The sun and fresh morning air filtered through a munitions hole in the outer wall. I didn’t want to open my eyes. If I opened them, I knew what would follow, the gradual realization I wasn’t safe in my bed at home. I wanted to linger in the traces of the thoughtlessness of my restless sleep. When I did, spots of lights littered my perception. I felt weak, dizzy, and my stomach roared with pain. I took a sluggish, quiet, deep breath. Air comforted my lungs, but the stabbing cramp of my gut distracted my thoughts.

++

My dreams were short- interrupted by the click-clacking of nails on the tiles outside the door of the small utility room where I hunkered down. On my first night in the closet, I pressed my eyes shut, but with every tap, my drowsiness would disappear. How many times did I attempt and fail? Even when too exhausted to care, my eyes fought back the moment I heard one of those creatures stalking the hall.

The last decent dream I had, I woke from a scream followed by the sudden silence. I knew what had happened. Another soul didn’t survive.  I didn’t doze the rest of the night. The lack of sleep made me feel loopy and drunk off tired. My mind felt muddy, and leaving my hole wouldn’t be safe. I scrounged around in my pack for a granola bar. I had found like five in one of the offices- a score, but I also knew this wouldn’t sustain me. The last time I ventured out, I noticed a vending machine. After rest, if I could, I was determined to make my way to it.

++

My run started slow, but as I turned through the prickly brush, the pain numbed, and I pushed through to a full-on sprint. The trees, a sickly green color, dripped with purple ooze. My breath fogged in front of me as I shifted past another branch. I felt the uncomfortable thoughts of being prey yet again. Something or someone chased me. My ability to breathe halted like the thought itself cut off the air. I stopped, bent over, and I sucked in as much oxygen into my poor lungs as I could. White spots dotted my vision. The green and purple trees began to dance- no spin as I felt lighter. I collapsed. I blinked, my brain searching for the littlest clue.

My breath came back to me. I gasped. The air felt heavy and woozy, weighing on my chest. I doubled over. When the world stopped feeling like it spun, I found I was in a field of tall waving meadow grass. The sky twinkled with a spattering of distant stars and planets. The surf echoed from presumably, a cliff located close. I surveyed the area wanting to see it, but a white shape appeared in my periphery drew my attention.

I wobbled forward, gathering my balance. Where was I?


The salty air crashed into my face. I gasped from the icy pain stabbing my cheeks. I covered them with my warm hands, trying to shield them. I needed to get out of this field. I stumbled towards the shaky white blob.

I felt the meadow give way to gravel. I looked back towards the field until my bare toes smashed into a navy-colored wooden stair. I grabbed the rough timber railing. A splinter slid down my palm and into my wrist. I cried out in shock but felt nothing. The piece made a pocket underneath, creating a raised hump. I ran a finger over the long lump. I missed the next stair hitting my nose and mouth on the following step.

I should be hurting. I should feel blood pouring down, but I didn’t. I felt numbness. I turned over and sat on the step of the stairs. Where was I going? What was I doing? I assessed the damage using my thumb over the splinter running down my hand. The piece was at least 6 inches in length, running down the meaty part of the palm. A small fragment poked from the entrance hole. Frustrated, I yelled into the empty blowing air. I felt insignificant, incapable, and scared. I didn’t feel any physical pain, but emotionally I felt like I weighed several tons.

I began picking at the divot, trying not to push the wooden shard further into my skin. Somehow it didn’t hurt. I plucked the wood piece from my hand, thankful when the toothpick-like wood slid out in one satisfying hunk. In times like this, I missed my mom. She would have told me how reckless I was yet again and scolded me for injuring myself, but would also hold my hand, clean it up, dress it, and I would get a hug before I would roll my eyes and run back off. No one could patch me up now. But then again, it’s not like my wound bled. I felt no pain. The numbness felt almost worse. Was I dead? Was this hell? Was I being tortured?

**

I rolled over to a crouched sit, finding my messenger bag as my hands shook. I would not survive without sustenance, and I only had three bites of granola left. The question I debated, “up or down?” to look for food, water, supplies, and a small hope there might be other survivors. Yesterday I chose to search up, and I didn’t get far before I heard the loud shuffling steps of the silver monster. I couldn’t help my sigh. I didn’t know why I even considered leaving safety, but I had an urge to flee the building. I felt like the longer I stayed, all I was doing was starving myself. The security of the closet was a mirage, and this was actually my tomb.

Over the weeks, I came up with many ideas of leaving without detection. I knew every scenario would end with me being ripped to shreds by a monster if I ever tried. So I remained. I guess, hoping to figure out a plan that didn’t end with my demise. No weapons. I needed food, and I barely had any energy to walk, much less anything else. Tears became my favorite hobby- not crying, but silent weeping. Noise killed people. I knew my time ticked closer to my death.

Pockmarked skin speckled my arms, some deeper than others. Parts of my flesh smelled like chicken that sat on the counter for a few days. I wondered if I would lose from my shoulder down. Should I tie something around my arm, or was it too late?  I wondered.  Sooner rather than later, my squelching stomach would catch a monster’s attention. Hopefully, I would be asleep when it happened, so I wouldn’t know. Slumber sounded safe; I could sleep.

I woke up to a constant loud thumping noise as a soundtrack. It was dark in my closet; it took time for my eyes to focus. My adrenaline shot up, and I fought off a panic attack. I surveyed the door; it was still wedged shut with the help of a broken broom. But it shook. New scrapping and banging came not only from the door but from the hole in the wall across from it and me. I felt a massive amount of air streaming in from outside the building. I froze and watched as something excavated the wall.

This was it. This was how I was going to die. Once I realized it, I felt a wash of calm. My blood pressure dropped. Usually, my heart would be tearing through my chest, but this time, it had just a steady thump. I couldn’t run anymore. I felt tears of relief down my face as I passed out again.

Was I flying? My body felt weightless and numb. Was I dead? A memory flashed through my mind. My dad took me on a sightseeing airplane ride on my eighth birthday. He flew us over the city and back. Mom held my hand the entire time as we both squealed and pointed at things as the town zipped past. At the end of the flight, he made the plane dip fast. My stomach flipped. It was exciting, thrilling, and scary. Yet, I felt safe, and the last time I felt content, nine years ago. He died that weekend, a deadly search and rescue in the mountains. I hated planes. I hated flying. I traveled by land or sea. I. Do. Not. Fly.

My eyes fluttered open, seeing blue sky and buildings zooming past my feet. I couldn’t stop the scream. My body lay immobile on something flat, but I tried moving. My muscled screamed in pain from attempting to move.

“It’s okay.” A male voice yelled. I tore my eyes from the skyline and noticed the occupants for the first time. Real living people dressed in military clothes, except one nearest me who checked an IV in my arm. “I’m Scott. I’m a nurse from the base. Please stay still, so your IV doesn’t come out. We are giving you medicine, water, and nutrients. What’s your name?”

I couldn’t answer. I knew my eyes were wide, but I couldn’t focus. My mouth felt dry, so my tongue stuck to the roof. Nothing but a scream would come out. I saw goops of paste over my newest pockmarks. I tried to shake my body to get my arms out. I had an intense need to get these straps off. I was trapped in a flying death machine. My energy dropped earlier, but perhaps I was small enough to slip out of it. I had to try.

Scott frowned. He spoke into the headset covering his mouth; I didn’t hear what he said. A soldier next to him nodded before turning to look back to the skyline. Warmth spread from my arm through my body. The last words I heard were from Scott, “That should help you sleep. I’ll wake you when we get back to base.”

I didn’t dream. I saw nothingness, and then I didn’t.

The thud of the helicopter blades woke me. I felt the tilt of the flying machine with each turn we made. Something was wrong. I had a sudden awful thought; the flat thing I laid on might slip out the door someone left ajar. I couldn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to watch whatever happened; it might make it real. I didn’t move, pretending to be dead. Someone removed the straps on my arms, legs, and waist. I felt a sharp pain down my spine. Someone yelled, but I couldn’t understand what they said. I felt the stretcher unlock. Suddenly, air engulfed me, stealing my breath.

I’m going to fall to my inevitable demise.

Jerked from my determinations, I felt warm, strong arms lift me close to someone’s chest. I tried to fight the person, but they held me tight. I felt a pinch as the IV ripped from my wrist. I felt fast breathing against my back as someone attached new straps, securing me to whoever stood behind me. I fought to open my eyes, but when I did, I regretted it. My eyes snapped open only to realize we were standing at the door of the plane.

Then they jumped, taking me with them.