Laura Nolen - The Ark

“Razor wire on the fence. Won’t stop ’em all, but you’ll make it just fine. If you want to come back, in the very end, I’ll be here.”

I stood facing him, paralyzed by the moment. “Isaiah, please. Come with me. I already got one starpass, maybe we can figure something out. You can’t stay here.”

He smiled again and shook his head. The green light shone against his teeth as they swung back and forth. “It doesn’t suit you, you know.”

“What?”

“Your name. Char is the end of the story, the cooked goose. Maybe you were right, and your story’s just getting started good. But look at me. I’m blind. They’ll never let me on the transport. And if they see you with me, you’ll have the same fate. And then you will be Char.” He chuckled, a soft, deep sound that swallowed the steady hum of the freezer. “But don’t think that this will be your freedom. You may find nothing but a bigger cage.”

“Or maybe I will fly.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so.” He grasped my arm, briefly, by way of a farewell.

A door slammed, its sound muffled by the walls of the freezer. I hesitated, one foot in the vent. “Did you hear that?”

“Kitchen. People want food.”

The freezing air made me suddenly aware of the tiny beads of sweat on my forehead. “No one here thinks there’s food in the kitchen.”

A series of methodical clangs danced around us. “Someone’s looking for something else, then,” Isaiah whispered. Cabinets were being slammed open. A louder bang announced that one of the pantries had been searched.

“It’s Kip. He’s going to find us.”

I expected Isaiah to protest, to say that I couldn’t possibly know who was out there, or that Kip had surely already left the prison by this point, but instead, he said, “Better go, then.”

The bangs were getting closer. I knew, without any doubt, that it was Kip, and that he would find me. “He must have waited, then followed me. They’re looking for the Remnant. They knew I’d go to you. Isaiah. Come with me.”

“Ain’t nothing for me out there. I’ll stop him.”

“You can’t. You can’t stop Kip. You haven’t seen him when he’s… You can’t stay here.”

“It’s the only thing I can do.”

“Take my hand.”

His hand was warm and firm, and a lot stronger than his final protest. “Charl—”

“Come on. We’re leaving. Your journey doesn’t end here, either.”

The duct was warm, but relatively ventilated. My hands shook as I replaced the grate. Normally, my hands were as steady as paperweights, no matter the stakes, but I was always unpredictable around Kip. It wasn’t the first time my body had betrayed me in his presence.

I wore the mat on my back like a cape, clasping it in place with my left arm while holding my right arm in front of my face, so that I wouldn’t run into anything. Isaiah followed at a short distance.

Almost immediately, my hand swiped into another wall. I panicked momentarily, sweeping my arms all around, before finding that the passageway had turned sharply and narrowed to a crawlspace near my right foot. I dropped to my knees and pressed into the darkness, trying not to think how very like a rat I was in that moment. Trying especially not to think about the possibility of other rats sharing the tunnel with me. But as soon as I heard a noise I couldn’t assign to Isaiah, I surprised myself by hoping it came from a rat, and not Kip.

I don’t know how I knew it was Kip who was following us, but I was absolutely certain that he’d find the grate. That was what he did. He found me. He pulled me back, no matter how much I wanted to get away.

I had crawled maybe ten yards when the gritty texture of the vent glinted into view, so I had to be close to the outdoors. Sure enough, within minutes, I could make out the slits of a grate, and beyond that, the green of grass and the dark gray of the prison walls.

I ran my fingers across the slatted panel for an instant before deciding that my best bet was probably to kick it out. I lay back, bracing myself with the mat underneath me, and slammed my feet into the thin metal as hard as I could.

The grate went flying through the air and landed four feet away.

Isaiah’s muted laugh floated out of the tunnel behind me. “I should have mentioned that I never screwed it back into place.”

Was this a game for him? I bit back a sharp response. “Did I mention he has a gun?”

“I know. I heard it scraping the ground when he started crawling.”

Kip had reached the tunnel, then.

I popped out onto the grass, squinting in the sunlight, and stood up next to the old air conditioning unit, turning to help Isaiah. I got the impression that he needed a lot less help than I’d expected, but perhaps more than he realized. The afternoon air was only slightly cooler than the warmth of the ventilation shaft, but infinitely more pleasant. Full of hope, but tinged with my rising panic.

The ancient gray air conditioning unit was tall and thick, with its far edge positioned about a foot from the prison wall. I grabbed the mat from inside the vent behind me and threw it up onto the first ledge I saw. From there it was a matter of climbing as efficiently as possible without dropping the mat. I created a few frantic footholds by bashing in whatever ventilation slats I found, and before long, I stood on the top of the unit, my back to the prison wall.

“Okay, we have to—”

“Jump over the fence. You first.” He waved a hand near his ear.

“I-Isaiah. I can’t. You first.”

“Afraid I won’t follow? Not to worry. I’m right behind. Got me all fired up, now.”

I sucked in a breath. We were pretty far off the ground, but my knees were about level with the top of the fence, which was several feet away. Thick coils of razor wire spun across its top, adding three more feet to its height. I slung the heavy mat over the razor wire, and, stepping back for a head start, leaped onto it for all I was worth. The wires gave slightly under my weight, and I never quite caught my balance. Almost as soon as my thighs touched the mat, I was falling face-first into the ground nearly twelve feet below.

I scrambled, limbs flailing against air and rubber, and managed to shift my upper body backward, so that my feet were beneath me when I began to fall in earnest. Time swung by in a single, heart-stopping arc before I hit the ground, hard. My legs buckled, and I threw my weight to the side, absorbing the secondary impact with my hip.

I breathed in, trying to contain the pain, and consoled myself with the knowledge that, where I was going, gravity wouldn’t be my problem.

It was several seconds before I stood shakily to ascertain the damage. Something dark in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I realized with a jolt that my entire left arm was bright red with blood.

My throat made a noise like a long, low groan while I searched for the source of the blood, which turned out to be a slash along the side of my left hand. I must have grabbed the edge of the mat during my mid-air acrobatics, leaving the skin exposed to the razor wire.

The blood coated my forearm and blotted onto my prison scrubs. This, combined with the rest of my appearance, was not going to fly at the OPT facility. Assuming I made it that far. I removed a sock and tied it as hard as I could around my hand. That would have to do for now.

“You ready?” I shout-whispered at Isaiah.

“As ever,” he said back.

“You’re about ten feet from—”

“I remember.” Isaiah sent his cane sailing over the fence. He followed soon after, pausing only briefly atop the mat. He landed next to me, allowing his body to hit the ground once his legs had broken the fall.