When she finally got rid of the fog that involved her, she woke up in a completely unfamiliar place. She had no idea how she had gotten there, and worst of all, she could not remember her name. All the information she had come from people she did no...
Clara sighed while studying and reviewing the answers she had gathered: by the way the wound healed, she probably had been in that Cell between a week and ten days. She had been struck by the government troops, which made sense due to the bruise she had on her face and had been rescued by one combatant, Daniel. Most importantly: she was not from Cell 5, and this led her to another question: if she was not from there, where was she from? Would she have a family, friends, anyone who missed her? How had the troops found her? As much as she thought and tried to justify everything Nana had told her, she could not get all the answers.
The day before had passed quickly. After Mirela left her in the dorm room to 'rest', Clara had sneaked through the aisles to outline and figure out where she was. There was no reason in doing so. It just seemed natural to map out and recognize where she was.
Moving through the aisle in the opposite direction she had walked with Mirela to the cafeteria, after a flight of stairs and a few curves, Clara found a large hall with dozens of stretchers in a row with several injured people. Many of them had horrible wounds which, even covered by bandages, attracted flies. To ward off them, the nurses left a handful of burning leaves, releasing a long thin smoke. To her, that smell was easily recognized: citronella. From where? Only the fog was there to answer...
Hidden behind the door of the infirmary, Clara closed her eyes and tried to remember anything familiar but again, only the forgetfulness and the silence of her mind answered. Frustrated, she opened her eyes and walked away. Further on, she saw a large external courtyard where some people were training. They all had some scar or a small bandage, probably recovering to return to combat. Some fought and further on, others practiced shooting with guns she did not recognize.
It was clear that Nana had told the truth: there was a war going on and she wondered where she could fit into this scene of chaos. Clara was lost in her unanswered questions when steps coming from the corridor behind caught her attention. Quickly, she hid behind a pile of scrap outside the building when two young men passed by. Clara waited until they were far away, and making sure no one else was coming, she went back inside. On the way, she noticed a damaged sign hanging from one of the walls. It was worn out, the ink like a blur, but she could read: University Center for Advanced Research - Unicamp.
Nana had not lied about it either. That place had been built to house several people. She breathed in relief and walked back down the hall.
By the end of the day, Clara had mapped almost the whole rectangular installation with the courtyard she had passed through the center. However, she noticed with some regret that, although the place was large, there were several empty spaces such as the room corridor where she had stayed until she tried to escape.
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That morning, Clara was sitting on the bed while Nana removed her stitches. She felt her skin burn every time Nana pulled them. That made her crispy her lips while gazing her hands on the lap.
