They surge forward in a stampede. An arrow downs one of them before the crossbow is wrestled free from Rehana's grasp. They come at me, but I spring upward, clinging to the rock wall above their heads. Others gifted in climbing and agility pursue me, and I launch myself through the air, over the throng, landing on all fours in the center of the cavern below.
"Run!" Rehana screams. The others are upon her now, tearing away her sheet and clawing at her ravaged flesh. "Run, Daiyna!"
Where are our other sisters with shaved heads? We have to help her—
You cannot save her, says a voice from deep inside me. You must escape. His life will depend on it.
I stand rooted, staring without really seeing. Listening, but not hearing the screams as Rehana dies.
"Who...are you?" I manage.
You already know.
Part II
Connections
4 MiltonNine Months after All-Clear
I'm totally in the dark.
I blink my blind eyes and see only impenetrable black, oppressive and smothering. I've given up calling out. It got a little eerie (and pathetic) to hear my voice echo throughout these caverns.
We're here, she said. Then she left me. That was what—two hours ago?
I shouldn't have gotten rough with her. But I'd had it, and she seemed perfectly able to fend for herself. The throbbing pain in my temple is proof enough. I apologized of course, and I'm sure she heard me calling after her, wherever she was going. I just needed some answers.
Now all I want is to get out of here. I've already tried feeling around on my hands and knees, but I almost fell off a ledge. I caught myself in time, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping as my arm plunged through empty space, unable to tell how far the drop was. That got me to stop and think.
I haven't moved since.
But I can't sit here forever. There have to be other survivors around somewhere...besides crazy bald girl. I have to find them.
Why would she abandon me like this? It seemed like she was helping me, leading me through the cave, guiding me through the dark. Somehow, she could see. How was that even possible?
If only I'd thought to pack some glowsticks when I left the bunker. Guess I didn't plan on doing any impromptu spelunking.
I blow out a frustrated sigh, and it echoes like a beast in slumber. I need to focus, figure out some kind of strategy here.
Big hands clamp my shoulders, squeezing as they lift me off my feet. I struggle, carried through the darkness, kicking as viciously as I can, but my boots don't make contact with anything.
"Who are you?" I scream.
The hands swing me sideways and release their grip. I sprawl tumbling against the cave wall. Groaning on impact with the unyielding rock, I curse and struggle to my feet. Terrified but furious, I reel unsteadily, hurling my fists at my invisible opponent. Something cracks.
A bright light burns my eyes, and I shield them with both arms.
"Take his suit," a man's voice says with quiet authority.
"What?" I squint against the light. Two shadowy forms approach, their hands reaching for me. "No!"
They grab at my jumpsuit and dodge my punches, my kicks. One knocks me down and I fall flailing, landing a few good blows. One of them groans, and my adrenaline surges at that small victory. I release something like a wild war cry.
My windpipe closes thanks to a sudden headlock from behind. I choke as my suit is ripped from my body. Its liquid reserves splash across my bare legs, filling the cave with the strong reek of urine.
"Boots, too?" a bass voice rumbles.
A man grunts in the affirmative.
I keep thrashing until I'm thrown to the ground and someone sits on me, nearly crushing my ribs until my boots are tugged off. Then I'm left alone. I cough on hands and knees, naked in the harsh glare of green light.
"Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," I croak, rubbing my neck.
A hydropack flies at me, slapping against my shoulder.
"Wash yourself," says the authoritative voice.
"You gonna watch?"
No response. I smirk and shake my head, hoping to regain as much of my composure as possible, considering the circumstances. Who are they? What do they want with me—besides my clothes? Are they in league with that bald girl?
It's been months since I had a bath—not since I've been out of the bunker, that's for sure. I probably smell like piss mixed with the foulest of body odors. Good thing I'm immune to my own natural scent by this point.
I tear open the pack and splash the water-like fluid down my chest and back, along my arms and legs and between them, saving some at the end for my face. Refreshing. These folks must have hydropacks to spare if they can waste one like this.
A wad of cotton clothes much like Bald Girl wore comes flying at me, and I catch it. I squint into the light.
"You want me to wear these?" Bet I'm coming across as very astute.
"Yes," the voice of authority says.
"Please," adds the bass voice with a short rumbling chuckle.
I dry my face on the long tunic before I pull it on, then tug the baggy pants on underneath. I stand facing the light, my muscles tensed, arms down at my sides. I can't see anything beyond the light. They've got me cornered, that much I can tell.
"Now what?" my voice echoes, sounding more confident than I feel.
"Now we talk." A shadow steps toward me, and with another crack, the glowstick in his hand flares green, illuminating the sharp features of a well-built man a decade or so older than I am. He comes within a meter of me and stands at ease, his eyes piercing. "I'm Luther. Tell me what you're called."
Introductions after I'm roughed up? What is this?
"Milton," I mutter.
He nods slowly. "Paradise Lost, indeed."
"What?"
"The name you were given in your bunker—"
"My parents." I swallow. I haven't thought about them for a long time. I
