Within These Walls

Chapter 8

I'm hoping that anticipating the next zap will make it hurt less, but if anything, it adds mental agony to the mix. I lie flat on my back when it releases me, breathing shallowly through my constricted lungs. Strength returns to me slowly. The cries around me die down, replaced by, What happened? and Are you okay?

And then our bracelets start beeping.

"Oh, no," Willow whispers.

A short reprieve. That's what they're giving us. A chance to get moving. It takes me two beeps to process this. I know thirteen more will follow before they zap us again.

"Get upstairs!" someone shouts.

I stagger to my feet and lurch toward the perforated metal stairs. Two more beeps. They're longer than seconds, but even if we had double the time, it wouldn't help. There's no way almost a hundred people will make it up those steps before the beeping stops.

I'm caught in a stampede. People jostle and shout. I keep track of the beeping. Eight. Nine. I'm almost at the top of the first set of stairs when an elbow slams into the side of my head, dazing me. I shake off the pain.

"Move!" someone screams to my right.

Twelve beeps. I reach the first landing, my heart in my throat. I won't make it. I abandon my plan to race straight to the top and shoulder my way over to the railing. I throw my leg over it, squeezing my heel in the gap between the metal bars.

The beeping stops just as I swing my other leg over. It's only a four-foot fall, but I can't brace for impact because of the pain. I hit the floor like a sack of bricks and curl into a ball, riding out the agony. I'm faring better than those on the stairs. I hear the screams, the sharp clanks, the heavy thuds as bodies fall on top of each other. There's a bitter taste in my mouth. I should have warned them. I should have warned Willow and Carson. I should have—

No. Should-haves don't change anything. Sam hates it when I regret my choices. It's a learning experience, he said to me one afternoon when he commanded me to ride my bike down a steep embankment and I ended up breaking my arm in two places. That's the thing about Sam. He never cares about the things that happen to me. Just my outlook on them.

I pick myself up and turn around. It's madness on the stairway. People are draped over the steps like a carpet, arms and legs askew. Some are buried under piles of bodies, their shouts muffled by the weight.

"Help me! Please—someone help me."

I see the screamer: a boy to one side, tall and gangly, crushed against the railing. His foot is stuck between two metal rails, bent at an odd angle. Broken.

The beeping starts up, jolting me. There's nothing I can do for him now. Nothing I can do for anyone else. I imagine this is an obstacle course and I have to navigate it without going over the time limit. Step over a body, squeeze one foot between a head and a shoulder.

Don't fall. Don't look back.

Six beeps.

A flash of reddish-brown hair ahead of me. Carson is trying to get up, but the crowd surging to their feet keeps pushing him back down. I'm mostly managing in pretending not to hear or see the horror around me, but I can't abandon him. As I reach his side, I circle one arm around him and help him to his feet. "Hurry, Carson."

We make it to the top floor. The kids split apart like streams of water gushing through a tight hose, spewing everywhere. Marcus is already inside our block. My feet cross the threshold just a couple of seconds before the beeping stops. Screams and choked sounds of pain ring out behind me. I don't dare look back. I sink against the wall instead, my heart pounding harder now than when I was in trouble. It's nothing new. It's only when the danger is gone, when fear no longer has any basis in reality, that I ever really allow myself the luxury of falling apart.