The Wild Ones

What The Hell?

     Ada awoke slowly like a bubble of air struggling to the surface in a cup of oil, being pulled gradually, inexorably into her consciousness. Her throat burned when she swallowed. Her eyelids stuck together when she tried to open them. Everything hurt, but she seemed to be breathing okay, so that was good. Her thoughts were even more muddled than the night before. Or was it still night? It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when the air was so static and the single bulb burned so steadily on overhead.

     There was plenty of light to see by but, as she saw when she levered herself gently into a sitting position, there wasn't much to take in. The same intimidating walls, a grassy plant wilting out of a chipped terracotta pot in the far corner, the same row of mismatched cots she remembered, but now Andy and Layla weren't there to sit on them. The only other difference was that someone had left two glasses of water and a plate covered with a square of faded fabric on the squat table near her head. Ada raised a hand to rub the thick bleariness from her eyes and realized that she was no longer shackled to her cot. She sniffed cautiously at the glass of water, then gulped it down, ignoring the protests of her throat while she tried to make a plan.

     As she woke up more fully, panic seized her with a tightening fist, squeezing the breath out of her until her chest burned. This was the biggest trouble she had ever been in. She had to be smart, she had to run, but she couldn't. WhatdoIdo? WhatdoIdo? She pleaded silently to the ceiling, nearly praying. Her heart was too fast. She tried to take deep breaths but sharp pain stopped her. With trembling fingers she peeled her shirt away from her chest to check the damage, hoping it wasn't as bad as it felt. She grit her teeth. The entire lower right side of her ribcage was puffy and angry purple. She swallowed but her mouth was dry and the feeling grated like sand down her throat. They would chase after her when she ran. In this shape, she stood absolutely no chance of getting away.

     Ada squeezed her eyes shut. F.E.A.R. would be flooding the desert with Shadows looking for the missing ones if they hadn't already. What would they do when they found the bodies that those boys had left behind? It would raise a lot of alarms. Shadow men didn't die. That was always how she had heard it. Death was for living things. Shadows were something else. She shuddered, the men who had taken her were dangerous. She had to be ready to bolt. An opportunity would come. It had to. It had to. Ada couldn't fathom why they'd tried to seem kind, or why she was even still alive. But the desert was never merciful. Ever. Still, she was surprised by a twinge in her heart. Like the other survivor she had seen, she couldn't trust these people. Ada just wished she didn't want to so badly.

     Fortified by the first glass of cool water she rose unsteadily to her feet, fumbling between clutching her ribs and her forehead, and tried the first of two doors which led to a bathroom. The other one was locked. It was cruelly solid, made of dark wood, carved with geometric patterns. Even at full strength, she doubted she could break it down. Screwing up her face in frustration, she leaned her throbbing forehead against the cool wood. When Andy had told her she was underground she hadn't believed him but now she wasn't so sure. The floor and the windowless stone walls were unforgivingly hard. And though the glow from the bulb was concentrated around her cot, lifting her head again she could see the light color of the stone which undulated from gray to white to tan and was flecked with dark minerals that glinted at her where they met the dim light. There were no windows, not even cracks. She stumbled back to her cot.

     The food on the plate turned out to be peas and carrots stewed with some kind of broth, wild plums, and a pile of dried meat she didn't recognize. Simple food, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything that wasn't raw or scorched hastily in a fire that could only be lit in the few minutes that gray dusk would conceal the smoke, and she ate it all. It was a risk, she knew, to accept food from whoever they were but she was hungry, battered, dizzy, and out of better options. Ada knew the limits of her body and she had reached them. Without food and rest, she could no more make a good plan to escape than she could catch mist in her hands. Full, for the first time in a long time and so, so dizzy she hardly even realized she was lying back down until she was nearly already asleep.