“Do you have a plan?” I gasp as he runs faster. I struggle to keep up and not slip on the wet leaves coating the forest floor.
“Yes, we’re getting close.”
I have no idea what we’re getting close to, but I hope we make it.
He angles toward the road. We’re deep enough in the forest that it’s several minutes before I see asphalt through the trees. I expect to see a car parked on the street, something to help us escape, but there’s only the road and the trees. Then it hits me where we’ll emerge.
I dig in my heels. “No.”
He tugs on my arm. “Jules, come on, we’re almost there. We’re going to make it.”
I shake my head, panicked. “No! I can’t.”
He stops and cups my face with both hands, his breath coming in pants. “Julia, it’s the only way. If we don’t go out there, they’re going to catch us. I’ll go to jail and you might get arrested, too.”
I know he’s right. I’m in too deep to back out, but the thought of going to the scene of Monica’s death makes my heart race. “Why here? Can’t we go somewhere else?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s go out there while we still can, or stay here and we’ll both get caught. I’ll let you decide.”
My chest tightens. “If I don’t go, you’ll stay here and let them find us?”
He thrusts out his jaw, determination in his eyes. “Yes.”
When I look back, the flashlights are closer. I inhale a deep breath, hoping it will appease my growing anxiety. Instead, it rages in protest that I even consider going out to the road. I study Evan’s face and wonder why he would give up everything for me. His shoulders are tense, his lips pressed into a thin line. Everything in him screams run, yet he’s still standing here.
I bite my lip. “Okay. I trust you.”
Relief washes over his face before he kisses me. “I love you,” he murmurs against my lips then snatches my hand, now slick from the rain.
My mind trips, bewildered by Evan’s declaration, but I have no time to dwell on it as we race toward the street.
Torn between checking the flashlights and looking toward the approaching road, I settle for staring at the ground. Evan stops at the edge of the woods and I clutch his arm in a death grip, terrified to look across the street. My traitorous eyes glance up, finding the tree with a deep gouge, a raw, open wound. I fight my rising nausea. I can do this. I have to do this.
I turn my gaze from the tree and look up and down the road. There’s no traffic in sight but neither is there any means of escape.
“Evan, how are we getting out of here?”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a black rectangular box, slightly larger than a remote to a TV. He squeezes my hand. “This is your last chance to change your mind. Are you sure you want to come with me?”
The police are tromping through the leaves scattered on the forest floor. “Yes.” My heart slams against my chest with every beat.
“Okay, let’s go.” We slide down the muddy incline to the shoulder. He leads me to the middle of the road, about twenty feet from the tree and stops, standing on the center yellow line.
“Evan?” I check to see if any cars are coming. Maybe he plans for us to get run over in the street. Maybe escape for him is suicide and he plans to take me with him. I stare up into his anxious face for reassurance.
The policemen have reached the edge of the forest. “Freeze! Stay where you are!” an officer shouts. Flashlight beams hover around us.
Evan wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close to his chest. The box presses into my back through my coat. “Hang on to me. This might feel strange.”
“What might feel strange?”
A police car, its lights flashing, speeds down the road toward us.
This is it. We’re going to die.
The road beneath us jiggles, rumbling under our feet.
“Evan?”
His smile is tight. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” I clench fistfuls of his coat.
The air undulates in waves. The police car slams on its brakes, skidding off the road. Its screeching tires make my knees weak, but Evan’s grip holds me up. The policemen shout as the waves became larger and wilder, until I can’t see the beginning or the end of them. The air is a rippling sea, blocking out everything but Evan and me. A roar fills my ears followed by a bright burst of light. Intense pressure smashes in on me on all sides. My instinct is to cry out, but my body feels frozen, nonexistent. The stress is so unbearable I must be dead or close to it. Then I’m thrown, like a ball from a pitching machine. My body bangs into the ground with the impact, shooting shocks waves of pain through my already aching head. Asphalt burns my hands and cheek as I skid.
I try to push up, but my arms and the rest of my body are unresponsive. Evan isn’t next to me. Lacking the strength to lift my head, I shift my eyes and find him lying on the ground, several feet away.
I want to call out to him but my tongue is leaden. My chest burns, refusing to expand. I will it to move, for my airway to open, as my vision begins to fade. With one last effort, my rib cage heaves and cool air rushes into my lungs, setting off a fit of coughing.
Did the police car hit us after all?
Encouraged at my newfound ability to breathe, I try to lift my head again, looking for the police. Instead, I see giant mobile streetlights circling the road, all shining on Evan and me. Why would they take the time to set up lights yet leave us in the street?
The dull roar in my head begins to shift and separate sounds. The mangled cacophony gives way to motors, shouting voices and sirens.
“Evan!” I yell, only it comes out a raspy whisper.
The hand next to his head twitches.
I want to crawl to him, but my legs resist cooperation. My weak arms manage to drag me with agonizingly slow progress. “Evan,” I croak. “We have to get up.” I have no idea how we’ll get away, but I’m not ready to give up yet.
He faces away from me and my hand reaches for his back but falls short, slapping the pavement. Pain shoots through my asphalt-burnt hand.
Sirens scream through the air. The rain has stopped and the pavement is completely dry, even though my clothes are drenched.
“Evan,” I moan.
He turns his head to me. “I’m sorry.” He mouths, his eyes glassy.
A sea of monsters move in and hover over us. I blink, ordering my hallucination away. I’ve finally gone mental. When I open my eyes, a horde of bulky hazmat-like suits with spacesuit heads surrounds us. Visors obscure their faces.
Their arms reach toward us. I want to scream, to grab out for Evan, but I’m too weak. Every muscle in my body is sluggish and slow.
Gloved hands claw at my arms and jerk me off the ground. Several other bodies surround Evan, hauling him up. They drag us toward a fleet of vehicles, none of them recognizable. My feet trail behind me on the pavement.
“Stop!” I finally manage to get out. “Who are you?”
They ignore me as we move toward more suited bodies, more than I can count. The bodies part as we approach several vehicles, a cross between a delivery truck and a van. The doors to one open and I realize they’re going to put me inside.
Animal instinct takes over. Adrenaline surges and overcomes my weakness. I thrust my arms out, trying to shake off their hands. My action catches them off guard and they lose their hold, letting me out of their grasp.
I manage to land on my feet and catch my balance. I spin and run toward Evan. The other group is dragging him to another truck. His head flops forward, his chin touching his chest.
“Evan!” I scream, the sound piercing through the relentless sirens.
His head raises slightly then drops, as though he tries but the effort’s too great. He and the suited men disappear behind a truck.
Arms grapple me from behind, but I fight this time, swinging and kicking as they come near. They hesitate and spread out to circle around me.
/> My heart beats frantically, my breath so rapid I’m sure to hyperventilate. I twist around, gauging how many there are, how to escape.
An endless wave of monsters circle. I’m overcome with hopelessness but shove it off and charge for an opening in the bodies, almost breaking free. They enclose the circle, engulfing me in a mass of suits and arms, their faceless visors reflecting my terrified face.
I scream, a long blood-curdling howl of protest and fear. They grip my arms and legs, carrying me toward the truck. I kick and scream, my legs breaking loose a couple of times before the men lift them again.
Almost to the truck, I give one more valiant attempt to break free. They’re prepared, their treatment rougher as the gaping hole to the truck threatens to swallow me whole.
“Please,” I sob, thrashing. “I didn’t do anything.”
They toss me inside and I land hard on the dimpled metal floor, the points jabbing my skin at every contact point.
The doors slam shut, pitching the chamber into total darkness. I lunge for the doors and beat them with my fists.
“Please! Please, let me out! I didn’t do anything wrong!”
The truck moves. I sway, losing balance, and fall on my side, hitting my head on the wall. I collapse, sobbing as terror fills my mind, a dense, choking cloud.
What do they want with me? A half-dozen unspeakable horrors race through my head. My throat closes, on the cusp of a panic attack.
No, no, no, no.
Why are they wearing suits? Why wouldn’t they speak to me?
My body shakes uncontrollably with fear and cold. My gasping sobs make it worse. The panic attack hits full force and I struggle to retain consciousness.
The truck lurches and bounces for an eternity, or perhaps mere minutes. Finally, the attack begins to subside. I sit up in the cold pitch-black metal box. I grasp my knees and pull them to my chest, rocking back and forth as my mind scrambles for a plan to escape.
There is no escape.
My mind turns to Evan. If they’re treating me like this, they must be treating him worse. He’s the one they want. I’m merely an accessory.
The truck rumbles to a stop. I hear voices outside, muffled by the metal walls. Without warning, the doors fling open, light blinding my eyes. Two suited bodies stand in the opening, arms outstretched like in a horror movie. I shrink into the corner, but gloved hands capture my ankles and pull. I fall back, my head hitting the floor as I struggle to kick. More bodies appear, providing more hands to pull me from the truck. I dangle in the air over a concrete loading dock when another truck parks beside us, more bodies approaching the back of it.
Evan.
I crane my neck to see the back of the truck open. Hooded suits pull out a lifeless body. I scream Evan’s name, but it comes out hoarse and garbled.
Four bodies sweep me into a darkened building, a tall office structure made of concrete and glass. Losing sight of Evan sends waves of panic crashing through every cell of my body. A burst of energy shoots through my muscles and I send a kick into the stomach of the person holding my right calf. He drops my leg and doubles over. Sirens wail in the stark white hall and two more bodies join the parade. They grip my limbs in tight holds that pinch into my damp clothes.
I raise my head. “Please! I didn’t do anything!”
They ignore my protests and move forward, only stopping when they reach the end of the hall. A stainless steel door opens and we enter a large cylindrical room. The door slides closed and the floor drops so rapidly my stomach drops with it.
The doors open and they carry me down another hall. I’m deep in the bowels of this concrete structure. A new wave of fear sweeps through me and I flail, my body fighting for survival. They’re prepared. Their grips constrict.
I scream and sob, both undistinguishable.
They stop and I think they’re finally going to listen, but a door slides open. We enter a small white room and the men drop my legs. The soles of my feet thud on the floor, shooting pain through my aching left thigh. The four leave and the door slides closed behind them.
The two men lift me into a standing position. I whip my head around, looking for an escape. The white room is small, about eight foot feet square, a control box filled with buttons centered on one wall. A silver metal panel fills the wall opposite the door we came in.
The two new suited bodies with visors appear, wearing all black. One reaches for the scarf still hanging around my neck. He slides it off and hands it to the other person, who tosses into a large plastic bag. He taps on an electronic tablet in his hands.
“What are you doing?” I pant from my terror.
The first black suit ignores me and reaches for the buttons on my coat. His black gloves are slender and less bulky. He unfastens my buttons and the hold on my arms loosens as he pulls my sleeves down and off my hands. I try to take advantage of the freedom and bolt, but they pull me back before I make it to the door. My arms are pinned as my coat is handed off like the scarf.
They systematically remove my fleece jacket and shoes and socks as I cry hysterically and plead for them to stop.
They ignore me, intent on their task. Hands reach for the bottom of my long-sleeved t-shirt, lifting it up my chest, exposing my bra.
“No!” I scream in outrage and panic. Bile rises in my throat.
The arms holding me tighten as the shirt is lifted over my head, their hold moving up my arm to pull the shirt off. My jeans are next and one of the black suits escapes my pummeling kicks. They push me up against the wall to hold me immobile.
I flail like a rabid animal as they strip me of my underwear and bra, leaving me naked and cold before these suited monsters. I scream until the edges of my vision turn black.
The steel panel opens and they toss me inside a small steel cylindrical room. Holes dimple the wall and ceiling.
The door closes before I have a chance to react to my freedom. I whip around to access my surroundings when a mist sprays from the holes.
My screams reverberate off the metal walls, slamming my eardrums.
Goosebumps erupt as the mist turns to a spray, the liquid pelting my skin. I cover my face with my arms, and spit out the bitter fluid that shoots into my mouth.
This is it. I’ve read about this in my history book. This is like the gas chambers in concentration camps in World War II.
This is a death chamber.
Only I’m still standing and I can still breathe, although the smell of the chemicals coating my body makes me gasp for air.
The spray stops, followed by another spray that lasts for several minutes, only to be repeated several more times. Finally, a liquid that feels and smells like stale water pours out. The trauma of the evening is too much and my rubbery legs give out. I fall to my knees, in the pooling water at the bottom of the tube. When it stops, a door on the opposite side slides open. I jerk my head up, my wet stringy hair hanging in my face. A man and a woman in white uniforms, wearing facemasks, reach for my arms and lift me up and into another room. This one is just as white and sterile as the last, only slightly larger.
They wrap a sheet tightly around my body and sit me in a silver metal chair next to a table in the center of the room.
The woman bends down, her gray eyes peering over the mask that covers the bottom of her face. Her short silver hair is cut in an extreme style, asymmetrical angles, but her face seems remarkably wrinkle-free given the color of her hair. “We’re going to do a medical assessment,” she says, her words muffled.
I cry in relief. It’s the first time someone has spoken since this ordeal began. “Where’s Evan?” But she ignores my question and shines a light into my eyes. The beam is blinding and I turn my head, but the man holds me still.
“This will be much easier if you cooperate,” the woman says, her eyes as cold as her voice.
The man turns my head from side to side so she can examine my ears then nose. As the man tilts my head back, she pushes my mouth open with a flat metal stick. It occurs to me tha
t the sheet has a dual purpose. It dries me off but keeps my arms and legs bound so I can’t fight.
She types into an electronic tablet then brings a black square box toward me. I squirm in the seat, fighting against the sheet.
“Relax.” The word is razor sharp, far from reassuring. “I’m only going to analyze your heart.” She holds it to my chest and watches the box for several seconds.
She moves back to the tablet but glances at the man. “We’ll need to repeat it later after she calms down. “She turns to the tray. “I need her arm exposed.”
He unwraps my arm and straps it to a board as the woman moves toward me with a needle attached to a clear plastic tube.
“Please,” I wail. “I didn’t do anything. I swear. Please.”
The man holds my arm still as she inserts the needle into my arm. Dark red blood flows through the tube into a silver cylinder she attaches to the end. She attaches several tubes then pulls the needle from my arm and tosses it onto the tray. She unbinds my arm and bends it up.
The woman leaves the room with her tray as two women wearing masks enter. No one says a word, the silence plucking my jagged nerves. Both women carry bundles. One unwraps a hairbrush and runs it through my damp and tangled hair, looking through the strands and over my scalp.
“What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” I twist my head around but the woman working on my hair gently grips my cheeks in her hands. When I stop, she resumes her job.
She finishes brushing my hair and braids it down my back. The other woman unfolds a set of clothing. The man unwraps the sheet and helps me stand as the two women slip on a loose-fitting shirt and pants. His fingers press deep into my arm as he holds me in place.
The door opens and a man wearing a mask enters as the women leave. He takes my other arm and the two men lead me into another white corridor. We turn multiple corners until they stop in front of a metal panel.
A guard places his hand in front of a glass plate to the side and the door opens, revealing a small room with a bed and a chair. He shoves my back and I stumble, crashing into the opposite wall as the door closes behind me. I consider beating on the door and screaming, but it seems pointless. Instead, I climb onto the bed and look for an escape. The room is barely large enough for the cot that’s pushed against the wall and the chair in the back corner. The white walls are windowless and have only one door. The ceiling is solid, with two can lights. No escaping through panels.
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