Concentrate, Lydia.
I manage to fit the key into the lock and pry the door open. The corridor in front of me is empty; the rest of this hospital floor seems practically deserted. I run blindly down the beige-colored hallway, looking for a way out. In the background, I hear the door to the psych ward slam open and the sound of someone’s feet swiftly pounding on the floor. The recruit is chasing me down.
There’s a red exit sign up ahead; it’s hanging above a door that connects to the stairs. I throw it open and take the steps two, three at a time. The stairwell is empty and sterile, lit with an artificial, grayish light. I make it down one flight before I hear her on the stairs above me. Now that she’s out of the ward she is gaining speed. I push forward, even though my lungs and legs are starting to burn.
I whip around a corner, but I’m not quick enough. She barrels into my side and we both crash into the far wall. My head bounces on the concrete.
It hurts, but the fear is worse than the physical pain. I’ve seen Wes fight; I have no shot against someone like him.
The girl grabs my arm and yanks me forward. I twist away and try to hit her with my left hand. She blocks it easily and locks her arm around mine. She angles my body in front of hers, holding me with one arm while she reaches into her pocket for something.
We’re about the same height, but she’s smaller, thin and wiry, and I use the difference in our size to my advantage. Throwing my body forward, I knock her off balance. Whatever was in her hand crashes down to the ground as she tries to keep her grip on me.
“Why are you doing this?” I speak through clenched teeth as we struggle against each other.
“Quiet.” She squeezes harder, and I gasp as the breath leaves my body. This girl may be small, but she has the strength of a bear. I twist and turn and somehow manage to get one of my arms free. But even though I scratch and pry at the hand she has locked around my waist, she doesn’t let go. Remembering that I have more than two limbs, I lift my right leg and kick backward into her knee. She wobbles slightly but doesn’t go down.
What is it you’re supposed to do when a bear attacks? Play dead?
I go limp in her arms. She makes a small, surprised noise right before we both tumble onto the ground.
She never breaks her grasp, but I manage to roll onto my hands and knees with her attached to me like some kind of oversized barnacle. I try to crawl forward, but she knocks my legs out from under me and I fall onto my side. One of her hands leaves my waist and I see her reaching for a syringe that’s lying on the floor near our heads. It must have been what she dropped earlier; she’s going to drug me like she did my grandfather.
One of my arms is still free and I drive it behind me, elbowing her hard in the gut. The arm around me loosens. I scramble away, but she launches herself onto my back again. This time her entire weight is pinning me down, and she secures my arms and legs in a wrestler-style hold. I can’t move a muscle.
I hear her reach for the syringe again, and I struggle even harder, but it’s useless. I open my mouth to scream and realize in horror I can’t even do that; I have no breath for it, not with the girl perched on top of my lungs.
My head is turned to the side, and I see that we’re right next to the edge of the stairs. Then I feel the needle prick into my arm. Terror floods through me and I use all of my strength to heave onto my side, tilting my body in an effort to buck her off.
The movement shifts the girl off balance. She doesn’t have time to stop herself before she tumbles headfirst down the stairwell, hitting each step with a sickening thud.
I stagger to my feet. The syringe has sunk all the way into my skin, but I don’t think she had time to release any of the contents. I pull it out with a wince and throw it onto the ground. The girl is immobile at the bottom of the staircase. I grab the banister and ease my way down the stairs until I’m standing over her body. I can’t tell if she’s dead, so I kneel and put my fingers on her neck. She has a pulse, thank god. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for killing someone, even if she was trying to drug me. In the end we’re all just victims of the Montauk Project.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stick around waiting for her to wake up. I stand up again, using the banister to steady myself. My feet feel thick and heavy, but there’s a weightlessness to my head that’s unsettling. Did I hit it harder than I thought? I try to take a step down the stairs, but I only slide along the side of the wall. My knees give out, and I sink onto the floor.
I have one moment of clarity, one moment of panic as I realize that I must have been injected with some of that drug. But then my thoughts dissolve, and the stairwell spins in a hazy circle. I fall over to the side, my head resting on the ground next to the recruit. If her eyes were open, we would be staring at each other.
I close mine too. The black behind my eyelids is endless.
