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“I’ll turn around,” he says, and does so before I can explain.
I bend down and pick up the same fabric my family wears, the red jumpsuits from my visions, holding it in my hands and knowing they’re in more danger now than ever before. “Am I still under arrest?” I ask. “Can’t let me out of your sight if I am.”
“You’re more right than you know,” he sighs.
His words don’t sound promising, but this place is a prison, not a sanctuary. We’re all imprisoned in this cage.
My clothes fall in a disgusting heap on the floor, and I step into the uniform, my brand hidden from view but replaced with the AOE’s symbol on its sleeve.
No escape.
Picking up my soiled uniform, I pass by him and toss it in the garbage. Alexander is half undressed when I turn around, and I keep turning, avoiding seeing too much. His bloodied clothes zip past my line of sight and land in the same trash can as mine.
“So, I live another day,” I whisper. It’s a pathetic attempt at conversation when all I think about is my family.
“That was a hearing,” Alexander says. “He has them once a week.” His footsteps come up behind me and he rests his hand on my shoulder. “You live another week.” That might be a promise or a warning, but either fill me with dread.
I flip around and find him in his uniform, and the only evidence of what just happened is a smudge of blood left on his chin. Motioning my hand to my face, I let him know. “You still have…”
He steps over to a mirror and wipes it off, checking his neck and behind his ears. I do the same, finding a small towel and scrubbing myself even though I see nothing. The last thing I want is to find blood splatter tomorrow and re-live the entire event. The way my mind works, this will haunt me forever, but why torture myself further?
“Can you take me to my family?” I ask. “I need to see them. They need me.”
Alexander splashes water on his face. “They’re safe.”
I tap the corner of the sink as he dries his face, and he steps around me, waving for me to follow.
“You didn’t answer me.” I cross my arms and lean my hip against the sink. “Take me to them.”
“I can’t, and they’re safe.” He steps through the door, and I watch it open, wishing I could run. The idea fades as soon as it comes. I don’t know the layout of this place, and I don’t have any allies. I’m stuck, and he knows it.
When I step outside the bathroom and find him leaning against a wall and waiting, I swear I catch him smirking. We think the same. If our situations were reversed, his thoughts would be on escape. Maybe they already are, but today, we’re stuck together miles underground.
“Can you walk okay?” he asks.
No matter how much I try to hide my struggle, I’m still weak from the weeks in bed, but I nod. “I’ll be fine.”
He turns and I follow, but I notice his stride has slowed, and I’m grateful.
It’s a scatter of hallways and elevators for twenty minutes. I memorize everything I can. The sequence of the numbers he punches into keypads, the floors on the elevator, names of offices and rooms, and every face with a nametag we see. I’m deflated by the time we reach a room.
The underground has over forty floors, each floor a never-ending expanse of hallways and steel doors. It’s as if someone took a few skyscrapers, inverted them, and dug them into the earth. I don’t know which way is north or south, or if we are up or down half the time. Disoriented doesn’t describe my state in this maze, and I don’t know how I’ll get out without help.
So far, the only people that I’ve said more than three words to are Alexander, a bored nurse, and a bloodthirsty Eminent. It’s not looking good for freedom, and I don’t know how long it will take Dean to get here.
Alex comes to a numbered door and places his hand on the panel by the handle. It blinks green, and he steps inside, the space lighting up with his movements.
“Where are we?” I ask, stepping inside after him. It’s a simple layout but larger than the memory of my family’s room, and more than I need. There’s a couch in the center, a large bed in the back, and furniture lining the wall. A few doors lead to what I guess is a closet and bathroom, and a kitchenette sits on the other side.
“Living quarters on the thirteenth level,” he says. “Every other floor has the apartments. In between is storage and other things. The deeper you go, the more… interesting it gets. Weapons are on forty-two. Hospital is on thirty-eight. Live on odds, work on evens.” He’s tossing things from his pockets into drawers and on top of dressers, getting comfortable.
Fuck.
“This is your apartment,” I say.
“You don’t miss much,” he offers, shucking off his jacket and shoes. He starts on his top button when I back up, almost tripping over my feet.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m married.”
