The Edge of the World

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A sweltering, air-stealing heat engulfed Tatum, forcing her awake. Her eyes fluttered open as her lungs struggled to work and she took in her surroundings with fear rising alongside the extreme temperature. The darkness lay thick and heavy, while she remained on the hot, hard ground, waiting for her eyes to adjust, her vision attempting to lash onto the faint silvery light stealing in from some place behind her.

Where was she, she wondered as she rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up to her knees, searching for any sign to explain her situation. She felt trapped by smooth, blister walls. And as she got to her feet, she noticed how they seemed to rise above her all the way to an endless height.

The room she stood in was coffin-narrow, her shoulders barely fitting, forcing her to stand with her back to the wall. Panic was seeping into her consciousness--- no sign of escape in view.

Oh, god, how had she gotten there? Her aspects were silent, and she didn't sense them in her or near her, the solitude proving to be too much. She didn't know she was screaming until her throat went hoarse and the air become sultrier, her flesh coated in sweat. Despair overcame sensibilities, and she dropped her chin to her chest, unable to move lest she burn herself on the hot, black barricades. Her feet burned inside her boots, slicking up her feet, and the scent of smoldering rubber informed her of just how dire her situation was. She was being cooked alive and there was nothing to be done about it! From where she stood, there was no door, no window, no entrance or exit of any kind.

Or was there?

The light! It had to be radiating from somewhere.

She focused on it mentally grabbing her courage and leaned towards the silver ribbons of illuminated hope. Then she noticed the already narrow corridor grew slimmer in the distance, the knowledge making her heart skip. It extended!

For a moment she paused, uncertain if attempting to cross the threshold would only get her stuck where she might smother to death, for enclosed spaces had never been her friend. But once again, the heat seemed to rise, her wet skin itching from the burn, and she realized either way, she would die.

But at least she had a chance.

Tatum released a shuddering breath, sliding into the thin crevice in the wall, shifting her body in sideways, wishing her boobs would deflate to make the excursion a touch simpler. As it was, she had to writhe, press, and push, her teeth clenched from the walls singing her skin. She could smell the burning of her flesh, clothes, boots and even her hair, but she kept going, despite the agony. The pain increased, causing her to gasp, crying out loud even as maneuvered herself through the tiny hallway.

There was something in the distance, silhouetted by the watery moonlight. She narrowed her eyes, moving towards it, fighting to hold back her cries. What was that?

Terror layered within her as she got closer. It built until it turned into bile at the back of her throat. Fuck! Fuck!

The light was a tad brighter, but the walls slimmed, forcing her to still. And sandwiched between the ungodly skinny walls was a face, the body hidden by darkness. The flesh was smoking, and the stench almost dropped her to her knees. His upper cheeks, nose and only parts of his glossy dark eyes showed. But she knew him and her heart broke.

"Doc," she whispered, wanting to touch him but unable to do to lack of space.

His cheeks were smashed between the walls, and his lips were pressed together in an unnatural bow. He was stuck, and she was helpless to do anything for him. He blinked, the only sign he lived, and she swallowed back a sob, not sure if he knew just how dire his situation was.