Under Changing Skies

T H I R T Y - T H R E E

Panic fills my bloodstream as the alarms continue to ring all around us in the moonlit night. Everett's eyes dart about in search of cover as he pulls my arm. But I remain rooted to the spot as though my legs have melted into mush.

"Arya, come on!" he whispers frantically. "We have to get out of here."

With another persistent tug from Everett, I finally get my limbs to cooperate. The overgrown weeds brush against my calves as I run alongside him through the open space. My vision tunnels and my heart pumps erratically as we sprint towards the only building in sight — the desolate-looking three-story structure we walked past earlier.

As we get closer to the building, its door is suddenly thrown wide open, letting out a flood of flashing red lights and a row of men and women dressed in all-black suits. Everett and I duck for cover immediately, skirting a wide path around the structure. With slow, deliberate movements, we end up directly behind the building, out of the black-suited citizens' sight. Crouching until we're sufficiently concealed by the weeds, Everett and I watch a long line of people run towards the field we just left, their arms laden with weapons.

We wait until we're sure that the line of citizens emerging from the building has ended before moving towards the only way out — the same rough path that led us here. But the sounds of approaching footsteps and voices stop us dead in our tracks. Everett swears under his breath before linking our hands in an ice-cold grip. I tug him back towards the building, an uncomfortable lump forming in my throat.

"We have to go in there," I say, struggling to be heard over the alarms. I point to the closed white door. When Everett shoots me a look of panic, I try to explain, "We don't have a choice! We can't go down that road, we'll run right into whoever's coming, and we can't hide in the weeds for long."

Everett nods grudgingly before leading the way. When we reach the front of the building, I notice that the door isn't accompanied by a small screen next to it like the pods.

Please don't be locked, I think frantically as Everett sighs and pushes the door. Thankfully, it willingly falls open, revealing a narrow, empty hallway. We quickly slip inside, pulling the door shut behind us.

The lights overhead alternate between bright red and pitch black, heightening my discomfort. With our shoulders brushing against the rough textured wall, we hurry down the hall. At the end of the long corridor, we're faced with a door, and to its left, a long staircase leads down into an unknown area.

"It's locked," I say, pointing to the small screen mounted on the wall next to the door.

Exchanging glances, we take the only path available to us. The staircase is narrow, forcing me to follow Everett instead of walking beside him. I grab his shoulder with one hand as he descends the stairs, my fingers tightening around his suit until my knuckles turn white.

As my eyes adjust to the uncomfortable flashing lights, I scan the space at the bottom of the stairs to find yet another long corridor. Here, the alarms are almost inaudible, much to the relief of my ringing ears. My thoughts begin to run haywire as we take tentative steps down the hall.

What if this path leads us right to the citizens? Or what if the group that came out of this building returns and finds us here? What if . . . What if . . .

Everett pulls me out of my inward spiral by calling my name. I look up at him, his usually calm eyes wild and solemn under the red lights.

"What did you mean," he says breathlessly, "when you said it wasn't an accident? When our Chips failed, I mean."

My mouth feels dry as sandpaper when I reply, "I don't remember much about how we ended up in the Wellness Hub after the citizens attacked us, but I woke up before you. We were alone in that room, and then the Foreman walked in and started checking on us. He said your injuries were worse than mine and that's why you were asleep longer."