Ordinary

by Starr Z Davies

  ~ Dr. Joyce Cass

  3 Years Ago

  34

  Alarms blare, warning everyone of the impending lockdown. The sound keeps me from slipping entirely under. My body is prone on the floor, numb, but the darkness recedes almost as quickly as it came on, leaving behind a groggy feeling. It takes a moment to adjust. The contents of my messenger bag are scattered on the floor around me. I roll over and press my back to the wall. The rest of my room looks much as Jade’s room looked before she disappeared. Everything has been strewn about, turned over, or discarded.

  I will find a way to make Forrest pay for what happened today.

  “Testing will commence in one minute.” Overwatch brings me to my senses.

  Testing. What happened here today, and what comes next, is your fault.

  I scramble for the messenger bag and try shoving everything back into it before time is up. Clothes, food, water, blankets. The strap of the bag is secured over my shoulder as I wrestle the sheet in. The final chime.

  Everything in the room disappears, leaving me alone in a plain white room.

  No stun gun.

  No blue pill.

  No water.

  I suspected that the blue pill was a temporary booster. Something to enhance Powers for a short period. The test was probably to find out how long that booster would last under pressure. But without a blue pill, we are all being thrust into the Survival test with no bonuses. And without the gun, we have no protection.

  And some of us barely made it last time.

  Maybe I’m the only one who isn’t getting a booster. It’s a feeble hope, but I must hold on to it.

  No door opens. The room doesn’t get smaller like it did last time. Instead, the walls around me are just… gone. I stand on an arid desert plain that goes on as far as I can see into the distance. Panic grips my chest. This isn’t the city. It’s somewhere else. No one will know where to go.

  I spin in place, but it’s more of the same around me. Cracked arid dirt. Endless. The sun, bright and high on the eastern horizon, casting an orange light across the sky. I shield my eyes with my arm. Not another person in sight.

  Unsure what else to do, I begin the trek east to the building with the birds on it. That building may not exist here, but at least the others might still head that way. It’s the best I have to hope for.

  The sun is hot, burning my skin. I pull out the blanket and wrap it around my body and head like a thawb tunic. It protects my body and neck from exposure, but I have to keep my face down as I walk.

  And I walk.

  Forever.

  How did Forrest know about the drive? We were so careful about speaking only in whispers, not showing anything where a camera might see. Only a handful of us even knew about the drive. The most logical answer is that Terry managed to glean something telepathically off someone who knew, then reported it back to Forrest. After that conversation between Terry and Forrest I overheard in the hallway, I wouldn’t put it past Terry to tell Forrest anything he learns. Forrest probably already suspected we were up to something. That was why he put me in that test with Terry. It had to be. Terry was pressing for information hard but couldn’t get anything.

  Which means Terry didn’t read it from me. He couldn’t do it before. Somehow, I resisted. But if it wasn’t me, that only left three others—Boyd, Leo, and Miller. Trina and Michael didn’t know until they showed up in my room, or at least they weren’t supposed to. As far as they were concerned, we were just looking for information on how to get out of Paragon Tower. Terry could have read any of them.

  Miller was probably the least likely suspect. He wants out just as much as me so he can find Murphy. If Terry had tried to read Miller, I suspect we would have figured it out before we set the plan in motion.

  Boyd seemed like the most natural target.

  Not that I can blame any of them if Terry did read them and report to Forrest. It isn’t like they did it on purpose.

  The sun rises high in the sky, and I swear I can hear it baking the ground beneath my feet. I cover my eyes again and look for something—anything. Somewhere ahead, the ground changes. I can’t see what it is from here. Maybe it’s my imagination. Heat causes ripples in my vision, distorting my view just enough that I can’t get a clear look at what lay ahead. So, I carry on.

  Something else Forrest said tickles at my mind, and it takes a while in the unbearable heat to pull it back. We wouldn’t get away with it again. Again, like he knew what we did the first time, despite deleting the footage.

  The mere fact that Forrest knew about it before means we weren’t nearly as smart as we thought we were in our execution and deletion of the footage. What did we miss?

  Backups.

  Of course. Why wouldn’t Paragon have automated backups of video surveillance? I would if I were in their place.

  I lick my parched lips, feet dragging a little more along the dry ground. Forrest saw what we did before. He knew that we accessed the files and watched the videos. He knew that we knew. So why did he wait to act?

  The horizon changes. First a sliver, then a gap. It grows in size as I approach, until—at last—my feet come close to the edge.

  It’s a chasm. A canyon carved into the ground. I’m standing on a plateau that connects to other plateaus in an endless maze as far as I can see into the distance. Canyons break up the flat terrain like troughs in every direction. Nothing else is around. No people. No animals. Even the green things that may have once grown here are dead or dying.

  Leaning forward, I peer into the canyon below. It isn’t too far down. A hundred feet. Maybe more. I could climb that. And the slope is gradual, so if I do slip, I might be able to just slide down the rocky surface. Maybe I’ll suffer a few cuts and scrapes, but it shouldn’t be so bad. And the canyon could protect me from the sun.

  Afraid of tearing the cloth, I pull off the thawb blanket and fold it back into my bag, then strap the bag across my chest. Once I’m confident it’s secure, I take deep breaths.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  I turn and lower myself down the rocky surface, facing the wall for places to hold on. One hand in this crevice. One foot in that crevice. Slowly. Cautiously. One hand. One foot. Lower. I chance a glance up. Not quite as far down as I hoped, but I’m making slow progress. Scrubs don’t really have a lot of forgiveness in the necessary places, and it makes my descent more of a challenge.

  One hand. One foot.

  Loafers also don’t make for good climbing shoes. More than once I have to pause and adjust my footing to make sure my shoes are just as secure as my foot. Rock bites into my palm and I have no doubt it’s raw and bleeding, but I can’t stop. Not now. I glance up. Nearly halfway down.

  One hand. One foot.

  My pulse pounds in my ears. Thirst makes my throat and eyes dry. Hunger. So much hunger. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and lunch has long since passed. Focus!

  One hand. One foot.

  My foot slips. My loafer slips off before I can stop it, tumbling, tumbling far below. The bare foot dangles in the air. My breath catches in my lungs. I grip tight to the rocks, but my left hand doesn’t have a good enough hold, and it falls free of the rocks. The jerking motion causes my other foot to slip. Nothing stands between me and a fifty-foot drop except the grip my right hand precariously maintains.

  And it’s slipping.

  Fifty feet. Minor slope. I can do this. I can slide if I just let go at the right…

  My grip slips, and suddenly I’m sliding down along the rough rock wall. The force knocks the air from my lungs. I do my best to control the fall, leaning against the wall, keeping my hands and feet from catching on anything and sending me head over heels. The strap on my bag snaps, and it goes careening away from me. The last few feet I lose my precarious, awkward balance and tumble. My arm slams against the ground, sending a jolt of pain into my back. My body rolls a few times when I hit bottom.

  Dirt fills my lungs. I cough to get it out, but everything is already so dr
y that coughing has little effect. Every part of my body aches, covered in cuts and scratches from the fall. I push my face off the packed, hot dirt and sit up, shaking, brushing the dirt off my clothes with raw hands. Why did I think this was a good idea?

  A quick scan reveals my shoe and bag. I crawl to retrieve the shoe first, then the bag. My hands are raw, scratched, and caked with dirt. I turn my heel to see the bottom of my foot, and it doesn’t appear much better off. If I don’t at least try to clean the wounds out, the cuts will get infected.

  Since my scrub shirt is useless, I pull it off and turn it inside out, then tear open a water pouch from my bag and pour it on the cloth. Slowly, I wash away as much of the dirt as I can from cuts on my foot, hands, arms, and face. It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than nothing. Walking on this injured foot will be far from fun.

  After a short respite to get cleaned and changed, I lean back against the rocks with food and water. Now what? How far can I possibly be from everyone else?

  What if no one else is here with me? There was no blue pill. No sign of any other life here. Just what is Protocol 10-98?

  I close my eyes and take a moment to rest, then slip my shoe back on—wincing at the tenderness of the sole—and limp southeast, following the canyon where it guides me. At each fork, I venture a few paces before deciding which way to go. East. Southeast. Northeast. The canyon seems to go on forever. Day wears out. Night falls, making it hard to see which way I’m going. With no other viable options, I wrap myself in my blanket against the eastern wall of the valley and sleep on the hard, rocky floor.

  I hope Dad is still getting treatment if Paragon suspects what we are up to.

  ~~~

  An endless maze with no way out. The canyon once probably had water, a river, but the war would have dried it up. Every turn takes me down another canyon to another turn. And another. Too many choices. I’ve been wandering this maze of valleys for most of the day, and no end appears in sight. Is there an end? Maybe this is the test. Dropping me in here like a rat in a maze that has no end. Maybe this is my punishment.

  No one else is here. I’ve nearly given up all hope I will see anyone else. Maybe that’s for the best. I wouldn’t wish this nightmare on anyone. It’s been nearly two days since this test started, and I haven’t seen so much as a snake. Not even my accomplices. No footsteps or traces of anyone or anything else living. Does Paragon see me as the ringleader?

  Food and water are in short supply. Three more water pouches. Four more protein bars. I’ll die of dehydration before hunger, though.

  I shake my head. No. I won’t die. Paragon won’t let me die in here. But I am confident they will push me to within an inch of death before pulling me out.

  Yes. This is my punishment.

  But who else are they punishing? Hopefully no one. I will take this punishment if it spares everyone else.

  ~~~

  Bianca. What happened to Bianca? She broke the rules. Took me into the elevator. Joyce spoke with her. Then… nothing.

  She’s dead.

  Why? Why do I think that? Forrest wouldn’t let them kill his sister—would he?

  I stumble along the canyon floor, feet dragging, completely exhausted, wishing for water.

  A high-pitched siren echoes off the canyon walls, bringing my steps to a halt. My gaze sweeps in all directions. No one. But the sound doesn’t stop, and the longer I listen, the more it sounds… human. Less like a siren and more like a high-pitched scream. My pulse races. Who is that? What’s going on?

  I blink and try to rub the exhaustion from my eyes, then focus on the sound. It ends with a throaty growl that sounds a lot like my name. No. No, it can’t be. I’m losing it in this maze.

  But my mind plays further tricks on me. The canyon isn’t in front of me. Instead, it’s a soundproof grey room with a surgical bed. Bianca is strapped down, her body still.

  No. It’s not real. I’m still in the maze.

  I fall to my knees and squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms to my ears. Her voice still rings in my head, and I can’t escape the image of her lying dead on the table. Just like Jade and Vicki.

  No.

  I dare to look again and am met by the canyon walls and setting sun beyond. It wasn’t real. She’s not dead. She’s alive!

  I stagger to my feet using the rock wall for support and press on. I have to beat this. For Jade. For Vicki.

  For all of us.

  Dusk falls on day two. Still no one else. Nothing else. Why am I still moving? Why not just lie on the ground and wait it out, let Paragon take me from this nightmare whenever they are satisfied I’ve been punished enough?

  I stumble into a rock wall and lean against it for support. Exhaustion is taking control. Or dehydration. I’m not sure which. I’m not sure I care.

  The ground calls to me for sleep, and I submit, sinking down, my back to the wall at the next intersection. I stare into the early twilight on the horizon. No stars yet. Still too early. But the wind blows across the open plains, caressing my skin.

  Wind. Plains!

  Excitement pulses through me as I stare through this new opening. Far ahead, another plateau appears small, distant. But all around it are wide open plains.

  I’ve reached the other side!

  Here. Just for a bit. I will rest. Up against the red rocks of the plateau, protected from the eastern sunrise, I pull out my blanket and eagerly devour a protein bar and half a pouch of water. My throat aches for more, but thankfully the exhaustion is stronger than the thirst. I dare to rest, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the nightmare is over.

  Dreams of my dad begging at the doors of Paragon for his next treatment plague me, along with my friends wondering where I’ve gone, if I’ve abandoned them to Paragon.

  35

  Before setting off in the morning, I wrap the thawb around my head and neck again, aware that the open plain means exposure. After a partial protein snack and sip of water, I head across the plain. Were it not for the aching in my foot, I would run. The open space calls to me, and I so desperately want to rush out to greet it.

  But I can’t run.

  Hours. I cross the plain for what feels like hours, then turn to the horizon, watching for others. Some other sign of life in this dead place.

  But there’s nothing.

  At last, I reach the plateau rising up out of the plain. I pause, debating which way to go. I can see the south side of the plateau and more open space. I am hardly eager to find myself locked in another canyon maze. Still, curiosity wins, and I walk toward the northern edge to peer around. If it’s clear, I’ll go that way. If it isn’t, I will stick with the southern route.

  “A road.” I don’t know who I’m talking to, but the voice that comes out of me doesn’t sound like my own.

  A long road winds around the northern face of the plateau into the distance, leading toward some sort of irregularly shaped rock formations. I take the road east, along the north face of the plateau. The concrete is broken, and now-dead shoots of grass and bramble rise from the cracks.

  When I reach the other side of the plateau, rock formations come into sharper view. I pause to take in my surroundings. It’s endless. More of the same over and over. Arid ground. Dead or dying brush. Three buttes in the distance, their forms dancing in the waves of heat. No one else in sight. Dehydration has me blinking away wavy lines and blurry vision.

  You. The voice in my head is familiar, but not my own. Exhausted, I sag and spin slowly in place.

  Something knocks the wind out of me as my back hits the concrete road. Terry kneels over me, his hands wrapped around my neck.

  This is your fault! His voice screams in my head, making pain leach into my temples.

  My hands claw at his wrists, trying to pull him off. I struggle for breath.

  Terry’s sunken, hate-filled eyes burn into me from his pale, dirt-caked face. His teeth bared in a feral snarl, made more menacing by the cracked and bleeding lips. I try to fight him off, tell
him he’s wrong, anything. But he has a death grip on my throat.

  Unable to think clearly, I slam my knee as hard as I can between his legs. Terry lets go, falling forward on me and hitting my head in the process. Before he can grab me again, I shove him off and roll to the side, gasping for breath, scratching at the hard ground to gain purchase and stand.

  Thankfully, I recover more quickly than him and stand over him, giving an extra kick to his ribs for good measure. The kick sends a jolt of throbbing pain across my wounded foot.

  “You told him, jerk!” My voice isn’t my own. It’s hoarse, rabid. I cough, and it rips my throat painfully.

  Terry tries to roll to his knees, but I give him another kick in the ribs. It offers some satisfaction.

  “This is your fault,” I say, rasping the words out.

  Terry coughs, wipes the spittle from his mouth, and turns hate-filled eyes on me. “I didn’t tell anyone jack!” His right arm grips his ribs over tattered scrubs. He has no pack, no supplies to help sustain him. How has he made it this far? “You and your friends did this.”

  My jaw twitches, teeth grinding together. I want to rip his throat out, gouge his hateful eyes and stuff them down his throat.

  “Who did you read?” I ask, standing over him, ready for another well-placed kick. My hands are balled in fists at my sides. Bianca trained me to fight. I just have to remember her lessons.

  Terry shifts to his knees and sneers. It’s clear from his deep breaths and overall appearance that he’s been through just as much as me. “You ask too many questions, Powerless Prick. I warned you. I told you to stop!”

  My fist connects with his jaw in a right hook, just like Bianca taught me. Terry catches himself before falling, then snarls at me. Blood trickles from a fresh cut in the corner of his mouth.

  “Not so tough without your muscle to protect you,” I say.

  “I don’t need Derrek.”