Caged

15 - Implode

"Velvet!" a little voice yells from down the hall. I tear my stare from the streets. How long have I been standing there, wondering, in silence? Probably a minuscule fraction of a second, but it feels like forever. Everything feels like syrup oozing from its container. My hair whipping around my head in slow motion, like planets circling a sun. My foot steps--running and stomping loud on the hardwood floor--slow to long, dragged out strides.

It takes more decimals of seconds for everything to speed back up.

"Velvet! Are your lights out?"

I don't have time to figure out who is yelling before the first explosion.

Boom. Distant, but it still makes the walls shake.

Profanities detonate. Screams erupt, and I can hear them from floors down.

"Velvet!" the little voice shrieks again. I put together who it is.

"Gray?" I call. I can hear his little footsteps stumbling, and others pounding down the hall.

From behind me, Gray practically leaps onto my back.

"Gray! Do you know what's happening? Are you okay?" I turn around to see him.

The light isn't very good in my room, just an eery glow from the window. Gray looks frantic. I don't know what's going on, and I wish I could tell him and explain, but I can't, I can't.

I hear thunder in the distance, and before I know it, the sound of rain pouring pounds on the roof.

"Velvet!" Elena appears in at the door. "There's something downstairs, come down here!"

Elena leads us to the stairs, yelling back at us something about how the elevators don't work anymore and how the lights have been out for not two minutes and one of the older people has already slipped and Columbus is helping him.

I feel numb, and not real. Detached from the world. I almost feel like I'm watching myself scurry down the stairs like a mouse running from a cat. Running to I don't know what or exactly where. It feels dangerous, being this out of control. And not the kind of dangerous that many desire. It feels reckless in the worst way. The feeling of rebellion that carries immense amounts of fear and regret, far more than any form of cathartic pleasure.

The whole of us are huddled around in the main entry way, staring at the floor. Dalton is now knelt next to the old man who fell, rather than Columbus, who is tall enough for me to see in the middle of the pack. Not that there are so many of us left that he could get lost in the shuffle. Seeing them crowded around together makes me realize just how few there are left. Maybe thirty, maybe twenty, but I've never been good at estimating.

I don't care about seeming rude in this moment and push and elbow my way to the front.

On the floor, in gold paint, reads: This is where we leave you. Congratulations?

"Does this mean we made it?" a boy asks.

"Tanvir," another comments harshly. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Hey, but is it?" Atlas offers. "Are they gone? Where's Lacey, and Gaetan? Did they actually leave?" It makes my skin crawl a little bit, how he tries to justify this kid Tanvir's ideas. It sparks images of him doing this often, doing this for anyone, trying to make them feel like whatever stupid comment they've made has value and purpose. Why do I recall these incidents? I didn't know him before the Task. Why can I see him in classrooms defending a student's vapid statement? Why can I see him in courtrooms defending criminals, robbers, arsonists?

"If they're gone," Columbus adds. "Then I'd say yes, we've made it."

Elena rakes her hands through her hair. "But what is it? What are we doing? What is our purpose?"