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II • our dried voices when we whisper together

CHAPTER TWO

O U R D R I E D V O I C E S W H E N W E W H I S P E R T O G E T H E R

The girl stirred slowly, her bones aching as sleep slowly leached from her body. In her dreams, there was only darkness. When she opened her eyes, only darkness was there to greet her. Her life had long ago grown devoid of any light or hope, but sometimes, when there was only the dark to comfort her, the girl prayed for a release of any kind.

But prayers went forgotten and unanswered in the darkness. So, the girl woke up, slowly, to not wake up Esperanza, slowly, to not reopen any wounds that had closed during the night. The girl bit back a hiss of pain as her arm scraped against the ground, the uncomfortable feeling of dirt seeping into the cuts littered across her arms. There was too high a chance that her wounds would become infected, and the thought made the girl's stomach clench. Infections meant pain and sickness and death, in that order; very few had become infected and survived. The girl had, once, but even that was too close a call.

There was something about sleep that the girl hated, despite it providing her with the only reprieve available to her. It always felt like there was something that she was supposed to remember, something that she was only reminded of in her dreams.

But none of that mattered now; the girl was awake, and being awake came along with being vigilante. Especially with Esperanza nestled up against her.

The cellar was cast in darkness, as always, and there was a noticeable lack of noise surrounding the girl. She frowned softly, ears straining to pick up the sound of anyone stirring or breathing, but she was greeted with nothing but silence. Not even the stray snore was audible. Something was wrong.

Careful not to disturb Esperanza, the girl untangled herself and quietly stood up. No one acknowledged her movement, which was strange; no one moved down here unless absolutely necessary. She took a step away from her corner, and still no one moved. The shadows felt heavy suddenly, pressing against her skin like a blanket drenched in thick liquid. The girl took another step, and nudged the sleeping person laying at her feet. The person did not move. Frowning, the girl repeated the motion, and still no movement. A wave of horror fell over the girl; they were dead.

"I think they're dead," her voice whispered, sounding dry in the crowded yet silent room. No one responded to her. She coughed once, and repeated her statement. Yet, nothing.

Apathy was not a new concept in the cellar, but it was startling to see. The girl shifted back into her corner, gently shaking Esperanza. "Wake up," she whispered.

There was no response.

A repeat of her earlier action, the girl shook Esperanza again, but the younger girl didn't wake. And finally, the girl looked down and through the thin film of light that existed in the cellar, she could see the whites of Esperanza's eyes. A pang of panic sent itself through the girl's veins as she placed two fingers beneath Esperanza's soft jawline. There was nothing there, no heartbeat.

"Esperanza," the girl hissed urgently. But there was nothing to wake up; Esperanza was dead.

The girl heard someone crying, and it didn't take long for her to realize that it was her. Her sobs echoed in the cellar.

There was another body laying beside her, and that one was dead, too. The girl stood up quickly, anxiously checking body after body, desperate to find even one person alive. One had cold green eyes that stared deep into the girl's soul as she flipped over the too-still body. A hand crafted from warm brown skin was extended out towards the girl, as if the corpse were drowning and the girl was the only floating thing in the ocean that was the cellar. After several minutes of fruitless searching in the dim light, she came across a body that existed only in her nightmares and on the worst days.