“Where are you?” I respond.
“Reese, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The sound of heels clunking in the hallway starts back up again, almost as if whoever it is, is pacing back and forth. “Reese, do you remember what year it was when you were taken?”
Three years have passed. It was, “Twenty-twelve.”
“Do you know what year we are in now?”
“Twenty-fifteen,” I respond curtly. I don’t want to answer any more questions. I want to be let off of this bed or table, whatever the hell I’m on. I want to be released from this bunker and from this town.
“It is twenty-seventeen,” the woman corrects me.
My breaths become sparse, uneven, and heavy. It’s hard to swallow as I struggle to comprehend and understand. That’s impossible! It has been three years. I’m eighteen. I crossed off each day on the floorboard of my shed. She is lying. She is screwing with my head. I don’t believe her. I can’t believe her. “I don’t care what year it is, you need to let me out of here,” I grit.
“Where is out?” she asks. What the hell kind of question is that?
“Out of Chipley and out of this bunker,” my voice cracks after each word; the hoarseness becoming worse than it was before. I need water. I need food. At the same time, I still want to die.
“Your mother is deceased. So is your brother.” My head aches. She’s lying. I know she’s lying because I don’t have a brother.
“Let me go,” I tell her.
“Her name was Laura, a nurse at Applebrook.” A stinging sensation fills my heart, feelings I didn’t have five minutes ago. Pain sparks through various parts of my body as tears threaten their way out. “Your brother—he was one year old, but I know you never met him.”
“Why don’t you show your face?” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Better yet, why don’t you do what you obviously want to do and just kill me, you sick bitch? Haven’t you tortured me enough?”
“I cannot release you until you come to terms with what you need to know,” she says.
“Who are you?” I grunt, wasting the last of my voice.
“We need you, Reese. We need your help.”
“You’re not getting a damn thing from me,” is my final remark. Half of the word comes out in air, and I refuse to give her, whoever she may be, any more of what she wants until I have what I want.
“Very well,” she responds.
The echo of heels in the hallway grows in volume until the sound stops completely. The wall separates and a man walks in, dressed from head to toe in a charcoal suit with matching-colored shoes. He has an unblinking stare surrounding dark eyes. His face is covered with a mask, similar to the guard’s mask from earlier, but I think I recognize his eyes. JJ? It can’t be.
He takes slow, almost robotic steps over to me without taking his gaze off of my face. As he reaches across to my opposite side, he releases the straps, freeing me from constriction. I sit up quickly, feeling an incredible heaviness within my head. As my legs swing off the edge of the table, gravity feels twenty-pounds heavier, pulling me toward the ground. How will I walk feeling like this? “Are you releasing me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“From Chipley?” I breathe out.
“Yes,” he says.
“Why?”
“So you can see.”
“See what?” I shout back, refusing to mimic his calm demeanor.
“Reese, have you ever been told that when you think things are as bad as they can get, they can always be worse?” the woman over the speaker pipes in again.
I refuse to respond to her threat. Instead, I raise my eyebrows toward who I believe to be JJ just as he turns around, heading for the door. I follow, doing my best to hold myself up as my feet touch the ground. My body is heavy and each step is difficult, but I manage to keep up. When I step outside of the room, more light blinds me, but it’s different this time because it’s sunlight coming through the windowed walls. A hallway of windows unravels before me and I’m a bit enamored by the unexpected beauty.
We walk halfway down the hall when the man—JJ or whoever—slides open part of the glass window, revealing a way to the outside. “Here you go,” he says. “Once you step out of here, you are officially free from the safety of Chipley.”
I’m not buying it. I’m not letting my fear of their lies keep me here. “Thank you for your warning, JJ,” I breathe through whispered sarcasm.
He clears his throat and straightens his posture, neither confirming nor denying his identity. I’m not sure I care at this point. “Head north,” he says, pointing straight ahead. “Your answers will be there.”
He’s not getting a thank you from me. I step outside, feeling the heat from the sun warm my cold skin. I take a few steps forward when I’m startled by something hitting my back. Turning around, I find a backpack lying in front of me. The man is still standing at the door, watching. “Food and water. We don’t want you to die, just so you keep that in mind,” he shouts over.
Food? Food. I tear open the bag and look inside, finding at least a dozen sandwiches, fruit, and candy bars. Bottles of water—plenty enough to keep me alive for at least a few weeks at this point. This is all I have wanted. “Thank you,” I mouth.
“Come back when you realize why you shouldn’t have left. There is a place here for you.” His eyebrows rise, hinting at a smile I cannot see beneath his mask. “We aren’t the bad people.” If only his words sounded honest.
A pit forms in my stomach. This time, it’s not from hunger or from the thought of eating, but from the questions stirring in my mind of whether or not he’s telling me the truth, and whether or not I’m imagining all of this. Without giving me an opportunity to ask more questions, the door in front of the man closes, sealing me out.
Enemy or not, I suddenly miss Sin. At least when he was with me, I wasn’t alone.
Heading in the direction the man pointed, which looks like a vertical incline for as far as I can see, I reach around into my bag and pull out a sandwich, unwrapping the plastic as quickly as my fingers will move. Careful not to sicken myself, I take small bites, feeling the food struggle down my throat before hitting the hollow depths of my stomach. Each piece feels filling, enough to sustain my life for a little longer. Energy fills me slowly and the heaviness of my body subsides. Although exhaustion is overwhelming with the steepness of the hill, the end is in sight and I’m not giving up until I reach it.
Or not. When I meant an end, I didn’t mean the base of what looks to be a small mountain. I’ve come up to a wall of compact dirt, seemingly blocking me in yet again. I move closer, feeling as though this barrier is growing larger by the minute. It’s monstrous and goes on for miles on each side, or maybe further because there’s no possible way to see an end point with the horizon blurred out the way it is.
As I reach the mountain, a path lines the vertical length, but while looking up, I don’t see an endpoint there either. This isn’t real, is it? I must be imagining all of this. They drugged me. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
Regardless, I dig my hands into the dirt and begin ascending.
The heaviness in my legs soon returns, but not from anything that happened to me inside of that bunker. The path is as endless as this wall of dirt and there is still no end in sight. I realize falling from the edge would be the easiest way to end all of this. I’m high enough that there would be no chance of survival. There would be no chance of my body being in anything less than a million pieces. My hands are sweaty and bleeding from the tight grip I have maintained. I remove one hand, holding my body closely to the path, wiping it down the length of my side. Then I do the same with the other hand.
I think about an hour has passed since I left the bunker. Everything hurts so much that I’m not sure I can make it back down or the rest of the way up, but I don’t have a choice unless I want to make that final decision, so I continue fighting through the pain, trying my best to ignore it.
But now I see it. A
n end—a ridge, which better not lead to another level of this mountain or ridiculous hill—whatever I’m on. If this is not the end, I will fall. I will fall on purpose and this will be my final attempt at escape.
I reach the end, dragging myself, thankfully, up onto the flat ground. Standing up and brushing the dirt from my legs, I turn toward what looks like a ledge. With only a few steps forward, I stop as I approach the end, forced to take in the sights and the reality of what was left behind years ago.
28
Chapter Three
SIN
“She doesn’t love you. That is foolish,“ Mom says, leaning over me with her nose nearly pressed against mine. “What in God’s name were you thinking, Sinon?”
I laugh. Because what else is there to do right now? “What is love, Mom? Is it this?” I tilt my head toward my hands that are cuffed to the chair I’m sitting on here in the middle of Mom’s office. She has an office below the town I have been abused in—the town she abandoned me in. “You are a coward,” I tell her, saying anything I can to hit her where it hurts; although I’m pretty sure, nothing hurts this woman. Any woman who can ditch her child in a human zombie fest clearly doesn’t care much for anyone other than herself.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, her voice stern and unbreakable.
“You left me to die. What does that make you? Mother of the year?”
“I left you so you could live,” she retorts. “If I took you with me—“
“I’d be living here with you underground, with a bunch of men walking around in military uniforms. Is this some kind of sick cult?”
“You honestly don’t know why, do you?” she asks.
I’m tired of the riddles. I’m tired of pretending I know all the answers, when in reality, I know none of them. I know what Chipley was made up with and I know why people were there, but the rest of it is unknown.
“I don’t care,” I say. But I do.
“How did you get to Chipley?” she quizzes me.
“No clue, Ma—we were drugged before being brought over, remember? Another stellar parenting move on your part. ‘Hey, let’s knock my kid out so he doesn’t know how to get to or from the place I’m making him live for the next eighteen months’,” I mock her.
“This bunker and Chipley are underground by about two miles,” she says, reaching for my face as if she plans to stroke my cheek.
I jerk away from her reach, narrowing my eyes at her. “No, we’re not. I was living under the sun and the stars until yesterday, so how about you try again.”
“Sinon, darling,” she says, endearingly. “Does it matter where you are when you see the sun and the stars? Do you ever truly know how far away you are from the sky? Because every part of this world is at a different distance from the sun, and you would never truly know the difference, especially a distance as minute as two miles.”
“Okay,” I tell her, sarcasm lacing my voice. Everything this woman has preached to me over the years is likely to be nothing more than a blatant lie. If I hadn’t seen the exchange of abuse from Dad, I probably wouldn’t believe her stories about him either. Swallowing my growing anger with a desperate need for a pause in this conversation, I look around the office we’re in, focusing on the computer showing maps and video footage of Chipley.
“I made sure you were brought back because things changed after I left—my original plan was the truth, but that was until—“
“You left me here. What else is there, Mom? Just spit it out.”
“The Centers for Disease Control contacted me after Mr. Crownwell had me removed from Chipley.”
“So?” They contacted her all of the time. She spent her adult life in science research for all medical conditions, which is why we were in Chipley.
“There was an outbreak of an experimental pathogen,” she says, expecting me to understand what she’s saying. The look on my face must tell her I do not comprehend because she follows her statement with, “Juliet Toxin.”
“I’m not following,” I say, leaning back in my chair, trying to get comfortable despite the handcuffs holding me hostage.
Mom grabs the chair from behind her desk and pulls it over, situating it inches from the end of my knees. She sits down, leaning forward and placing her hands on my knees. “It’s an infectious toxin being used as a form of terrorism against the United States. The intention was to wipe out the American population within forty-eight hours. There was no way to control the onset, as the toxin had already been released, so the only people in this country who remained safe were those contained from the outside environments. This meant that all government and military sites were locked down immediately; although some had already been infected, most were saved. Along with the government, the only other locations manageable for lockdown were a few prisons. Luckily you were in one of them, which is why you were brought back here.”
“Everyone outside of Chipley is dead now, I assume,” I say, trying hard not to believe my own words and thoughts. I can’t believe a word she says. I can’t believe anything at all right now. My head is spinning and I’m dizzy from trying to understand how there could be any truth to this.
“While many people couldn’t handle the toxin, others did—it merely altered their state of consciousness. I know this doesn’t make much sense right now, but the end result led to a split in population. Seventy percent of the American people died from the infection, fifteen percent are currently infected and living with it, and the other fifteen percent are hiding from it, most of whom are government officials. Those who have it and are alive, are incredibly dangerous to themselves and everyone else, which is why it was important that you were here, safe from out there.” She releases a sigh and looks up in thought, awkwardly pausing the explanation. As she looks back down at me, her stare goes cold and darkness pools in her eyes. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
The oxygen coming and going through my lungs feels like lead, pressing against all of my organs, suffocating me from within. This can’t be true. My mind is racing a mile a minute with more questions than I can even conjure up in my brain, but only one of them means more to me than all of the other issues combined. “Why was Reese brought here?”
“Her mother made a deal with Jackson Crownwell. She knew what was happening, as all hospitals were informed immediately.”
All hospitals. I couldn’t even estimate the number of hospitals there are across the United States. Why that hospital? There are still too many loopholes that aren’t making sense. There’s a disconnect somewhere and I need to know what she isn’t telling me. “There is more to what you are telling me because Dad is the one who took Reese against her will,” I say, waiting for her to fill in the hole she is purposely keeping open.
“Your father works for Jackson Crownwell.” And there it is. There it fucking is. “Sinon, listen to me. This toxin can kill instantly—within twenty-four hours in some cases. We don’t know why it’s killing some and sparing others, which is why we’re performing all the research we’re doing. All we do know is, the toxin attacks the human brain, altering the chemical balance to—how do I explain this…” She presses her hands up against her forehead and inhales sharply before continuing. “You know when you have a nightmare, but you wake up afterward?” I shrug, not appreciating the lame version of this explanation. “Well, many of these people are awake but still experiencing nightmares and acting out on them. It makes some other people fall asleep, into such a deep sleep, they appear dead—which is where the name ‘Juliet’ came from, but for others, it reacts differently.” I roll my eyes at the absurd use of names.
“So, what, the assholes outside are in living nightmares?” I hold up my hands, wiggling my fingers to joke of the fear she’s trying to instill.
“You’re underestimating the meaning of this, Sinon. Your mind is too innocent to appreciate the reality of what is happening out there. This is a terrorist attack—the Americans have been outsmarted and are being used as the
best kind of weapon against themselves—a weapon that utilizes both biological and psychological warfare. They turned us against our neighbors and ourselves. It’s worse than I’m able to explain.” I’m done listening to this. It’s not that I don’t believe every word she’s saying, but I don’t believe any word she’s saying. Maybe I’m the one living in a goddamn nightmare right now. I would think that at some point over the past few years, I would have heard an inkling of this situation from someone—anyone, but yet, no one in Chipley knew.
“Where is she? Where is Reese?” I struggle against the chair I’m confined to, feeling a need to explode and beat the shit out of something, or someone. “Where is she?” I yell so loudly that spit sprays from my mouth, hitting Mom directly in the face. Regardless, my shouts go ignored. Just as a mother has the ability to overlook the tantrums of her screaming child, Mom is unaffected, as if she doesn’t even hear me.
“She asked us to let her out—out there,” she points toward a white wall. “So, we let her go. She’ll soon see why she was kept here, safely.”
“She was never safe! She was kept in a shed for three years,” I yell at her.
“Five years, and you’re right. She was kept in a shed, away from the others for a reason.” Five years. Five years. Reese said three years. Lies. They are all lies.
I’m pulling my wrists apart, feeling my skin split from the metal. Blood is trickling down my arm and sweat is pouring down the sides of my face. “Wait a minute,” I say, pausing as realization sets in. “You let her out? Out of this bunker and Chipley?”
“It’s what she wanted, Sinon. It was never our intention to hold people against their will. The girl has requested to die numerous times, but I’m not God—I don’t decide who should live or die. I only created the possibility for her to choose her own destiny.”
“Bullshit! Listen to yourself! It’s all fucking bullshit! I’m going after her. Let me up now, or so help me God, you will regret every decision you have made over the past several years.”
Locked In: No Way Out Series - Book One Page 16