I inch along the hallway. It bisects in a T shape with another long corridor. When I reach it, I peer around one side. I’m about to choose which way I go next when I hear new noises mixed in with the piercing siren: shouting. Footsteps. I stagger back, pressing myself tightly against the wall behind me. Men run along the opposite hallway, their boots heavy on the tiled floor. Through the throbbing red light, I catch a flash of black clothing, metal gleaming at the men’s shoulders. And then they’re gone.
I rest my head against the wall, breathing hard. What was that? What were they doing down here? And what will happen if they find me?
The reality of what I’m doing slams into me. This isn’t an article for the high school newspaper—this is something huge and possibly deadly. I don’t know if those men are a part of the Montauk Project, but I’m not willing to die to find out.
I turn to make my way back to the staircase when I hear a thud from the half-open door. The door that leads to the bunker. The door that leads to safety. I watch in horror as it starts to slide farther open with a long creak.
Before someone—or something—can emerge from behind it, I dash forward and sprint as fast as I can down the opposite hallway. It dead-ends at a trio of doors. I randomly pick the one on the right and shove it open. It leads to a new hallway. I run down it, then turn another corner.
Where am I? I lean against another white wall, trying to think over the constant shriek of the alarm. My palms are slick, and I quickly wipe them on my jeans. I need to keep moving, though I have no idea where I am and no idea how to get out of here. Fighting the panic that’s rising in my chest, I try to focus: I need an exit, which means retracing my steps or trying to find a different way out. Either way is dangerous, but it makes the most sense to go back to the hallway I know leads out of here. Praying that whatever was coming through that door is long gone, I turn back the way I came.
I move slowly down the hallway and round a corner. Then I jerk to a stop, swallowing a gasp. A soldier is standing there with his back to me. He’s wearing a black uniform and carrying a gun, and he’s starting to turn—
Barely conscious of what I’m doing, I grab hold of the nearest door handle and shove.
I fall forward into a large room. The pulsing light is even brighter here. I regain my balance and stand up, then freeze. There’s a dark figure in the room and he’s coming right for me.
I jerk back, searching for the door handle. My fingers brush it, but the figure is suddenly upon me, pushing me against the door. He turns my body around and cold metal slams into my back. I see a flash of light as I struggle against the hands that settle on my shoulders. The grip is painfully tight, clamping me in place. Stunned, I look up into the face of my attacker.
The first thing I notice is that he’s a boy, not much older than I am. He’s tall and lean, with dark, dark hair. His face is shadowed, distorted by the red light, but I can see the sharp lines of his jaw and nose. The curve of his mouth. He’s frowning at me.
“Let me go.” My whisper is hardly loud enough to hear over the noise of the alarm.
He’s silent, his gaze intent on mine. His eyes are black in the dim light. Fear catches up with me, and I gulp air quickly. The action pushes my chest against his. He jerks back, giving me a strange, puzzled look. I twist under his hands. His grasp tightens and then relaxes. Slowly, he peels his fingers from my shoulders. There’s something deliberate about the way he does it, as though he has to force himself to let go of me. His dark eyes never move from my face.
As soon as his hands fall, I lunge to the side to put distance between us. He stands so still that I wonder if he’s breathing. He’s dressed in all black: a long-sleeved shirt tucked into slim black pants, and no embellishment unless you count the gun tucked casually into his waistband.
I keep one eye on him as I frantically scan the room, looking for an escape. The wall next to us is packed with computers mounted onto metal tables. The back wall is covered with what look like built-in flat screens and charts and graphs. All of the screens, all of the monitors are blank.
My gaze is drawn to the middle of the room, where a gleaming chamber stretches twenty feet up to the ceiling. It’s shaped like a wide tube, with smooth, round sides. The bottom half of the tube is metal, although halfway up it changes to clear glass. The door is open, and the inside is a darker metal, all in shadow. I have no idea what this strange contraption could be used for, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. I need to get out of here.
There are no other doors in the room; the final wall is one long, two-way mirror. Maybe someone is in there, and that’s why the boy let me go. He’s probably waiting for the guards to show up and torture me for knowing too much. The puzzled expression never leaves his face, but I’m not fooled. He could attack at any moment.
Quickly I break his gaze and
