Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“I caused us to fall behind,” sighs Kaleb.
“Nah, don’t worry,” 987 insists. “I remember the directions from what 77 said last night. There’s a staircase. It leads to a loading bay, where the nurse is supposed to open a hidden door or something.”
“It’s my fault …”
“This way,” decides 987, and the two head down a hallway.
Unlike before, the farther they go, the less familiar things become, until suddenly Kaleb can’t determine whether it’s a hospital they’re navigating, or an abandoned shopping mall, or a warehouse, or an old haunted house. The walls are no longer green, but Kaleb can’t properly say what they are. Blue? Purple and white? Pale yellow? The ceiling is sometimes so low, Kaleb fights an instinct to crouch, then sometimes incredibly high.
“Hey, look!” 987 points ahead. “See that? Stairs!”
“We can still turn back,” says Kaleb. “Just head back there, back to the elevator, it’d be so easy …”
987 faces him, at once turning harsh. “I am not going back. I would rather fucking die—”
“Don’t say that! You’re one of my only friends here. I just want things to go back to how they were, when we were all—”
“Happy?” 987 grabs Kaleb’s face and brings it close, voice tender again. “I want us to be happy, too … and that’s why we have got to get the fuck outta this place—together. San Diego. The bakery. Our dream.” 987 throws an arm over Kaleb’s back. “Lean on me, man. Let me help you up the steps.”
Kaleb limps by his side, every step lanced with pain, every thought twisted with worry. When they reach the wide stairs that seem to stretch on countlessly, he can barely keep up as the steps meet his feet. He tries to hop on one leg, but he’s out of breath from all of the running and can barely keep balance. “Come on, you got this,” says 987, yet the faster Kaleb tries to move his feet, the less they cooperate. His knee throbs, never once letting him forget its pain. “One more step. Up, another, yeah, good. Another, let’s go, let’s go …”
“Just go without me,” begs Kaleb. “Please. I don’t—”
“We’re not doing this song and dance again,” cries 987, at once losing his composure, whispers giving away to shouts. “It is so fucking close, our way out, our lives waiting for us up these steps. What was that earlier?” he asks suddenly, turning on his friend. “Telling everyone that you were saved from a fire? That they saved you from a fire? What the fuck was all of that about? Why would you say that shit to them?”
“Because it’s true. My house burned down. My family died in the fire. I would have, too, but … but one of them found me, an angel with the kindest eyes … and he saved my life.”
“Saved you? You call this place ‘saving’ you? Wake the fuck up, man. How do you know they didn’t start the fire? Some of them cook their meals first, get what I’m saying?”
The idea horrifies Kaleb. He looks away.
“Move your fucking feet. Hop up these stairs with me. I’m not leaving you behind and—Y’know what?” He crouches down and points at his back. “Get on. Piggyback. I’ll carry you.”
“Please …”
“I’ll fucking carry you.”
Kaleb spots a shadow somewhere far behind them, down the strange hallway. It is gone the second he sees it.
If Kaleb keeps hesitating, he’ll be the one responsible for 987 not finding his dream, he’ll be the reason they are caught, and he will never, ever forgive himself.
So it’s now panic, not compliance, that drives him to obey his friend. Kaleb shuffles quickly, locks his arms around 987’s neck, and lets himself free from the ground. His friend rises up, lifting him with ease, thanks to Kaleb’s small frame.
He doesn’t see the shadow again.
Did he see it at all?
Upward they go without speaking, making their ascent as quickly as they can manage. When at last they reach the top of the stairs, it opens to an enormous space, all the walls, floors, and ceilings shiny and bluish in hue, like a gallery constructed of nothing but mirror. Scattered throughout the space are tall, thin pillars, the reflections of which make the room look like an enormous spiked object—a maze of glass trees.
Kaleb slowly slides off 987’s back, hobbles to his side, stares out at the vast expanse of glassy wonder. It looks less beautiful than it should, instead inspiring fear. It’s like a dream, an eerie dream in every direction, soundless, airless, unreal.
“Did we … lose them?” asks Kaleb, the question making his already heavy heart sink deeper as it leaves his lips.
“No. They’re just up ahead, I’m sure of it. Chill.” 987 looks to the left, to the right. He takes a step one way, second-guesses, then head the other, stops yet again. “Up the stairs … archway … big blue room …” he mutters to himself, his words scattering through the mirrors. Kaleb peers over his shoulder down the stairs. The shadow still isn’t there. “The fuck is the big blue room? Is this the big blue room? What archway?”