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“No.” I pull the bags tight against my chest. While I have been maneuvered into putting my life in my team’s hands, I will not trust them with my secrets. The Transit Communicator will stay locked in this box with me.
“Here.” Enzo puts his flashlight in my hand. “We’ll get you out of there quick. I promise.”
As I watch Will reach for the lid and pull it down, I hope Enzo is right. Metal closes over me. Everything goes black. I hear the snap of a lock that tells me there is no going back. Until my team comes up with the correct solution, I am trapped.
I hit the switch on the flashlight. The small beam reflects off the silver of my prison. Even though I know it is futile, I push against the metal above me. It doesn’t budge. I run my fingers along the edge of the lid. The seal on the box appears tight. A click of the flashlight confirms my suspicion. There is no hint of outside light. Unless I am mistaken, this container is airtight. If my team does not release the locking mechanism in a timely manner, I will die.
I need to conserve air, but my breath comes fast and harsh. Knowing my life lies in the hands of someone who in the past tried to kill me fills me with terror. The pounding of my blood in my veins rings loud in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the voices outside the steel walls. Or maybe the material of the walls is too thick to hear clearly.
Pushing aside the panic that bubbles in my chest, I focus on my breathing. Measured breath in. Slow exhale out. Growing up, my brothers liked to play hide-and-seek. As the smallest of us, I could wriggle into the best hiding spots. And yet my brothers never failed to find me. Until finally Zeen explained that the excited sound of my breathing gave me away. It took practice on my part, but eventually my brothers needed to use more than just their ears to find me.
When my breathing calms, I strain to hear what is happening with my team. The voices are muted. Mumbles tell me they are hard at work, but I cannot tell what the task is or how long it is going to take. Here and there, I make out a word.
“No . . . second law . . .”
“. . . force . . .”
“. . . wrong . . .”
In between the words are only silence and the pulsing of my heart marking the passing of the seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours. Time stands still. During that time, I think of Tomas and wonder what trial he is facing in his own Induction. I wish he were here with me now to help keep me safe. A whirring sound followed by a jubilant shout pulls me from my thoughts, but my prison door does not open.
The voices outside are louder. I jump when something bangs against the box, but the lock stays firmly in place as my teammates continue to shout words that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot understand.
The voices go silent. To keep calm, I count the seconds. Ten. Twenty. Sixty. One hundred. Still nothing. Just darkness and silence. Did my team fail at their task and suffer a penalty? Or did they succeed and choose to leave me behind?
I close my eyes tight, clutch my bags to my chest, and continue to listen for signs that my team is still there. That I haven’t been abandoned. That I will not suffocate in this metal coffin. That I will not die here—alone.
The metal surrounding me vibrates. Over my quickening breath is the roar of a skimmer motor. Once again, I have trusted where trust was not warranted. Once again, I will suffer the consequences.
I should stay calm. I should breathe carefully to conserve my air supply until I find a way out of here. Instead, I bang against the lid of the box and scream. The sound of the motor might drown out my cries, but I keep screaming on the chance that those leaving me behind can hear my voice. I want them to know that I am alive now. That if I die, I do so at their hands.
My throat is raw. My hands ache when I stop my pounding. By now, my team is long gone. If I want to survive, I have to find a way out of here. I shift in the tight space so I can reach the fasteners on my bag. My fingers hunt through my belongings until they settle on the handle of my pocketknife. A click of the flashlight bathes the small space with light. I struggle to shift positions in the tight space as I run the blade along the top and bottom of the right side of the box, hoping to find a flaw in the design. When I find none, I roll to my left so I can reach the other side.
So intent am I on my mission, it barely registers when I hear something scrape against the outside of the box. I hear the sound again and hold my breath. Voices murmur. I knock three times on the lid, hoping someone will understand I am trapped inside. I almost cry with relief when three knocks sound in return.
“Hang on, Cia,” someone yells. “We’ve almost got it.”
The sound of a latch sliding confirms the words. The metal above me shifts upward. I squint into the sunlight and see Will’s and Enzo’s faces peering down. Will’s hand feels warm and strong in mine as he helps me stand and climb out. To my left, I see Jacoby and two other members of their team arguing. Their skimmer sits twenty feet beyond them.
“I heard the engine and thought you’d left.” My voice is raspy from the screaming. Evidence of my lack of trust.
“I would have thought the same thing.” Will hands me the green team bag and glances over to a grove of trees growing near the fence about fifty feet away. Glaring at us from the center of the trees is Damone. “If Damone had gotten his way, we’d have hit the road after getting the clue. He wasn’t interested in wasting time on the second part, to free you. It took a few minutes, but we helped him see the error of his ways.”
The darkening bruise on Will’s cheek gives me an idea as to how.
“You got it wrong,” Jacoby yells at the girl next to him. “Get out of the way and let me try.”
“We should probably cut Damone loose and get out of here before they figure out the solution,” Enzo says.
“I think we should lea
ve him.” A smile devoid of happiness crosses Will’s face. “Give him a taste of his own medicine. It’s no less than he deserves.”
I look at the steel box where Damone would have left me to die, and my heart hardens. Will is right. Damone should understand what it feels like to be betrayed. Leaders—real leaders—must think of others before themselves. They need to consider the consequences of their actions and only sacrifice lives when the needs of many outweigh the needs of the few.
And I realize, as much as I want to penalize Damone for his cowardly actions, I cannot. Not without performing the same kind of act I am condemning Damone for. I am this team’s leader. I will not leave someone I am in charge of behind.
“Damone is coming with us,” I say, digging my pocketknife out of my University bag. “Get the skimmer ready. We’ll be back in a minute.”
