Caged

5 - Ensnared

I’m alone.  The occasional cry from an exotic bird twinges my eardrums.  Humidity is high and sweat trickles down my back.  I have no weapons, just a black bag and an empty water canteen.  I rattle it for what feels like the millionth time, hoping to hear something sloshing inside it and being disappointed again.  I’m in a jungle, much like the swamp area from Phase 1’s stimulation, only denser.  I can barely see the sun above the canopy of dark green.

Cracking the stem of a long, wet leaf, I stop dead in my tracks.  The breaking noise seems to echo around me.  Suddenly I’m surrounded people, their faces blurs I can’t seem to focus on.  They’re fighting each other, tackling one another to the ground.  Each color moves in a pack together.

My hair sticks to the back of my neck, and when I go to move my hair onto my shoulder, my fingers brush the tattered fabric of my red shirt.  The shirt and my pants are both ripped, like I walked through a cheese grater.

Elena seems to have forgotten our friendship, because she nudges Grafton and points to me.  There is no happiness in her eyes, only a strange mix of displeasure and fear.  I begin to back up slowly, until I run into someone behind me.  A strong arm wraps around my neck and pulls me back.  Kicking back, trying to break free from the rough hold, I realize it’s Dalton.  What is he doing?  Is he trying to kill me?  No, why would he be trying to kill me?

“Get her!” a girl I recognize from Second School screeches.  “Get that thing away from here!”  It takes me only a moment to realize she’s talking about me.

When I struggle, Dalton squeezes me tighter.  I try to scream but my throat is too dry.

“Dalton,” Gray, who comes out from behind a tree, whispers.  His eyes are pooling with tears.  “G––get her aw––away from me.”

“Gray!” I squeak, and he stumbles back.

“Get her away from me!” Gray screams.

“Do it, Dalton!” Elena yells forcefully, and something glints in my peripheral vision.

A blade.

I feel it, cold on my neck.  The contact with my skin sends shivers through my body and I start violently convulsing as the fact that these are my final moments sinks in.

“Now,” Dalton murmurs.

A rush of fear launches me upright in my bed.  My hands go immediately to my neck, which is damp with cold sweat.  How?  Wasn’t it just sliced open?

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand, and my vision comes back.  I’m not in the jungle –– I’m in Kettle, in my room.  A wave of relief overcomes me as I stroke the perfectly intact skin on my neck.

The room is stuffy, despite the air-conditioning I felt when I first walked in.  I consider it being the aftermath of a dream in the humid jungle, but then I notice that my window is open.  I don’t recall opening it yesterday.

Maybe you opened it after Elena left, to help clear your head, I tell myself.  That seems about right.

Air.  That’s what I need.  I need to clear my head, just like yesterday.  Ambling to the closet, I shed the clothes I arrived in and trade it for a dark pair of new pants and a thin white shirt.  I get stuck right there, deciding what I want to wear for warmth.  Regere is plummeting into the winter months, and despite its size, cold tends to touch every area of the country.  Something about the gases and chemicals that were released into the sky from the people before us fouled up the weather patterns.

What baffles me is the fact that there’s no red in the closet.  What am I supposed to choose?  I don’t think I’ve ever been without something red on me.