I pull the hood over my face, my pulse speeding up the further I walk. This is stupid. Why am I doing this again?
Breathe, Ari. Focus. You'll be fine.
But I won't be fine, because I'm about to smash the only barrier between the radiation outside and the safety of the inside. What the heck was I thinking? What the heck am I thinking?
I finger the tip of the crowbar in my hands, provided by Callista, who refused any further involvement. Nestled into my back pocket is Titus' keycard, a present from Thea. I try to ignore the way my heartbeat speeds up, the way my breath shortens, and the way my hands tremble, but to no avail. Despite Titus' fighting skills, he always called me the brave one, the only one in our family willing to do whatever it took to get a job done.
I let out a scoff. If only he could see me now. I feel anything but bravery. More like heart stopping terror.
I drop to one knee, turning on the flashlight in my pocket. My ghost is still there, unconscious and barely breathing. Some of the blood has dried, but he still looks terrible. His breathing is erratic, his chest heaving as he fights to survive. Poor guy. He must be in terrible pain. Standing up, I brush some debris and pebbles from the knees of my dark jeans before heading to the device that opens the airlock. I could still turn back. I could just let him die. Except I can't, really. And I want answers only he can provide.
Curiosity killed the cat.
But satisfaction brought it back? Maybe?
I touch the keycard to the device, and with a hiss, the first door opens. Nothing. No alarm, no guards. Well. So far, so good. I touch the keycard again, and the blue light turns red with a buzz. Keycard invalid. Unauthorized access.
Well. Crap. Time for plan B. Also known as plan stupid. I toss the crowbar up and down in my hand for a little bit, gauging the weight of it as well as steeling my nerves for the moments to come.
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't... let him die.
With a yell of effort, I smash the crowbar into the glass. Barely a scratch. My ghost lifts his head up slightly, his eyes now bloodshot as he looks up at the upcoming destruction. No longer looking coherent, his bloodshot eyes are glassed over, distant. As if watching everything from a detached body. His lips move, as if he's saying something, but we both know I can't hear him. Ignoring whatever he's trying to say, I slip a small glass cutter from my backpack, moving four bottles of water and a few medical supplies aside to pull it out. For a few seconds, I look at the strange device, trying to figure out how to use it. I stole it from my father's room; he'd always had one in case of emergency. With an irritating scraping noise, I use it to weaken the glass. Designed to keep anything and everything out, the glass that the doors and dome are composed of is nearly unbreakable. Nearly. I hope. Crowbar time. Again. This is gonna hurt.
Thunk. The scratch lengthens.
Thunk. White-hot pain races up my arm, and I place my other hand onto the metal tool for support.
Thunk. The minuscule beginnings of a crack appear on the glass.
Thunk. With whatever strength I have left, I smash the crowbar into the glass again. The crack doesn't change.
Crack. The crack spreads into a longer, paper-thin line.
Crack. The glass shatters into a spiderweb of breaks, just as a red light turns on above the door. Snapping the keycard from my pocket, I touch it to the access panel and yank my hand back inside. Now with only a few feet of room left, arm throbbing, and one chance to get the door open, I raise the crowbar once again.
"Warning: containment breach alert," the mechanical voice screams, alerting everyone to my presence. Well. That's not what I had in mind.
I'm gonna die.
Might as well go in a blaze of glory.
With a yell of frustration, I bring the crowbar against the glass, and it shatters into sharp fragments everywhere. With a shriek of surprise, I duck, hood slipping off in the process. With a hiss and the scrape of damaged metal, the airlocked door opens, with half of it now broken. The door to the outside does not. Hallelujah. I could be dead, but I'm lucky enough to be alive. Or unlucky enough. Only time will tell.
I kneel down immediately, rolling the bloodied man onto his back. Up close, I can see now he's not much older than I. My ghost man is barely a ghost boy. His breathing is ragged and shallow; he's losing it. My backpack thuds against the metal flooring as I drop it, and I pull a water bottle from it. His blood is sticky and hot against my hands, and I can feel some of it seeping through my jeans. I could care less. His life or my clothes. The choice isn't all that hard.
"Drink up, Ghost. Step one," I whisper, and lift the bottle to his lips. He gulps it down greedily, gasping for air after finishing almost the entire thing.
Weakly, he nods and give me a sickly smile. I return it, sitting down and cradling his head and shoulders in my arms. A few moments later, I have a water-soaked cloth in my hands, and I dab at his face gently. Yelling sounds in the distance, and my head snaps up just in time to see the guards approaching.
"Don't worry, Ghost. I'm not burning from radiation, am I? So you must be clear. They'll be bound to let us out," I ramble, and his eyes close slightly from the effort it took him to drink the water. With some of the caked blood and dirt off his face, he doesn't look nearly as burned anymore. He must have been already healing from the lack of radiation the outside produced.
Guardsmen pound on the door outside, and I close my eyes both to block the sight of them out and to slow my frantic heartbeat. It doesn't work. Fighting the tightness in my throat, I look over at the guards, my eyes meeting those of my father. He isn't in his uniform, but rather in his pajamas, barefoot and terrified as he stares at me in horror. He thinks I'm going to die. I can see his mouth screaming my name, but no sound passes through the doors. I turn back to my new patient, holding up the second water bottle to his lips. He drinks from it greedily, gulping down another half bottle before collapsing back onto my legs.
"Where'd you come from, I wonder?" I ask myself, glancing between my ghost and the guardsmen outside. The guardsmen have dispersed, and Lockman is there in some weird robe thing.
Petrified with fear now, I glance down at the boy quickly.
"You shoulda saved some water," he rasps, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him.
"Why?" I ask him, unsure if I heard him correctly. He's unconscious again, unable to answer me even if he tried.
This was a stupid plan. I'm a stupid girl. Lockman's gonna leave us both in here to die. Heartbeat racing, I look down at my unconscious ghost before swiping away most of the glass beneath my knees and his back. Gently, I lay him back down, standing up as blood stains my clothes and hands. With shaky steps, I approach the only door left, placing my hand on the glass that I had been outside of not moments before. My father, the man whose affection was often an act, lets out a sob as his eyes meet mine. He puts a hand to the glass, looking more emotional and broken that I've ever seen him. I feel the tear slip down by face before my vision clouds, and I place my hand against the glass, right on top of his. He looks heartbroken.
Minutes pass. My ghost is still unconscious, and while my father is still present, many of the guardsman have dispersed. No use trying to stop a girl who's already good as dead. I see Titus and my mother come running, tears streaming freely down the face of my usually formal mother. She collapses to her knees, sobbing in from of the door, and I kneel down to her level.
"Mom, it's okay! I'll be fine!" I shout, as the tears spill down my own cheeks unconvincingly. Her eyes don't meet mine; they're buried in her hands as my mother lies in front of the airlock. I look up, and Titus looks down at me in a frozen horror. Panicking, he runs a hand through his hair before he begins to pace wildly, yelling something at either Matthias or at the sky itself.
"Your family?" my ghost asks, his eyes now barely open. I glance back at him. He hasn't moved an inch; is probably too weak to move an inch.
"Yes," I merely say, trying to hide the crack in my voice.
"They love you?" he rasps, eyes closing again.
I glance back at the three of them outside, and nod slowly.
"Yeah. They do,"
"I'm glad," he barely whispers, drifting back into unconsciousness. I turn so that my back leans against the wall, pulling my knees to my chest as the tears continue to fall.
What the heck was I thinking?! This was a horrible idea! All for the sake of my own curiosity!
I lose track of time as I sit against the wall, and presently, my family falls asleep on the other side of the door. My ghost drifts in and out of consciousness, his bursts of life becoming longer and longer. He's getting better.
I open my eyes to sunlight starting to stream through the glass pieces of the airlock, and glance outside quickly. They're all still there, now joined by Callie and Felix. My friends are both awake, talking to each other. Callista's eyes are red and puffy; she's been crying. Felix looks like he's seen a ghost. The material of my sweater is warm and comforting, reminding me of the home I may or may not have just left, so I bury my face into my arms despite the bloodstains.
Logically, I should still be allowed back inside. Once they see my ghost getting better and that the radiation is no longer a danger, we should be free. Lockman, however, treasures his glass empire far too much to risk anything. I close my eyes, fighting the tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks again. It doesn't work, and I let out a few pathetic sobs before burying my face against my knees. I hear movement by my side, and my ghost has moved himself so that he sits against the wall with me.
"Don't cry. Once I'm looking a bit better, they'll let us in," he says, his voice stronger, more steady than it had been. While his features are still covered in wounds and blood, he has improved dramatically. Strange. I didn't think radiation burns healed that quickly. History lies, I guess. His brown eyes meet mine, and he forces a smile as he takes my hand in his. His hand is warm, and while it's sticky with blood, his touch is comforting. It reminds me of Mikhail, oddly enough.
"What's your name?" he questions, trying to start a conversation.
"Ariadne. Keep talking and you'll hurt your throat," I say, only half serious. He lets out a chuckle, releasing my hand in the same motion. He reaches for my backpack, pulling a water bottle from it.
"Drink up, Love. Keep yourself hydrated," he insists, pressing it into my hand. His voice is steady, with no accent any different from our own. I think about asking him questions, but decide not to push my luck. I let out an amused scoff, lifting my head up slightly with a sniff.
"I though you were my patient," I say, and he chuckles slightly. He doesn't reply, but merely opens the cap and takes a few gulps of water himself.
I hear a fist strike the glass, and look up to see Mikhail pounding on the glass. I struggle to my feet, my sad brown eyes meeting his bright blue ones. He stares at me in horror, his gaze questioning my choice. I want to tell him that everything will be fine, that I have a plan. But after seeing Lockman's calm last night...
I begin to wonder if I'll make it out at all.