Sakir
I jump awake at the sound of Mya's voice, tensing against the restraints.
For the first time in three days, I feel fully awake. My thoughts aren't groggy and half formed. Instead, they ring clear like bells through my head. My vision stands straight, not swaying like it has been. I take a few greedy breaths, enjoying the fact that it doesn't hurt me.
I glance over at the fifteen year old, furrowing my brow at her appearance.
Heavy bags line her eyes, matching the bloodshot whites of them. Her swollen and flushed face shines with tears. Her matted and greasy hair hangs messily around her face. The shirt hangs off her shoulder, bearing the pale skin underneath. In the two days I've known her, she has never looked this disheveled.
"What's going on, Mya?" I ask, lifting my head off the table.
She sniffles, and her face twists with a clear effort not to cry.
"Nothing," she snaps, but it lacks the anger she aims to convey. "We just need to go."
I tug at the restraints.
"I can't go anywhere until you take these off."
She glares at me but nods, turning and digging through the cabinets. I inspect her wrinkled clothing, smeared with streaks of sweat and a mysterious chunky yellow fluid. Vomit, maybe?
The tools in the cabinets clink together as she fumbles to find what she's looking for. I expected her to be a little more together, considering she always seemed level headed and neat. My mind wanders to the list of questions she brought in yesterday.
Something's wrong. Dread fills my chest like a black balloon.
When Mya turns back around, she wields a pair of scissors. She kneels down on the ground beside the table, cutting through my left wrist and ankle restraints. I stretch my arm by bending the elbow in and out a few times, repeating the process with my stiff leg. The muscles tense up as they contract, and I wince.
Mya moves around the table, cutting the other leather straps in two swift motions. They clatter to the ground, and I push myself up into a sitting position.
"How long have you been off the virus?" she asks, hurrying to put the scissors back. She picks up a few of the other utensils that she dropped, but her hands shake.
"I'm not sure," I answer, testing various joints and stretching unused stiff muscles. "I don't remember pulling it out. The last thing I remember is your mom coming in and mumbling something to me before she ran upstairs." I rub the soft skin on the inside of my elbow.
"I think she intended to change the IV but got distracted. I was pretty high when it all happened," I say, glancing back up at her. Her eyes glaze over, and she looks away from me, knitting her hands together. "What's going on?"
"You were right," she whispers, kicking a tumbleweed of paper across the floor. As her next words form, she chases it across the floor, picking it up and throwing it away.
"About what?" I prod, feeling the gravity in the room grow stronger. I don't want to be right. Not this time.
"Mom made a third strand," she mumbles, staring down at her feet. "It worked."
My breath leaves my lungs in one long exhale.
Judging by the fact that she's still standing in front of me, I reason that it was her brother who fell victim.
"Mya, I'm so sorry," I say, pushing off the table. I stumble forward, and Mya runs to support me.
Unlucky for both of us, I'm almost two feet taller than her.
She groans under my weight, wrapping arms around my abdomen. I cling to her shoulders awkwardly. Her face presses against my ribcage, right below my armpit.
"You stink," she mutters through gritted teeth. I push away from her, leaning again on the table.
"I know. I can smell myself."
She smirks, pointing to a small door on the other side of the room.
"Shower. I'll go get you a change of clothes."
Wiping a hand across her forehead, she shuffles out of the room, dodging the parade of apologies I was about to throw at her.
I limp towards the bathroom, grimacing against the fireworks exploding in my calves and thighs. My numb feet drag behind me, nothing more than useless clubs. I clomp into the room, pulling my clothes off with clumsy, stiff fingers. My body falls into the shower; hands raise to hold the slippery sides of it.
I fiddle with the temperature knob, surprised that I have an option. Back at home, water was always cold. The water that runs out of this tall shower head, though, is warm, warm enough that steam rises from the clear droplets.
Finn's dead. That much is obvious without Mya saying it.
If she's trying to escape, that means Doctor Julien is gone. She must be delivering Finn's body and the new strand to President Ashford.
I wash my body with newfound urgency, scrubbing myself clean of all the filth I've been wallowing in for three days. The water wakes up the rest of my sleeping body, and once it curls down the drain in clear ribbons, I step out into the cold air of the bathroom.
A towel and a pile of clothes sits on the counter. A piece of paper rests on top, folded messily.
I hope these fit It's all we have Meet me in the kitchen when you're done
Perfect upward strokes and curling 'y's make up Mya's handwriting. The lack of punctuation surprises me. Yet, she used proper capitalization. I assume she was in a hurry.
I ball the note up and hurry to dress myself. How much time do we have before Doctor Julien returns? Maybe I shouldn't have wasted time taking a shower. It's hard to regret something that felt so good, though.
The clothes do fit, even though the pants are too short. I roll them up at the ankles, tugging at the neck of the shirt to stretch it out.
"What's the plan?" I ask, coming to stand in the kitchen.
Mya whirls around to face me, rubbing her eyes with quivering hands. Cheeks wet with fresh tears, she clears her throat and points at two backpacks sitting on the table.
"I packed blankets, food, flashlights, water, and changes of clothes," she says, voice strained. "Mom left the door open, because she's an idiot."
I glance at the heavy two layer door. Sure enough, the first one is unlocked and wide open, leaving the second one naked. It hisses with electricity.
"And how do you propose we open that?" I ask. "Do you have leather gloves or something?"
She shakes her head, tossing one of the two backpacks towards me. I catch it with ease and put it on.
"Watch this," she mumbles, walking past me and standing in front of the door. Her deep swallow echoes in the space between us. As I stand staring, her body tilts backwards. She lifts a leg like a dog on a bush and then kicks the metal cage.
It pops open, but Mya squeals in pain. She dances away from the door on one foot, gasping for breath as the tears come again.
I don't know if I can handle all this crying.
"You alright?" I ask, joining her in the doorway. She narrows her eyes at me.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
I nod.
"Let's go then, before it's too late."
She sighs, wincing as she puts weight on her foot and steps out of the door. I follow behind, breathing in the crisp late Autumn air. Leaves crunch under our feet, but the green, thin needles fill out the trees surrounding us. They prevent me from seeing farther into the woods, caging us in.
Mya turns to me, looking me up and down.
"You were right about Mom," she admits, "so I'm going to have to trust you. I've never stepped foot outside that door. From here on, you're the guide."
I nod, stepping in front.
"Where exactly are we?" I ask, glancing down at her.
The sun sits high in the sky, and there's a hint of moisture in the air. Judging by the trees, I would say East of Compound 2, closer to Compound 1 in the North Eastern US.
"Less than a hundred miles from Compound 1," she confirms, shrugging, "but I don't know exact coordinates or anything."
I close my eyes, thinking.
Compound 1 is built on the old New York City, right on the Atlantic. We need to travel west, away from the ocean.
"We can't go to Compound 1," I say, walking towards the tree line. "It's not safe. We'll have to go to 2 and hope someone's looking for me."
She nods, following close behind me as we reach the shadows and safety of the ancient pine trees.
I glance back at her, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
"Are you sure about this? Yesterday you called me an anarchist and a liar."
She swallows, biting her bottom lip. Then, she nods.
"All I know is that I couldn't save Finn from my own mother," she says, voice tight and full of tears, "but I can save you from her. I just did. There's nothing left for me back there. Finn's gone. If I stayed, she would just come after me too."
I take a deep breath, sadness building in my chest. It's hard not to feel bad for her, a tiny thing with doe eyes and tender hands.
"Walking back to Compound 2 is going to be rough," I say, stopping and turning to tower over her. "Are you up for it?"
"I survived ten years of experiments designed to kill me," she says, emptily. "A little walking won't hurt me."
I nod, deciding to leave out the facts that the trip alone will take days, we'll have to sleep on the ground, someone will be chasing us, and it will most likely snow. She's being brave. I might as well be.
Plus, I always loved the snow, and sleeping on the ground is better than that metal table. The possibility of Athena and my father waiting for me at home drives me to take another step forward.