We arrive at a second set of double doors on the far end of the yard and push through. Our urgency supersedes any danger that might be on the other side.
“All clear,” Paz yells back as the siren's sound echoes through the hallway.
I step through and lead them to a metal door with a panel. I put my hand on it and say my name, but nothing happens.
“Is this the dungeon?” Paz asks.
“Yes. It's the only place I can think of that might be able to protect us.” At least, I hope so. “Can you use the panel?”
Paz places her hand on it, but nothing happens for her either. A commotion at the other end of the hall distracts us. Outsiders have spotted us and are sprinting our way. A few errant shots hit the walls between us.
“Hurry!” Pocket screams.
“Try again.” I share the sentiment.
Paz places her hand on the panel and gets the same result. She tries over and over, switching hands, but nothing happens. The mob coming toward us is only a few dozen yards away. If they reach us, it's over.
“Why isn't it working?” My fear is rising. The outsiders are closing in, and the nuclear missiles are seconds away. I don't want to die.
“I think I know.” Paz moves her hand in an abstract pattern over the panel and steps away. “There's a pattern for this one.”
All three of us stare at the panel. A shot hits the floor in front of us, and we turn to see that the fastest of the outsiders are about fifteen feet away. Pocket screams, but it's cut off as Paz pushes her and me into the elevator. The doors had opened.
We huddle against the back wall as the doors close and catch a final glimpse of the world outside and the outsiders that inhabit it. The elevator makes its descent into what will either be our chance at a new life or our grave.
Pocket has cozied herself under my arm, and I look over at Paz and smile. She smiles back, understanding the journey we still have before us. We might be down here for a long time.
The doors open, and we step through to an unexpected scene. Dozens of scientists have sought refuge down here. Lights running down the middle of the ceiling illuminate the long dungeon.
Every person down here is hard at work performing a specific task. They must have planned this. It's a thriving community, with everyone organizing the provisions. The two boxes of pouches we brought down pale in comparison to the full prison cells of food.
Before any of us can process what's happening, a lanky scientist with more hair on his face than on his head grabs the boxes and adds them to the stockpile of food. To our left are a few cells with blankets, clothes, machines, and other survival necessities. When I focus down the long, narrow room, I get the accurate scale of this massive underground dungeon. There must be between twenty and thirty cells on each side. It is not at all like I remember it, but I was much different then too. More confined and in the dark, like the dungeon was.
“Who is this beautiful young lady?” A woman's voice startles us. Standing next to Pocket is a woman closer in height to her than to either Paz or me. Her skin matches her light brown eyes, the kind that calm anyone who looks into them. She smiles at us.
“I'm Pocket.” Pocket grabs my hand as she says it.
“That's a beautiful name. My name is Shrutika.” She looks at all three of us to make sure we caught it.
“I like that,” Pocket responds. Shrutika's demeanor has put her at ease, which is more than I can say for myself.
“This is 80,” Pocket adds.
“I figured as much.” She looks me over. “Your story precedes you. The drone who lived.”
No one has referred to me as a drone in a long time. It may have been who I was when I was first down here, but it feels so far removed from who I am now. No matter how much I try to run away from who I was, I can't. Maybe it's because my past is the pedestal on which my current self stands. If I take it away, everything I have worked so hard to become collapses.
“Your growth has been a pleasant surprise, 80. We are glad to have you down here,” Shrutika adds, as if to quell any tension.
“Paz,” Paz responds. “Chief psychologist in Nairobi.”
“Happy to have you back in Egypt.” Shrutika leads us away from the elevator. “We don't have any psychologists down here. I suspect you'll be quite busy. I'm a pulmonary scientist.”
I tune out their conversation as we pass my old cell. A breath of anger rises through my body, but it passes. This place was a part of my growth. I look at the cell across from mine, and for a brief moment, I catch a shadow of Anna. She wasn’t much older than Pocket, and wanted to go back home to her family. I broke my promise to her. I couldn't protect her. It makes my resolve to protect Pocket even stronger. I look at her, and I know that I can't break my promise to KJ, Pocket, or myself.
“What happened to your arm?” Pocket's voice pulls me out of my trance.
Paz and I look at Shrutika; we didn’t notice before that her right arm ends inches below the shoulder. Our eyes apologize to her for Pocket, but Shrutika laughs.
“I like that curious mind. Never stop asking questions.” She waves the arm at Pocket. “I was born without it.”
“Okay.” Pocket smiles.
“Take cover!” a voice screams behind us. Scientists all around us scramble into cells.
Shrutika pushes
