“From Chipley?” I breathe out.
“Yes,” he says.
“Why?”
“So you can see.”
“See what?” I shout back, refusing to mimic his calm demeanor.
“Reese, have you ever been told that when you think things are as bad as they can get, they can always be worse?” the woman over the speaker pipes in again.
I refuse to respond to her threat. Instead, I raise my eyebrows toward who I believe to be JJ just as he turns around, heading for the door. I follow, doing my best to hold myself up as my feet touch the ground. My body is heavy and each step is difficult, but I manage to keep up. When I step outside of the room, more light blinds me, but it’s different this time because it’s sunlight coming through the windowed walls. A hallway of windows unravels before me and I’m a bit enamored by the unexpected beauty.
We walk halfway down the hall when the man—JJ or whoever—slides open part of the glass window, revealing a way to the outside. “Here you go,” he says. “Once you step out of here, you are officially free from the safety of Chipley.”
I’m not buying it. I’m not letting my fear of their lies keep me here. “Thank you for your warning, JJ,” I breathe through whispered sarcasm.
He clears his throat and straightens his posture, neither confirming nor denying his identity. I’m not sure I care at this point. “Head north,” he says, pointing straight ahead. “Your answers will be there.”
He’s not getting a thank you from me. I step outside, feeling the heat from the sun warm my cold skin. I take a few steps forward when I’m startled by something hitting my back. Turning around, I find a backpack lying in front of me. The man is still standing at the door, watching. “Food and water. We don’t want you to die, just so you keep that in mind,” he shouts over.
Food?Food. I tear open the bag and look inside, finding at least a dozen sandwiches, fruit, and candy bars. Bottles of water—plenty enough to keep me alive for at least a few weeks at this point. This is all I have wanted. “Thank you,” I mouth.
“Come back when you realize why you shouldn’t have left. There is a place here for you.” His eyebrows rise, hinting at a smile I cannot see beneath his mask. “We aren’t the bad people.” If only his words sounded honest.
A pit forms in my stomach. This time, it’s not from hunger or from the thought of eating, but from the questions stirring in my mind of whether or not he’s telling me the truth, and whether or not I’m imagining all of this. Without giving me an opportunity to ask more questions, the door in front of the man closes, sealing me out.
Enemy or not, I suddenly miss Sin. At least when he was with me, I wasn’t alone.
Heading in the direction the man pointed, which looks like a vertical incline for as far as I can see, I reach around into my bag and pull out a sandwich, unwrapping the plastic as quickly as my fingers will move. Careful not to sicken myself, I take small bites, feeling the food struggle down my throat before hitting the hollow depths of my stomach. Each piece feels filling, enough to sustain my life for a little longer. Energy fills me slowly and the heaviness of my body subsides. Although exhaustion is overwhelming with the steepness of the hill, the end is in sight and I’m not giving up until I reach it.
Or not.When I meant an end, I didn’t mean the base of what looks to be a small mountain. I’ve come up to a wall of compact dirt, seemingly blocking me in yet again. I move closer, feeling as though this barrier is growing larger by the minute. It’s monstrous and goes on for miles on each side, or maybe further because there’s no possible way to see an end point with the horizon blurred out the way it is.
As I reach the mountain, a path lines the vertical length, but while looking up, I don’t see an endpoint there either. This isn’t real, is it? I must be imagining all of this. They drugged me. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
Regardless, I dig my hands into the dirt and begin ascending.
The heaviness in my legs soon returns, but not from anything that happened to me inside of that bunker. The path is as endless as this wall of dirt and there is still no end in sight. I realize falling from the edge would be the easiest way to end all of this. I’m high enough that there would be no chance of survival. There would be no chance of my body being in anything less than a million pieces. My hands are sweaty and bleeding from the tight grip I have maintained. I remove one hand, holding my body closely to the path, wiping it down the length of my side. Then I do the same with the other hand.
I think about an hour has passed since I left the bunker. Everything hurts so much that I’m not sure I can make it back down or the rest of the way up, but I don’t have a choice unless I want to make that final decision, so I continue fighting through the pain, trying my best to ignore it.
But now I see it. An end—a ridge, which better not lead to another level of this mountain or ridiculous hill—whatever I’m on. If this is not the end, I will fall. I will fall on purpose and this will be my final attempt at escape.
I reach the end, dragging myself, thankfully, up onto the flat ground. Standing up and brushing the dirt from my legs, I turn toward what looks like a ledge. With only a few steps forward, I stop as I approach the end, forced to take in the sights and the reality of what was left behind years ago.
