Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter Thirty-one: Elie

Elie's POV:

My luck has never been the best. This is not news. In second grade, when Ms. Chelsea made me sit inside during recess for a week because I ‘poisoned Mr. Beanpole’ (the class hamster) I blamed it on luck. Because, truthfully, I never laid a hand on Mr. Beanpole, who was probably the only hamster in the world that shat in only one corner of the cage and also happened to be seven and one-fourth of an inch long.

So, when the metal door shuts, leaving me at the bottom of a concrete-lined pit with a faulty flashlight, I blame it on luck. It’s better than blaming myself or Elodie.

I jump at the sound of pounding at the door. “Elie!” Elodie’s voice drifts in through the door, sounding frantic and breathless. “Are you okay!”

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

She lets out a shaky breath which I can somehow hear through the metal layers of the door, “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m okay.”

A contemplative silence stretches between us and for a horrible moment, I’m afraid that she’s left me until I hear the dull clunk of a head on the door. “Elodie, are you okay?” I rush up against the door and rest my head against the cool metallic exterior, trying to listen.

A muffled sob penetrates the silence.

“Are you crying?”

I wait anxiously, pressing closer against the barrier, as if the closer I get to the door, the more she would be able to feel my presence. “I’m just--” another sob makes its way to my ears, “I’m sorry. It’s my f-fault. I should have listened,” she moans.

I feel my throat tighten at the sound of her distress and lament the fact that I can’t do much to comfort her from behind a doorway. “Look, maybe there were some decisions made that weren’t exactly the best, but mistakes are always made. We just have to be prepared to deal with them.”

Her hiccuping breaths slow, letting me know that she’s listening and perhaps even calming down.

“It’s okay to be scared,” I soothe. “I’m scared too.”

Feeling tired, I slump against the metal. Then, in a voice so soft that it barely reaches my ears, she answers, “Okay.”

I heave in a huge breath, exhale, and watch as it clouds the metallic gray.

She seems to regain her senses. “I have to catch up with Sheila and the others. I’ll be back, okay?”

I nod in response. Then, remembering that she can’t see me, I voice my affirmation. “Yeah, I’ll be here.” She doesn’t answer, and I realize that she’s already left.

And now I’m alone.

I roll onto my back, wondering what had happened to Elodie earlier. It was like she was barely conscious. My first thought immediately goes to the virus. Diane the hair woman had told us that each one of us has a virus buried inside us, but not all viruses are activated. Did that mean Elodie’s virus had been activated here? Can I now speak to Quentin?

Quentin? I vaguely feel his presence, but he doesn’t respond.

Having nothing better to do, I stare up through the opening of The Pit and into the sky above, imagining the landscape around and matching each bit to my prior vision of The Pit. If the land around The Pit is dead, does that also mean that it doesn’t rain? How will I get water if I’m trapped in here? Dozens of thoughts float languidly through my mind, forming background music for me to tune into so that I can forget the direness of my situation. It works just for a while, but there’s only so much background noise that can be produced.

As the sky bruises into a multitude of purples, I begin to wonder how long I’ve been trapped. The moon makes an appearance rather early, a full spear hanging directly above The Pit, a big splotch in the rainbow of a sky.

The air around me chills and the cement ground cools. Before all the light fades, I urge myself to get up and comb through the pit.

Ignoring the patchy stains (made possibly because of blood) I run a hand across the walls, feeling for cracks or divots--anything to tell me that there might be something more to this mystery of a pit. The walls are so high that the hole up top seems no bigger than my thumb, yet I can still see the full moon through it. My fingers are raw by the time I’ve finished probing, and feeling hopeless, I slide back down onto the floor.

By now, red-orange streaks are the only reminiscents of the sun and The Pit is almost pitch black. In the dim light, I grope around for the flashlight, trying desperately to find it before night fully settles in.

My knuckle catches the butt of the flashlight making it spiral a few feet away. As I slide my hands forward, my nail bumps over a nook. I reach out to grab the flashlight and flick it on, shining it towards the floor. My nail finds the notch again.

The crevice is so small, that not even a pin could have fully penetrated through into the crack. With the flashlight, I carefully trace the crack around in a full circle; it stops right where I had started. Wheels in my mind start to turn and something clicks--Elodie had laid down right in the center of this circle during her trance--is this a trap door of some sort?

I scramble to the edge of the pit, away from the circle, expecting the floor to just suddenly fall away.

I wait, and I wait. I wait praying for Elodie and the others to come quick, even when they most likely won’t be able to help me get out. I wait until I feel sick. I wait until the sky turns cold, and the moons glows bright and solitary.

And that’s when something happens, as it always does.

The ground in the center of the pit--the circle carved onto the cement--simply falls away. It goes without much noise, as smooth as an ice cube slipping down someone’s throat and even just as cool. With its disappearance comes distinct drop in temperature, and my breath crystallizes in front of me. Looking at the gap in the floor, it occurs to me that had Elodie still been laying there, she would have gone down with it.

Edging closer, I shine the flashlight down into the hole.

Whispers of voices or maybe something else, spill all out into the open.

The beam of the flashlight gleans back as it hits the surface of water.

Water--that’s what the sounds are. Echos that had originally sounded like whispers solidify into the reassuring sound of rushing water.

I allow myself to relax, if only for a moment, and enjoy the noise that brings back so many happy memories. Nostalgia hits me like a brick, but I welcome it. Skipping rocks with my sister, collecting snails from rocks, slipping on slime and landing clumsily into the water--they are all things that I hold dear. I can’t let a stressful situation ruin the melodies of my childhood.

I’m so caught up in the past, that I don’t notice the other sounds coming from deep inside the hole: footsteps.

Dozens of footsteps slicing lithely through the water.

I don’t notice when a hand catches the rim of the hole either.

I often don’t notice things.

But as always, I blame it on luck.

***

Author's Note:

Hello, everyone!

Yes, it seems I've left you with a cliffhanger! ;)

Also, on another note, I'm not really going to be active this month (aside from updates, hopefully) because I'm going to visit family!

See ya next week!

♥️♥️♥️