Chapter 3
Wendy found herself in the tunnels beneath the Den. Dark shadows pressed at the edges of her vision. She looked around for her dad or Kenzie, but saw neither of them.
This was a dream. Wendy had had it every night since she woke up. As soon as she opened her eyes it would fade back into the recesses of her mind.
Leering, emaciated faces floated by Wendy's eyes, like ghosts. The flash of a sword caught in dim light, and blood splattered the stone wall.
Pelton came out of nowhere, shouting words she couldn't hear, and pushed her forward. Then he too disappeared, and only blackness remained. The tang of blood filled Wendy's senses, as did the simple truth that she was alone. An invisible weight pressed her down. She struggled to rise—not sure when she had been put into a coffin—but no matter how hard she fought, she couldn't lift the lid.
A gasp pulled Wendy out of the fitful sleep. She found herself sitting up, her hands shaking. Sweat covered her body, and her vocal chords were raw from screaming. She gulped down great breaths of air. Her arm throbbed, her ribs ached, and her senses remained dotted with the stench of death and dark figures with flashing swords.
She'd been through this enough that she knew where she was. She tried to hold onto the dream—even a small detail could be helpful—but it slipped away like water down a hill.
Gone, just like everyone she knew.
Wendy raised a shaking hand to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes.
The only illumination in the room came from the light from the hall, leaving a glowing rectangle of white on her floor. It was bright enough that it must be morning.
There were no widows to the outside, but they kept the lights on a cycle that followed the sun.
Wendy got her breathing under control and swiveled her legs off the bed. She slipped off the mattress and gently put her feet on the floor. Even though she was now able to walk for an hour without passing out, she'd learned the hard way to be careful with the first few steps.
For a moment, a dark tunnel with leering, smeared faces flickered over the sink in the corner. She blinked and shook her head, waiting for the residual effects of the dreams to fade.
Five mostly steady steps took Wendy to the white porcelain bowl. She turned the handle and pushed her hands into the stream of water. Cupping her hands, she waited until they filled up with water, and splashed her face. The cold always helped. Tiny rivulets formed down her cheeks and neck, and Wendy imagined them taking the horrible images in her mind with them, going down the drain where they would disappear.
Too bad the dreams always came back. Too bad she couldn't remember them.
Wendy placed a hand on each side of the basin, and her fingers tightened around the edges. She raised her head and looked at her reflection in the small mirror.
Dark green-brown eyes stared back at her with hollow uncertainty. She looked about two days from death. The lines in her face didn’t come from age, but from injuries and lack of food. A white scar sliced along her right cheek—a lasting memory from when she and Kenzie had gotten into a fight with pine cones.
Her dark, haunted eyes told a story of horror, sadness and pain, but despite all her efforts Wendy still couldn't remember the attack. She stared for a long time, trying to break into the vault of her mind. Maybe it was better left forgotten.
A week had gone by, and Wendy only saw Doc and Elle. Neither of the adults had asked her any probing questions, for which she was grateful. On the other hand, it meant Wendy still didn't know what these people wanted.
Surely they didn't drag her all the way back here just to heal her out of the kindness of their hearts. No one did that. Why waste the resources on someone who may or may not be of use?
Why waste such a precious resource on her?
They had to want something from her. Sure, maybe they were the type that brought strangers in and let them heal, but using medicine that couldn't be replaced? Wendy's own compound was so strapped for supplies that sometimes all anyone got were clean bandages and some herbs. Which occasionally worked better than actual medicine, if you could find uncorrupted plants—the Starvation didn't just affect the plants humans ate.
And yet, these people had. Doc came twice a day to check on her progress. Wendy got out of bed and walked around on her own as much as she could. The pain in her ribs had dulled from feeling like she’d been made into a knife throwing target to a monotonous throb. The sharp ache in her arm had started to go tingly, like a limb after it had fallen asleep.
Doc and Elle had told her a little about the complex she was in. They called it Shelter, and it was big enough to house 400 people, but was currently only about 2/3 full. They had clean food, used thermal geo-something power and everyone had at least two responsibilities. But they wouldn't give her any other specifics.
Wendy understood, but it was driving her crazy.
The restraints had been gone since the first time she woke up, but they still locked the door from the outside. Wendy had thought about trying to force it, but where would she go? She knew next to nothing about this place, and even though she was feeling better, she knew her body wouldn't make it very far.
The small window in the door to her room taunted her, but she could only see a dozen feet in each direction down a bland, medical ward hallway. There were two doors she could see, but neither had opened since she'd woken up.
For the first two days she'd slept, but now she was restless.
Instead of drifting into a deep depression, as she'd seen so many others do, Wendy had begun to push her body. Each morning she paced the room long enough to start to feel tired. Just as she got there this morning, a shadow went by the window.
Wendy glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Doc or Elle walking by. Instead she found a tall, gangly teenage boy looking in at her.
His curly, red hair refused to be tamed, his long face complemented his tall frame—he had to stoop just a little to look in the window—and his clear, blue eyes regarded her with curiosity.
If Wendy had to judge, she would put him in the nice guy category, but she wasn't dumb enough to believe his looks meant anything.
He'd probably heard about her from Elle and had come to take a look.
Wendy kept walking, expecting him to move on. She almost jumped back when she heard the lock snap open.
For a moment, Wendy felt like a rabbit in a cage—nowhere to run and nothing to defend herself with. She rubbed her palms on her thin pants, and took a breath to steady her nerves.
The latch turned.
Wendy stopped, and her eyes rose to the boy's.
He smiled, then he pushed the door open.
Broken ribs do not take kindly to a pounding heart. Sweat broke out on Wendy's palms, and it took all of her control not to step back. She stood in the middle of the room, and she held her ground.
The rest of the boy came in through the door. Wendy had been right, he was tall. A bright yellow shirt showed through a handful of threadbare spots on his light blue lab coat. Both hung limply on his thin frame, and broad shoulders suggested that he wasn't quite finished growing into his own body.
He stepped into the room and flipped the light on, but didn't go beyond arm’s reach of the door, which he let shut behind him, but did not lock.
Was this a test? Now Wendy wished she hadn't tired herself out with so much pacing.
The boy spent a good five seconds just looking at her, which made Wendy want to shift her weight around, but she refused to show weakness.
After the longer than necessary pause, the boy cleared his throat and smiled again.
“Hi,” he said. “I'm Matt.” He took a step toward her and thrust his hand out in front of him.
Normally Wendy was a cool customer, but the gesture and the sudden movement caused her to step away from him. A small tremor went through her hands.
Matt stopped. He looked down at his hand and then back up at Wendy. “You don't do handshakes?”
Wendy swallowed, making sure she woul
d have enough moisture in her mouth to speak. “No.”
“Oh.” Matt's hand retreated, and he brought it to his head where he ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. It's a gesture of greeting here. From the old world.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.
“Oh,” Wendy said. “I've never...I mean I'm not sure what it is.”
Matt shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”
Silence descended. Wendy was unconsciously assessing his reach as well as his fighting abilities. She was tense, but he was totally relaxed. Which meant he either had no fighting ability, or he was very, very good.
She filed him into the dangerous category.
“I, uh, Doc sent me,” Matt said.
Wendy raised her eyebrows. “And?”
This time a real laugh came out of Matt. “Sorry, I'm not very good at meeting new people. I'm Matt. I work in the medical ward. I'm supposed to help you with some physical therapy.”
“Some what?” Wendy asked.
“Physical therapy. You know, where you work muscles and tendons that have been injured in order to help them heal.” His hands waved around as he spoke.
“Oh.” They called that recovery in the Den. “Like what?”
“I see you've already started,” Matt said, pointing at her feet. “Walking is really good. How long can you go?”
The hairs on the back of Wendy's neck bristled. Again, she suspected a test. Had Mike sent this kid in here to be nice to her and help her in the hope she would divulge information to him?
Wendy decided to play the innocent card, and she kept her true strength to herself. “About thirty minutes. But there's not a clock in here, so it's hard to be sure.”
“That's good,” Matt said. “Really good. How do you feel after you've walked around for that long?”
“Tired.”
“How tired?”
Wendy thought about it. “Tired enough to go to sleep for an hour or so.”
“You might be pushing yourself too hard,” Matt said.
A snort worked its way out of Wendy's throat before she could stop it.
Matt grinned. “Yeah, I know what you mean, but I have to tell you that. If you're like me you'll try running up and down the halls tomorrow and kill yourself.”
Wendy decided to take the initiative. “So if I'm walking, what else are we going to do?”
“Work your shoulder and arm.”
That didn't sound like fun.
“Trust me,” Matt said, “it's better to be in pain now than to never have your arm be the same again.”
The words “trust me” grated at Wendy. Why were they putting this much energy into her? Of course, Matt could simply be a means for Mike to get in with her without actually being here. Lull her into a false sense of security. With his sheepish grin and the mild manner, Matt would be the perfect person for the job.
“We'll just do some easy stuff today,” Matt said. He pointed at the bed. “Please, sit down.”
Wendy’s internal danger alarms started going off as Matt came to stand beside her. She sat on the bed.
“Give me your good arm,” Matt said.
Wendy did so. She watched intently as Matt bent her fingers around, then her wrist, then her elbow and then her shoulder.
“That's how much motion we want to get back into the other one,” Matt said. He reached for Wendy's bad arm. With more trepidation than she thought she would have, she surrendered it to him.
The pain started with the finger wiggling. She gritted her teeth.
“Hurts?” Matt asked as he gingerly pulled her fingers back.
“Yes.”
“Tell me if it gets to be unbearable.”
“Define unbearable.”
Matt met her eyes. “If you feel like punching me in the face, please let me know before you do it.”
“Has that happened before?”
“Twice,” Matt said. “And they were big guys.”
A hiss got out as he started to manipulate her wrist.
“So, I'm Matt,” he said as he worked. “Your name is Wendy, right?”
Wendy cursed herself for letting her paranoia override the manners she'd vowed to demonstrate. “Yeah.”
“Rumor has it that you survived a Skinny attack.” He pushed her wrist the other way, which didn't hurt as bad.
“Does it?”
Matt eyed her as he started to bend her elbow. “Yes. I don't get out of Shelter much; how bad is it out there?”
He was certainly innocent about probing for information. “It can be bad if you don't have anyone to protect you.”
“There's the truth.” The direction of the stretch changed.
“Stop,” Wendy said, her good hand balling into a fist.
“What about here?”
“Not as bad.” The pain throbbed, but it faded a little.
“Good.”
Wendy channeled Kenzie and tried to make polite conversation. “Did you grow up here?”
“Press against my hand,” Matt said. As she did so, he answered. “No, I've been here for six years, so quite a while, but I remember what it was like. I lost a lot of family members and friends before we found this place.”
The tone of loss in his voice made Wendy want to believe him. Could he be that good of an actor?
Now he straightened her arm. “Push.”
It only took three seconds before Wendy started to shake due to a combination of unused muscles and sheer pain.
“Were you alone?” Matt asked. “Because you seem pretty young to be alone.”
This. Wendy almost lied, but decided the truth was more distracting. “I'm sixteen.”
Matt blinked. “You are?” He immediately held a hand out in front of him. “I didn't mean...I mean. You just look really young.”
“Yeah, I know. I get it a lot. Don't feel bad.” But secretly she wanted him to feel bad. Off balance. “And no, I wasn't alone. But I am now.” An unexpected rise of emotion accompanied the words, and Wendy's voice caught in her throat.
Matt placed a hand on her good shoulder. “I'm sorry.”
Wendy nodded, holding back a tide of despair with the strength she had left.
Pelton's smiling face switched off with Kenzie and her dad as they each flashed through her mind.
“Let me change that bandage for you,” Matt said. He rose and went to the little cupboard above the sink. They kept bandages and cleaner in there. Nothing else. Wendy had checked.
Matt grabbed the supplies and looked at her. “Come over here. Doc said we could actually wash your arm today. That should feel pretty good.”
It did sound good. Wendy rose and walked to the sink. With practiced hands, Matt untied and unwound the existing bandage. Mostly clear fluid was all that leaked from the wound in her arm now. Matt examined the wound, poking a few places but stopping when Wendy flinched away.
“That's quite the cut,” he said. “What did it?”
Wendy had been thinking about this. “A sword.”
“Ouch,” Matt said. He pulled out a sponge and got it wet. “Let me see it.”
Wendy surrendered her arm and watched as Matt gently cleaned the adhesive and old herbs off. The care he used made her feel as if her own mother were there. A lump rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down and focused on her arm.
The water flowed over her entire lower arm. One minute it was clear, and the next it was red.
A roar filled Wendy’s ears, and her vision blurred. Sounds of a fight invaded her mind. Gunfire, the clanging of metal weapons and screaming. Lots of screaming. The room around Wendy dissolved into a blotchy scene of flashing, black spots and people running. People she knew, but their faces wouldn't come into focus.
She felt water dripping off her arm, and looked down. The liquid had been replaced by dark, sticky blood. The gash in her arm cut to the bone. The fingers of her other hand tried to hold it together as someone wrapped a bandage around it. Before they finished, a sword flashed, and the man’s face
less head flew out of her vision.
“Wendy?” A voice cut through the vision—the memory. “Hey, are you okay?”
The man’s body fell away, and as it did so, the memory disintegrated. She tried to keep it together. She wanted to know what had happened, even if the truth was too much to bear, but it slipped away like soft dirt between her fingers. The dark blotches resolved once again into her room.
“Wendy?” Matt asked.
Wendy found herself on the floor, curled up into a ball. A sob threatened to claw its way up her throat, but she stuffed it back down.
“What happened? Did I hurt you?” Matt's voice went up I pitch. “Wendy?”
A shudder ran through Wendy's body. She swiveled her eyes toward Matt.
“Are you okay?” he asked. One of his hands pressed on her shoulder, the other lay under her head.
Wendy blinked. “I...” She trailed off and had to swallow before she could speak. “I'm not sure.”
“Are you hurt?”
Wendy uncurled and sat up. Matt kept a hand on her back. She took inventory; she must have hit her head on the way down. Other than that, everything felt normal. “No, I'm not hurt.”
What had that been?
“Did you pass out?” Matt asked.
“No.” Wendy shook her head. “I don't think so.”
Matt helped her to her feet and then to her bed. “Get some rest. Maybe you pushed yourself too hard today.”
An intense desire to see her dad, Kenzie and Pelton rushed through Wendy faster than her blood. The thought of staying in this room—this windowless, claustrophobic room—for one more day pulled rage from a place Wendy didn't even know existed. Her body continued to shake. The walls seemed to press in around her, and she pushed Matt away.
“I'm tired of resting,” she said with venom in her voice. “I'm tired of being in this little room. Don't you people ever go outside? Don't you miss seeing the sky?” The air seemed to get warmer.
Matt didn't step away, but he scratched his chin. “I know what you mean. We're underground here. Sometimes it's hard.” He paused.
The faces and smiles of her family and friends continued to taunt her.
Tears threatened to pour out of Wendy's eyes, but she held them back. No crying. She hadn't cried since her mother's death. Now was not the time.
Matt continued to speak. “Tell you what, we have a greenhouse. I can't take you outside, but maybe Doc will let us visit there tomorrow.”
Wendy barely heard the words. The hole in her heart didn't go away. Instead it got bigger and bigger. She waited until Matt cleaned up and left before she curled up into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could.
Maybe she would wake from this nightmare.
Or maybe this nightmare would keep going for the rest of her life.