by Dylan Steel
She grabbed the narrow edge of the table and tilted it until it was vertical. The thin tendril legs collapsed limply at first, then rapidly curled into themselves, withdrawing into the back of the table. She tossed the now-flat square of metal onto her bed. Her room was too small not to consolidate the tech when she wasn’t using it.
Wandering aimlessly into the bathroom, she turned on the overhead water. She didn’t need another shower—she’d taken one before bed last night—but sometimes it helped to just stand in the steam or let the water rush over her. Maybe she’d come up with a new idea.
“Think, Indarra,” she muttered to herself.
She stepped into the flow and shook her head back and forth. Think.
Her eyes were starting to feel swollen. She reached up to brush away the tears that she felt spilling down, then mentally chided herself for the futility of the effort while she was still standing under the stream of water.
“I will find a way. I will,” she repeated, trying to convince herself as she smacked the wall with her palms.
Sniffing, she turned off the water. This wasn’t helping at all. Not that she had anything better to do. She was trapped in a prison without explanation, without the promise of an end to her sentence.
“The Institution was better than this,” she whispered dejectedly. She almost couldn’t believe she was saying it, but it was true in a lot of ways. Sobs racked her body again at the realization. Her shoulders shook, and an unwelcome queasiness settled over her as she took quick, shallow breaths.
She needed to calm down.
Steadying her breathing took all her concentration, but soon she was counting to ten with each exhale. Satisfied that she’d gotten herself under control, Sage stepped in front of the mirror, still quite aware of her breathing patterns. Her lip quivered when she caught sight of her splotchy face.
“You can do this,” she said firmly, fighting back the tears that again threatened to spill.
Sniffling once more, she swept her hands across her face, removing the evidence of her breakdown. She took another deep breath and nodded at herself resolutely, then quickly reached out for her comb.
Raking it through her hair roughly, she set her jaw and glared at her reflection, willing herself to toughen up. In her haste, she pulled the comb into a particularly stubborn knot. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, bringing the comb down faster this time.
It was a bad decision.
She winced and watched through squinted eyes as the comb flew across the room and bounced against the wall, clattering on the ground by her feet.
Rolling her eyes, she bent over to retrieve it, straightening quickly. Too quickly.
The back of her hand smacked loudly against the underside of the sink, sending the comb plummeting back to the ground. She yelped, clutching her injured hand with the other good one.
At first, the pain was so bad that she thought she’d broken it. But after a moment, once the intense throbbing began to push away the immediate, awful agony from impact, she worked up the courage to look down at the hand she was cradling.
Her stomach turned. There was blood everywhere, covering both her hands, dripping onto the floor. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t felt it, at least with her good hand. Shock, maybe.
Nudging the faucet on with the back of her hand, she grimaced and stuck her hand under the water. A soft gasp escaped her lips at the sting. She braced herself for the worst and looked at her hand again.
The stream of water had a pale pink tint to it as it circled the drain. It had washed away the worst of it by the time she glanced down. She bent lower, examining her hand more carefully. Her hand had a long gash across the back of it, mostly shallow except for where she’d first hit it. She cringed as she looked at it, grabbing a wad of tissues and pressing them hard against her hand to stop the bleeding.
“Rox,” she swore. It was obvious the wound would take awhile to heal properly. This was all she needed. Another obstacle in the way of her plans.
Her plans.
Her eyes grew wide with recognition, the hot pulsing in her hand suddenly fading into the background.
Something had cut her.
Still clutching her hand, she dropped to her knees. Twisting her neck, she examined the underside of the sink. There, hidden from normal view, was a small piece of dull metal with a sharp end. Or, at least, she guessed the end was sharp. It was hard to see the tip of it because it was covered with a layer of her blood.
An almost manic grin spread across her face.
This could work.
9. READY
Sage’s trips outside had bordered on downright unpleasant lately. Not because of Sam’s apparent indifference toward her. No, it was much simpler than that. The temperature had dropped intolerably low.
Despite the harsh weather, Sam had continued escorting her to the rooftop throughout the winter months, though he’d seemed almost reluctant to do so at times. She imagined he had about as much choice in the matter as she did. After all, she knew he was answering to someone, even if he wouldn’t admit it to her.
To be fair, he’d supplied her with a warmer jacket at her request—before it had even gotten that bad. He’d also halved her allotted time outside, dropping it to a mere fifteen minutes, but that did little to change the fact that it was the coldest time of year. And while the biting wind didn’t typically spill down between the walls lining the rooftop, she was still far from comfortable.
The worst part? Every time, she found herself looking forward to being back in the warmth of her room. That definitely bothered her. Being dependent on the goodwill of her captors for anything was gut-wrenching.
Shivering, she pushed those thoughts aside, staring at the jagged scraps of fabric in her hands. Her fingers gingerly traced a pattern over the knots that she’d tied earlier that morning. Last night, after her tutoring session with Sam, she’d stayed up late to cut her sheet into long, thin strips.
It had taken her months of searching within her small room to find something that would do the trick—something that would score relatively straight lines in the cloth so that she could make a long enough rope. In a way, her accident in the bathroom was actually quite fortuitous. She may have been able to get by with ripping the fabric, but she didn’t want to find out the hard way that she was wrong. If she tore a section too thin, it might not support her weight. And since Sam—or someone—washed her sheets the first day of each week, she knew they’d notice if she tried tearing small holes in them. She couldn’t afford to raise any suspicion by practicing before she was ready to make her move.
She’d also made a tough call, deciding to keep her injury a secret. If Sam had realized there was something sharp enough to slice her hand open that badly, he might have removed it from the room altogether. She figured it was better to risk infection than give up the first helpful thing she’d found. Fortunately, she’d managed to avoid too much inflammation, and after giving it a couple weeks to heal, she figured she’d be alright. And she’d been able to hide the injury easily enough by wearing gloves any time Sam was around, using the cold weather as an excuse.
Plastering one end of the makeshift rope against her stomach, she began winding the sheet around her torso. After looping it around several times, she panicked and gasped for air, realizing she’d wrapped it much too tight to breathe in. She unwound it a bit and wiggled her fingers beneath what still surrounded her, loosening it enough to be more tolerable. It was a delicate balance to strike with the sizeable length of rope she’d created—it had to be tight enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable under her coat but not so tight that she would get lightheaded and risk passing out. The added bulk from the knots certainly wasn’t helping matters.
Today was the day. She was going to climb on top of the Transfer. With any luck, she’d see how to make her escape, and if things worked out especially well, she’d find out that the roof was low enough to climb down from—if she could get over it.
It had taken longer than she’d expected to
put all the pieces in place and work up enough courage, but she was finally ready. Whether or not she would see anything useful, she had no idea, but she couldn’t stand waiting anymore. But there would be no going back. Once she put her plan in motion, she’d have to see it through entirely. If she didn’t, she’d be caught and shatter what little remained of Sam’s trust, having wasted all the time she’d spent building it.
She’d nearly followed through on her plans at least a dozen times before, but she decided it was smarter to wait until winter was nearing its end—just in case she managed to see an immediate escape route. It’d be far easier to survive on her own at the beginning of spring than in the middle of the frozen season.
Plus, she needed every advantage she could get. The full half hour of unsupervised time was critical in case something went wrong. Not to mention the fact that it had taken awhile for her to be confident that Sam was no longer supervising her outdoor time. And even though he usually left her alone now, he still occasionally decided to stay with her, for reasons she couldn’t quite understand.
Sage finished winding the sheets around her stomach and tucked the end into the rest of her wrappings. Pausing, she took in a couple slow, deep breaths to make sure she’d be ok. It was a little uncomfortable, but she figured she could manage for the five minutes it took to be escorted from her room to the rooftop.
Exhaling once more, she grabbed her coat and slipped it on with a bit of difficulty. The zipper didn’t want to close at all for the first few inches, but once she coaxed it about a third of the way up, she was able to manage much easier.
She made her way to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, sizing up her appearance. She wished she’d remembered to look at herself with the coat on before she’d added the rope. There was nothing to compare herself to now, but it was too late to unwrap herself and start over. Sam would be there any minute.
Frowning, she spun slowly from one side to the other, trying to decide if she looked as overstuffed as she felt. Was it obvious? No. It was probably all in her head.
She checked the bottom of her coat once more to make sure the sheets weren’t visibly poking out and then left the bathroom, willing herself to calm down. Stepping away from the mirror helped.
Now, she just had to wait for Sam to show up.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach while she waited. She paced the room nervously, barely looking up from the floor as she chewed her thumbnail. Doubts began to plague her. Maybe she’d timed it badly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand being wrapped up.
Worrying was a waste of time. She chided herself, then started revisiting everything that could go wrong.
A set of footsteps began padding down the hall. Her eyes grew big. She sprinted to the center of the room. Already warm from the extra layers, the slight exertion caused her face to flush and a bead of sweat to form at her hairline.
Pulling on her gloves, she dabbed away the sweat with the back of her hand. She flinched a little at the motion. The cut on her hand had healed, but it was still tender.
Chill out, Indarra, she thought.
There was a rustling just outside her room, and the door swung open with a loud creak a moment later. As usual, Sam stood there silently, looking at her.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
Without another word, he turned around and walked down the hall, leading her to the Transfer.
Following quickly behind, Sage swallowed and cast a backward glance at her room. If things went well, she wouldn’t have to stay there much longer. And she didn’t want to get her hopes too high, but if things went really well, she’d never see it again. She narrowed her eyes at herself as a bittersweet longing welled up inside her.
Stop it. That’s dumb, she snapped.
The feeling surprised her. But as much as she wanted to leave, she couldn’t deny that she was terrified. She’d never lived on her own for more than a few hours, and she wasn’t entirely sure she could. She was risking her life by taking it into her own hands, but she knew she was risking it by staying or even by growing up and graduating in Eprah. This was her best chance for a life—a real life—even if it would be incredibly difficult to figure everything out at first.
Lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice when the Transfer stopped moving. Almost. She stumbled slightly, stretching her arms out to steady herself.
When the Transfer door slid open, she was instantly smacked with the cold, dry air. The sensation of needles pricking her face grew worse as she stepped onto the rooftop. Why did it have to be so cold today?
As soon as she heard the door close behind her, she gritted her teeth. It was now or never. She could do this.
She breathed out one more time, steeling herself for the harsh climate she was about to unleash on her own body. Taking the zipper in her hand, she pulled it downward in one swift motion. Her coat sprung open with the zipper’s telltale whiz echoing across the rooftop.
“What are you doing, Sage?” An alarmed voice rang out behind her.
The blood drained from her face. Sam. She’d just assumed he’d stayed on the Transfer. He wasn’t supposed to stay with her. But he had. She’d made a huge mistake. And now she needed to fix this. Fast.
Fumbling with her zipper, she managed to hook it back together and tried to tug it upward again. It caught on some of the knotted fabric beneath it. Her heart was beating wildly.
Why hadn’t she checked to make sure she was alone?
She could hear Sam’s footsteps approaching from behind her. Her eyes widened in panic. Skipping forward, she kept her back to him as she fought with the zipper to get it to finish its ascent.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, whirling her around. The satisfying zip of her coat sounded just as Sam turned her around to face him.
“What are you doing, Sage?” The concern in his voice had been replaced by a commanding tone.
“Nothing,” she lied, squirming under his grasp. She tried to think of an excuse. This had never been part of the plan.
He eyed her wordlessly.
“Why did you unzip your coat?” he demanded.
“Let go.” She wriggled under his grip again.
Sam’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he released his hold on her. “Why did you unzip your coat?” his voice came out in a low rumble. “You could’ve—” his voice trailed off. “Why?” he growled.
“I—” Sage desperately seized at the first coherent thought she could form, “I only meant to unzip it a little. It was too tight at the collar,” she explained. “See?” She pointed to her coat, where the zipper now stopped just a couple inches shy of the top.
“It’s not like I meant to unzip it all the way.”
His head tilted. He was studying her face carefully.
“Then why did you run?”
Sage snorted. “You mean, why didn’t I answer to your every whim?” She glared at him. “Because I didn’t want to.” This part of her story was easy. It was true too—it just didn’t include the more important reason.
The two stared at each other for a few moments, silence spreading between them.
“Fine,” he said, clearly irritated.
He stormed off in the direction of the Transfer. Sage had never seen him lose his temper like that before—at least not when she wasn’t pestering him with questions he refused to answer. There was something peculiar about his reaction. It was almost like he actually cared. Like he was worried she was going to hurt herself.
She held her breath, hoping he would finally decide to leave her alone. But he didn’t. He took up his usual post just next to the Transfer, crossing his arms as he looked over the length of the rooftop at her.
Her heart sank in disappointment. There was no way she could carry out her plan with Sam watching over her. She’d have to wait even longer—and hope she could try again before he figured out what she’d already done.
10. UP
Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Sage w
as unaware of her feet tapping nervously on the floor in front of her. Her eyes were focused on the sliver of light shining beneath the door of her room, watching carefully for shadows that might indicate Sam was approaching for her afternoon trip outside.
The last few days had passed agonizingly slowly.
Every day before going outside, she’d wrapped herself up in the rope she’d made, hoping Sam would leave her alone on the roof, hoping she’d have a chance to get on top of the Transfer and move forward with her plans to escape.
And every day, she’d had her hopes dashed.
Her knees bounced beneath her hands as she continued staring at the bottom of the door. Today was her last chance. Her bed would be stripped and washed tomorrow, a fresh set of sheets laid out neatly for her upon her return from the roof. If she wasn’t left alone on the roof today, she’d have to do something drastic—probably try to knock Sam unconscious. Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. She knew how desperate a move like that was, how unlikely she was to succeed—there was more than one reason she hadn’t tried it before.
But she’d run out of time. There was no longer a choice of when to make her move.
The muffled fall of footsteps began sounding at the end of the hall. Sage popped off the bed, zipping her coat closed the rest of the way as she stood, never once taking her eyes off the crack under the door.
As the door swung open, she lifted her gaze quickly, shoving her already-gloved hands into her pockets. Sam nodded and gave her an affirmative grunt, then started walking back down the hallway under the assumption she would follow. She did.
It took every ounce of self-control to keep from fidgeting on the Transfer ride. She locked her eyes on the floor and jammed her fists deeper into her coat, using it as a brace for her nerves.
After an eternity—or less than a minute—she felt the familiar jarring sensation of the Transfer stopping. The door slid open, and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, walking forward as casually as she could.
Pausing just over the threshold, she strained her ears, listening for the unwelcome company to exit behind her. But she heard nothing.