Unplugged: The Hidden World (#2, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter One

Save them.

I wake with a start, sweat covering my body despite the chilly air in the room. Panicked, I glance around to be sure that I'm still sleeping in my own bed. My eyes scan the cracked, yellow walls; the covered window outlined by the faint, navy glow of morning; the small, blue bed next to mine where Matthew continues to sleep peacefully. I take a few deep breaths before throwing the quilted covers off of me.

It was just a dream, I soothe myself. But it had seemed much more real than any dream I've ever had: I was treading through a dismal hallway radiating with fear and sounds of anguish, then I woke up, my mind resounding with the command to save them. Save who?

It was just a dream, I repeat, but I can't shake the disgruntled feeling that lingers in my stomach. Unable to sleep any longer, I quietly slip out of bed and crack open the door. The creaky, wooden floors are cold against my bare feet as I tiptoe into the kitchen. Due to the shortage of windows and our inability to use electricity, we rely on candles to provide our light. One sits on the kitchen counter, its flickering flame dancing desperately in the air. Since our arrival two days ago, we'd decided that turning on or off our electrical devices might signal to anyone paying attention that we were occupying this apartment. Luckily, my grandmother had hoarded many items in her closet for such an occasion: candles, non-perishable foods, safety blankets, batteries... No doubt, we are safe here.

Well, safe as long as the supplies last.

I open the refrigerator and remove three apples from the produce drawer. Cooking has never exactly been my forte, but I don't have much of a choice since we'd decided to take turns preparing meals. I'm in charge of breakfast. My mom is in charge of lunch, and Matthew cooks dinner. None of us are necessarily gifted in the culinary arts, but we've managed to create some sub-par dishes utilizing the random ingredients we can salvage from the fridge or pantry. My stomach squeezes as I realize how spoiled I was at the Depot. Even though it didn't last as long as I would have liked, my time with the Resistance had helped me break out of the social alienation I grew up with. Not to mention, the food was superb.

I carry the fruits over to the counter and set them down, noticing how the rich maroon of the apples' skin reflects the candle's flame. The drawer to the right of the sink is stocked with cheap silverware. I take a knife and begin chopping the apples into medium-sized wedges. As I work, my mind is left to roam freely. I'm scared that I might start thinking about the Depot again, about the people who were plugged in, so I force myself to think about Leah. I hadn't seen or heard from my friend since escaping the Depot, and a few times the apartment shook with small explosions from outside. Yesterday, I worked up the courage to peek out the window only to find more dust and debris scattered over the streets. My only comfort now is the fact that Leah is traveling with Sara and Oscar. She isn't alone.

I can't say the same for Josh...

Gathering the crescent-shaped wedges of fruit, I carry them over to the dining table and carefully place them inside the small bowl that sits on top of it. Breakfast is ready.

* * *

Still unable to sleep, I sit in the old armchair that claims the corner of the living room, staring at the blinds that cover the window. Muffled sunlight paints patterns over the dirty carpet, and another small explosion causes the ground to tremble. The image of my dream continues to resurface in my mind, unbidden. It's been years since I've dreamt. Actually, I don't remember ever dreaming at all. Most people have come to believe that the concept of dreaming is more of a symbolic construct than a neurological reality. If, indeed, I was really seeing those things in my sleep, I must have been having a nightmare.

Save them? What could that message possibly mean? I've tried that already. I've tried to do something to save the Depot, to save the people I cared about, and look at where that got me! Squatting on the lam as bombs rain from the sky like giant, misshapen rain drops.