In Case of Rejection

CHAPTER THIRTY

The elevator surged upward, and Matthew's mind fled to dark places. He thought of Bots on the first floor. He thought of Brick and his men getting there before him. But he wasn't going to let them stop him. He'd come so far, he knew that surely now if they caught him, they'd make sure he never got away again.

It was maybe ten seconds before the doors opened again, and Matthew was bombarded with the harsh antiseptic of the main lobby. The world was illuminated, despite it being sometime in the night. The world was burning orange, much like Sector 20 in the distance, and Matthew's heart fell knowing that the Sector 18 he last knew was undoubtedly gone. He took a cautious step out into the lobby, padding along with his bare feet. He felt disoriented, like his equilibrium no longer existed, and he woke up to an entirely foreign world. He recognized then that in a sense, he had.

He tried to connect to anything that made sense. His mind flashed with the memory of the last time he set foot in the building and was awake to see it, when he came with Olive. The way she screamed and the way the Bot lifted him up into the air. If he had known then what he did now...

The lobby was desolate otherwise, and Matthew broke into a sprint, taking off across the tile to the front double doors. He stood there in the doorway for a few seconds. He still had the screwdriver in his hand, now slippery and mashed at the tip. He was unbelievably tired, and he imagined that the next time he stopped running, he would collapse.

He reached out cautiously for the door handle and stepped into the outside world.

The air outside was hot. Matthew knew he was breathing, taking in long, heavy breaths, but his lungs felt like each time they were filling with water. He sputtered, inhaling a great wave of smoke that brushed at him from above. Matthew looked up, towards the sky -- here on D Block, the building across from Nerve Center, an apartment of sorts, was engulfed in huge, whirling flames. Matthew ducked, unable to take his eyes off the way the embers flew up into the air. The sky was not the usual gray -- it was black, and burnt orange on the edges. The clouds themselves were on fire.

He turned to the right and ran. The world was empty, too. He sputtered as he ran, not once looking back. He knew they had to be behind him -- they had to be following, but he couldn't bear to look. His mind was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and any distractions threatened his mission.
He kept going, down the middle of the street, his feet feeling sore and raw from the hot ground. He squinted to see, smoke obscuring his vision. He came to the large intersection, connecting D, C, B and Main Street. Where he should've seen Main Street, he saw a shattered building, crossing straight through the intersection, blocking off the other side of Sector 18. He thought of home, and when he looked up in that direction, all he caught were the undulating plumes of smoke being belched up into the atmosphere. He had no choice but to go forward.
He couldn't see much, but he was getting his bearings again. He whirled around, caught in darkness. Ash fell on his cheeks and eyelashes, and things went sort of white for a moment. Matthew swiped his hand over his face and went straight. A woman ran past him on his right, far enough that they couldn't touch but close enough that she broke through the dense smoke.

He kept on, then coming up to Dusty's apartment. This building too, engulfed in flames. Flames everywhere, but there were hardly any screams. There weren't any voices to be heard at all, from what Matthew could hear. He couldn't hear anything at all really, except for the blood rushing through his ears.

He thought of Dusty. Of Jason and Meng. Of Olive. He wondered how they had disappeared. Matthew wandered a few more feet, coming close to the buildings, putting his hand up against the wall for support. Matthew had never been inside Dusty's apartment, but he imagined it was much like his own. His own, which was most likely now being reduced to a pile of ash.
Matthew couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. He started to lose consciousness again, feeling that whip of nausea and fogginess in his brain. He coughed hard into his elbow, his entire body doubling over. He was sweating through his hospital gown, and he was sure for a moment that he'd never felt so sick in his life.

A pair of hands, somewhere close, grabbed him around the center. It was a strong, large body that yanked Matthew from the ground.

Matthew yelped, he tried to push at whoever held onto him. He punched him in the side, tried thrashing, but he was too weak.

And then silence. The rush of flames and wind was replaced by solid quiet, and breathing.

Matthew laid on his back, on a cold, hard floor. It was oddly peaceful, despite the feeling of imminent danger that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
He had no room to fight anymore, and his arms dropped to either side, his lungs full of needles.
Then a single, familiar voice.

"Matthew?"