Gods Under The Dome

17.1

《Into the Night》

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I return to my cot - empty, cold, not unlike the one I'd slept on in the Facility. I breathe out and as I do, a ball of tension unfurls in my gut. Instantly, I'm made all too aware of the strain holding that salute for so long had caused me. It feels like a fire has been stoked underneath my skin which has every intention of roasting me from the inside out.

My muscles howl in protest. Each leg feels like a stone pillar has been affixed to my waist and I can't stand with my shoulders straight without having to choke down a scream.

I'd thought for certain Della would have laughed at my pathetic attempt to be like one of her soldiers, but she hadn't. She'd just stood there, eyes boring into mine as cracks in that unnerving gunmetal gray gaze of hers showed slivers of compassion or empathy or whatever it was Della could feel.

Before dismissing me after what had felt like an eternity, she'd clapped me on the shoulder and said without smiling, "Your orders are to get some sleep. Tomorrow's a busy day."

I plop down on the bed, the thin mattress providing no barrier from the rusted springs, and rub my shoulder. A loosely wired bulb overhead splashes light onto my knuckles and along my right side, accentuating shadows and making it look as though I'd grown nebulous, black claws.

I stare at my hand. A month in and it had finally healed enough so I could flex the fingers and make a fist without feeling like my tendons would rip apart. To Della, this meant I was finally an assistant worthy of the space I occupied, bottling Elysium without spilling a single money-making drop. 

My gaze flits toward the floor, where underneath baggy jeans lie old bruises and tender flesh. My ankle had yet to be completely healed. Sure, I'd been upgraded from hobbling decrepit to baby-learning-to-walk, but I couldn't do much in terms of running, especially if the need to escape arose. That made me a liability on this next run if things went ass up, which they had a habit of doing.

Flopping back onto the bed, staring at a ceiling, the reality of what I'd done, and what I'd committed myself to comes crashing down. Was this sensation of overwhelming pressure, squeezing on my insides like a compactor, what it felt like to have the whole world collapse on you?

Agreeing to go back into the Brights...To put my life on the line and face the Birds, the El Accosta...

Despite the draft slipping through the cracks of the cinder block walls, sweat forms on my brow. I suck in a breath. I'd brokered a deal with the devil herself and was about to walk through hell, again, and despite the openness of the room, I can't help feeling as though if I were to reach out into the dark, my hand would be met with resistance, the darkness tangible, forming walls around me that continue to close.

I feel much the same as I did on those days I spent locked away in the Reflection room - the ever-present darkness and my worsening thoughts the only things to keep me company. Surprisingly, at this sense of familiarity, a sense of calm washes over me. I'd been here before, and I'd overcome it then. I'd run Elysium through the Brights and I'd come out worse for wear, but ultimately fine.

Why should tomorrow be any different? 

 At the very least, Lilly and Tujo would be safe and I'd ensure the others were kept safe too. A leader was someone who came back a little less dead than her troops, Della had told me. But that was a half-truth. A leader was also someone who was willing to not come back at all, if it meant saving a fellow soldier.

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow. The light sways back and forth on its exposed wire, roused to action by the footsteps rattling the ceiling tiles overhead. Maybe it was Keran, too pissed off to sleep, or Ellie, prepping for tomorrow's breakfast, opening cans of expired beans and peeling rotten potatoes.