SOJOURNER (III): tmr gally

29: I should remember her

Leo 29

It's still dark in the room when I wake up. So much so, that I can't tell if I've even slept more than an hour. Perhaps I've slept for three days. At this point, it seems impossible to tell.

I peel myself off the ground. A few floors down, I hear a scratching. I back away, my spine ramming into a railing behind me. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness, searching for either Sheil or Lott. I don't see them, but then again, I can barely see my own hands. At least I manage to find my backpack, throwing it over my shoulders.

I make my way to the stairs, holding on to the banister for guidance. I step down, the soles of my shoes scratching against the concrete. Stepping into the room, I don't dare brandish my flashlight.

For half a second, I close my eyes. Breathing in, one giant breath, and then releasing it. My lips press into an O, and I blow out through them. A whistle echoes out into the room.

Jeff taught me how to do that, once upon a time. When he first showed me how to disinfect and wrap serious wounds, he was whistling. If, at any point, he wasn't shouting to Clint across the Homestead, or laughing, he would whistle. Sweet tunes, complex melodies, songs that neither of us had ever heard. Songs that he'll never hear now.

The room is much too dark to see Jeff's shadow as it lays over the land. Maybe the darkness is his shadow. I straighten my back, closing my eyes again, and whistle. I hear no rustling, no scamper of feet, no bodies dragging across the ground. The space is empty.

A trick Lott taught me, from a habit of Jeff's. I wonder if they would get along.

I wonder if Lott and Sheil left me. It wouldn't quite make sense since they'd have no reason to, but they could've. In fact, I wouldn't put it past them.

I inch along the wall, moving closer to where I think the door is. Something squeaks beneath me, and I jump back. Tiny feet scamper along the ground. I find my flashlight and illuminate. One single rat, whose ribs practically poke out of its chest. It dives out of the light, moving deeper into the room.

There isn't even enough in the Scorch to keep a rat alive.

In a few paces, I find the doorknob. Its cold metal weighs heavily in my hand. If Lott and Sheil are still in the building, will they think I have left them? With the twitch of my fingers, I manage to open the door, stepping outside.

There is a girl lying on the ground. She stares up at the sky, her hair almost blending into the sand with its dark brown. It is morning, and the sun is just beginning to creep into the sky.

I move over to her cautiously. Is she a Crank? She doesn't look like one, but nobody out here is safe from the disease. Obviously, she is a Crank. How gone is she? Am I going to have to fight her?

She squints in the sunlight. Her lip is busted, and she manages to peel herself off the ground. Startled by the sight of me, she moves backwards. Her fists dig into the sand, which she throws at me in limps fists. The sight is sadder than it is hurtful. She's trying to escape me.

Neither of us says anything. We continue to stare at each other, studying. I watch her throat move up and down with her rapid breath. Her eyes twitch back and forth, landing all over me. I feel like nobody has ever seen me this intensely. She isn't past the gone. She has some awareness to her, at least. Enough to recognize me just a few feet in front of her.

"Stuck," she mutters, peeling herself off the ground and running.

That's Group B slang.