The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [127]
I’ve seen maps down here before, back when I used to explore after going to the museum, and I desperately need to find one now. My heart thunders in my chest, panic squeezing my lungs as dingy bare walls stare back at me.
Finally the weak lantern light illuminates dull colors barely visible under layers of dirt and grime. Frantic, I scrub the heel of my hand against the wall until the lines of a map appear. It’s faded, making it almost impossible to distinguish the various twisted lines and tunnels, and my eyes skitter everywhere at once until I see sharp letters stating YOU ARE HERE with an arrow pointing at a white circle.
I place a trembling finger over the spot like it’s an anchor holding me firm. I know where I am, now I just have to figure out where I’m going.
Behind me the moans in the tunnel grow stronger, pushing me to move, to run, but I know I have to think first.
My body shaking from the cold and strain of the day, I start tracing the lines that spread away from where I’m standing, tunnels curving and twisting back under the Dark City or out past the island, sometimes doubling back or just ending.
It’s like a maze, and I keep getting lost and tangled where the lines intersect into knots before untangling and breaking out again. There are too many options. I don’t know where to go. I beat my fist against the wall, pouring out my frustration and forcing myself to focus.
I refuse to die down here alone. I didn’t give up when I fell into a pit of barbed wire and I won’t do it now. There’s always a way to survive. The trick is finding out how. Survivors aren’t always the strongest; sometimes they’re the smartest, but more often simply the luckiest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, clearing the panic from my mind, and then I open them and start tracing the lines on the map again, knowing there’s something I’m missing.
That’s when I see, at the edge of the map, a picture of a roller coaster, and I almost laugh at the simplicity of the solution. Catcher told me about a roller coaster—he said that was how he found the boat.
Now I just have to find where that is. With the lightness of hope screaming through my body, I rub more of the grime away and uncover an arrow pointing from the picture of the coaster to a round dot at the bottom edge of the map—another station.
My teeth chatter, the cold closing in around me as I track the lines on the map, figuring out how the tunnels connect and how to get there. It’s far away, and my body wants to sag at the thought of covering such distance, but it’s still hope. At least now I know where to go so that I’m not running in aimless circles, waiting for the dead to bury me.
For the briefest moment I allow myself to think about Catcher waiting for me. To think of the boat and the water and my sister and the sky. These are the thoughts that drag me back to the edge of the platform. That propel me down to the tracks and push me to stumble through the tunnels.
The moans wash behind me, almost a physical force that screams at my body to move faster, but I know better. This time I don’t run. It’s a long way to the roller coaster and I can’t exhaust myself. I’m more cautious with my steps, keeping the lantern in front of me so I don’t fall—I can’t afford any more scrapes or cuts. Any more blood.
The only problem is that my body doesn’t generate as much heat walking, and soon I start to lose feeling in my fingers and toes. I pull my new coat tight, try to remember the feel of the fire on the roof earlier, when we were inflating the balloon.
Try to remember the heat of Catcher’s skin against mine.
I shiver just thinking about it.
I feel like a tiny lightning bug lost over the ocean—a tiny bright light surrounded by dark so deep the world might as well not exist. Time and distance become distorted and I find myself counting steps just to know that I’m moving forward.
I can’t remember the last time I ate. I find myself pulling ice from the walls for water. It’s nearly impossible to raise my feet, so I drag them along, the Unconsecrated