Replication

Chapter Twenty Two

((Hope everyone is doing well during these difficult times! Without further ado, I present to you the next chapter of Replication!))

Tristan and I walk down the damp, dark hallways, our footsteps echoing off of the rocky, vaulted ceiling no matter how quiet we try to step. He keeps his hand interlocked with mine the entire time, gently squeezing it ever so often. At every corner, we pause, slowly peeking our head around it until we confirm that the coast is clear.

Now is really not the time to get caught.

"Here's one of them!" Tristan finally exclaims.

We round a corner to enter another, identical hallway. But hanging on the wall in this one, illuminated by the light from a single spotlight, is a map.

"It's a map of this entire island. I saw them hanging up in this place when they brought us in," Tristan explains.

We walk over toward it, examining it closer. Stationed on one end of the glacial island is where we are right now; the complex. It is depicted as a large, black rectangle right on the coast. But that's not all. Trails, indicated by colored lines, mark different routes to various locations on the island.

"Look at all these other places," Tristan whispers, lightly brushing his hand over the map.

Before I can even read what those other places are, we both freeze when we hear it.

Footsteps.

Coming closer and closer.

"Shit," Tristan swears under his breath.

We both whirl around in frantic circles, trying to find somewhere to hide.

"There!" Tristan hisses.

I whip around and follow the direction of his extended arm to see that he is pointing at a small door on the opposite side of the hallway. With no time to waste, we sprint toward the door. Luckily it is not locked, and we dash inside, closing it behind us just as the footsteps enter our hallway.

We are in a small, dark space; some sort of closet or something. Tristan wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me back against his body and quietly kissing the top of my head. My insides flutter.

The footsteps get louder and louder, then fade away as whoever it is passes right by. We wait until there is total silence before slowly reopening the closet door.

Before I can stop him, Tristan walks out and rips the map off of the wall. He then quickly runs back inside of the closet and closes the door shut, enveloping us back in the pitch blackness.

"There has got to be a light in here," he whispers, fumbling around in the darkness. Finally, there is a soft click as a dim lightbulb hanging from the ceiling illuminates. Its feeble light is just enough to read the map, as well as see our surroundings. It is definitely a small storage closet; on one wall hangs old, unused laboratory coats and on the other is a rack of cleaning supplies that look like they haven't been used in decades.

"Look at all these other places on the island," Tristan murmurs, tracing his finger along the tarnished paper.

I look, reading some of the names that the routes lead to. The first one I see reads, "Supply Station." Another says, "Radio Tower". Another, "The Cave."

"Right here," Tristan whispers, pointing his finger to one specific location all the way on the opposite side of the island.

It reads, "Airplane Hangar."

"Know what I'm thinking?" Tristan asks.

I shake my head.

"Tristan, that's all the way across the entire island. Who knows how long it would take to get there? And also, it's zero degrees outside. We would freeze to death even if we somehow escaped and tried to get there," I say.

"Tess, we cannot stay here. This is our only chance of getting out."

"Even if we could get a plane, then where would we go from here? We are in the middle of the Arctic," I say, looking up at him.

Tristan looks back down at me, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Tessa, do you know what they are planning to do to us here?"

I shake my head.

"They told us when they brought us all into the screening room," he says.

"Told you what?"

"They are planning on putting us to sleep for years."

I gasp.

"What? Why?" I ask.

Tristan shrugs mournfully.

"I don't know why. But most likely put everyone to sleep already. I escaped, and that's why they are coming after me as we speak," he murmurs.

"Was Ian with all of you guys?" I suddenly ask.

"Ian? No, I didn't see him."

Tristan searches my face, trying to read my expression.

Where is Ian...

The last time I saw him, he went off with Hal in an angry storm. I can only imagine where he is and what he is doing right now.

"So, what's the plan?" I finally ask.

"I say we escape and go find that airplane hangar. Me and you," Tristan says.

He reaches forward, grabbing my hands in his.

"But what about all the others? I don't think it's right if we escape and leave them here. And also, even if we do somehow escape, how are we going to survive out in the freezing cold?"

I hate sounding so doubtful, but it's true; I am not feeling too hopeful about this plan.

"We can try to check but I think all of the others are in an a sleeping chamber right now. And I hate to say this, but I think it will be much more suspicious if we all escaped," Tristan says, biting his lips.

"And too answer you second question, I know there's gotta be gear for the outside that we can snag somewhere in this building."

I swallow hard. I don't know what to say or do anymore. Everything is so crazy that maybe, just maybe, this plan could work. My mind starts to wander off into a daydream as I imagine what would happen if this all worked. Tristan and I would make it to the airplane hangar and fly off this terrible, arctic island. Then, I don't know how but somehow we would go back to real land, wherever that is. And then, we'd live the rest of our lives there, safe and together...

I snap out of my daydream when Tristan leans in toward my face, raising his eyebrows.

"You on board with this?"

"What? Oh, I guess," I reply.

"You guess?"

"No, I am," I say blankly.

He smiles, then leans in even further, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Perfect," he says.

I force a smile onto my face, trying to look as optimistic as possible. But there is one, recurring thought that I cannot seem to shake out of my mind.

What happened to Ian?