Page 85 of Nyx
Minutes tick by, enough of them to move the sun to a lower position outside the flap, but it’s irrelevant. Time means nothing anymore. Murmurs of voices barely reach me, floating on the wind from the soldiers eating dinner in their common area. I’m forgotten for the night.
My shaking hand slides through the small opening. It’s only big enough to pass a tray or bowl, half the width ofthe door and as tall as a drinking glass, but my frail body can almost squeeze through. I tried in the long-ago past, contorting arms and hips and shoulders until they bruised.
But that was when a glimmer of hope remained inside me, and as my fingers wrap around the warm metal, there’s nothing. No encouraging spark to spur me on, or quiet voice whispering that this is an opportunity that must be seized.
Hope doesn’t live here, not anymore.
The key is fitting against my palm. Weathered and worn and filthy. Gouged metal and warped edges that need to be bent back into place. Used, over and over again, and I glance at the scattershot of scars that cover the ditch of my elbow and know that I am used, too.
But the key still has a purpose, imperfect as it might be, and I wonder if I have anything left to give.
I move so slowly, so silently, I can’t be sure I’m actually moving at all. Afraid to make the tiniest noise, my hand creeps closer to the lock, and by the time I’ve inserted the key, dusk has fallen. Those cheerful rays of sunshine have faded and turned into washed-out, tired things.
My heart slams against its bone confinement, trying to escape as I try to swallow, but my tongue is too thick and sticks to the roof of my mouth. My hands shake in a rattle so intense it moves up my limbs, and my jaw quivers as the corrosive nerves attack the bottom of my stomach.
I glance at the cold bowl of food and know I should eat something. Whatever waits beyond these walls will require energy, but as bile climbs my throat and saliva pools inside my mouth, I know my body won’t tolerate it.
A decision.
A tippingpoint.
The click of a key inside a lock.
A whispered squeal of hinges as the cage door inches open.
Panic so brutal my body betrays me, and I fall to my knees and heave the caustic acid of an empty stomach into the dirt.
A choice.
A choice.
Something I’ve never had.
My foot hits the ground, then the other as I push myself to stand. Broken. Bruised and damaged, but not dead yet. One step forward, then another, and I wish the pounding of my heart would subside so I could listen. But the foolish organ thuds its rebellion, circulating blood and adrenaline and whatever poison is left in my veins.
Silently, I tiptoe to the tent’s opening and peek outside. There’s always a small group of guards stationed with me as they move me between locations, but the faces change. Most are indifferent, some are gentler than others, and some thrive in the pain they cause me.
This company has more of the latter than usual.
Dinner must be finished, because the camp is quiet. My tent is positioned away from theirs. To avoid the smell, they say, always with the disgusted sneer aimed in my direction. What once would’ve been shame twists my stomach to hear it, as though I control my conditions.
A single soldier moves through their common area, patrolling in a lazy circle to search for rebels on the horizon. The rest of the guards have moved to their tents for the night, and no one pays me any mind.
We’ve been to this spot several times before, each time with new machines and experimental concoctions that violate my body and mind. They cloud my memories, though I can recall the layout of this place well enough. My eyes shift to the wooded area on my right.
My toes curl against the dirt as I force my lungs to work and summon that last kernel of courage. Instinct screams at me to turn around and flee into the familiarity of my cage, but I fight it. The patrolling guard reaches the edge of camp and turns, strolling towards the other end, and I know it’s now or never. Make a decision, or the decision will be made for me.
A deep breath, eyes forced to stay ahead and not look behind, and I run.
A jolt charges through my legs as my feet hit the ground. My body is unused to moving in this way, and I stumble, barely staying upright as I force myself to keep going. It’s not far to the trees, but it feels like a lifetime until their shade surrounds me. I run until my legs ache, then hide behind a trunk as I catch my breath. My fear almost brings me to my knees.
Rough bark claws against my back, but through it all, my lungs expand in the deepest breath I’ve taken in decades. Air rushes through my body in a tingling energy that feeds my soul. Hot tears flood my eyes as I screw them shut, taking a moment to relish the sensation.
Something brushes my face and I startle, but as my eyes fly open, there’s only a small branch. Leaves flutter impatiently against my cheek as if to tell me to hurry, and I heed its warning. A clarity I haven’t experienced in years helps me to focus as I try to recall the sights along the road. Myvision is limited from the back of that truck, but what I saw tells me this forest isn’t large enough to make me disappear.
Forcing myself out of indecision, I push off the tree, but freeze as a pair of eyes reflects the dying light of the sun. Hidden underneath a bush, they watch me, cautious but unafraid. A fleeting thought crosses my mind, that I might wish to be so brazen as to stare a potential enemy in the eyes without so much as a blink. It never occurs to me to be afraid as I step closer.
Tawny brown and deep black fur cover the body of this creature as it emerges from its hiding place, its eyes a rich brown without the darkness to hide them. We approach each other cautiously, each of us searching for any indication that the other poses a threat.
