Apocalypse, Steve Harrington

Chapter Fourteen. Pinky Promise

FOURTEEN
— pinky promise

ANXIETY IS A TEDIOUS topic. The swirling, uncontrollable panic, the constant and gnawing worry. It was so much more than sweaty palms and shaky hands— anxiety can deteriorate someone's mind, and that she knew. It was a burden she carried since after Sara died; ten year old Lucy was weighed down with the constant worry of, well, worry itself. Now, with tensions high, the anxious feeling in her chest boiled and bubbled. She was trapped, stuck chewing on her bottom lip and repeating the same meaningless phrases in her mind. How could she not be anxious right now? Things didn't even seem real— hell, it was nearly impossible to separate nightmares from reality.

    Everyone was at the Byers house— the site of the first incident. Oddly, that's all she could think about. Will went missing here, it started here. The situation had been explained— somewhat— and hopes were high. They had a secret weapon, they had Eleven. The search for Will and Barbara was beginning.

    Lucy drew in a deep breath. Averting her gaze from El, she studied the expression on her best friends face; Nancy looked equally, if not more, anxious than she did. Gaze softening, she leaned in. "Don't worry," Lucy whispered. "She's, like, really fucking cool. We'll find them."

    The above head lights flickered. They could see Eleven's eyes darting back and forth, eyelids twitching as she searched her own mind. Suddenly, she gasped— the young girl let a tear fall from her glassy eyes.

    Joyce was filled with immediate worry. "What's wrong? What's the matter?" she stuttered, fear engulfing her as El looked up with doe-eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said weakly, "I can't find them."

    Her shoulders fell. Shutting her tired eyes, Lucy allowed the hope to diminish. The mental toll this was talking on Eleven was evident— it was clear as day that no one in that room was okay, especially her. She was weak, exhausted from her powers. It broke Lucy's heart.

"How long does it take for her to regain her strength?" Nancy whispered.

Mike shook his head. "We don't know."

The younger girl spoke, suddenly. "The bath," El said. "I can find them. In the bath."

    Dustin eyes practically sparkled. He rushed towards the telephone, hands shaking with anticipation as he punched in his science teachers phone number— he was positive Mr. Scott Clarke had the answers.

Watching the boy, Danny furrowed his brow. He leaned closer to his sister. "How do they know all this stuff?" he gestured to the kids. "Like, are they all child geniuses, or something?"

Shooting him a blank look, she shrugged. "I taught them," the girl spoke, sarcastically, a smile spreading on her face when her brother rolled her eyes.

    "You always say we should never stop being curious," Dustin spoke, eagerly. "Why are you keeping this curiosity door locked?"

Mr. Clarke had been won over. In a matter of minutes, the group was huddled around Dustin as he scribbled down the instructions to make a sensory deprivation tank. They'd need three things— a kiddy pool, fifteen-hundred pounds of salt, and a lot of water. With the bright mind of Jim Hopper, they were head to the middle school to start building their tub. Things were moving quickly— oddly, though, she was okay with it. Time seemed to move faster when they were desperate.