the voice? “Bring him this way. We have a first-aid kit.”
“Seriously?” Imaginary-Voss asks.
“Yes. We have a strange number of luxuries. As if they’ve made an effort to keep us comfortable before sending us out to be murdered.”
I stop trying to keep track of the voices around me, though I listen. My eyes remain locked on Voss. I don’t care who else is there. I don’t care who answers when he asks questions.
“Lay him here. We need to find where he’s bleeding from, though the hole in his shirt and the concentration of blood might as well be a target.”
“I’m right here,” Voss says quietly. “I’m going to take your shirt off, okay?”
I don’t care what he does.
“I think he’s in shock.”
My feet struggle to move. I wince every time I need to put weight on my ankle. The adrenaline in my system is burning out now, and the pain is epic. I’ve never felt anything like this. It makes me dizzy. Sick to my stomach. My head spins.
“Wow! That’s the biggest first-aid kit I’ve ever seen.”
A new stinging pain punctuates my daze, and I jerk. A choking sound comes out of my throat. Holy fuck.
“We have to clean you, Brek,” Imaginary-Voss says. “Can’t let you get infected.”
“He looks like he was beaten up. Look at all the bruises and small puncture wounds. All the scrapes and skids. He’s a mess.”
“He was limping. We’re going to need to look at his legs.”
