Spring Break

episode 9

Your Decision: Emma should stick with her final guess, risking the chance of choosing the wrong box, but saving at least one more life.

The water was running, gushing into the metal crates as small drops leaked onto the floor with a steady dripping sound. Each drop splashed against the ground, reminding Emma that time was running out.

Running her hands through her hair, Emma shook her head as thoughts trampled over each other. Her heart throbbed, growing larger and larger before it felt like it had clogged the base of her throat. Short of breath, Emma continued to hear the drip, drip, drip of the water. She had to choose and had to choose now.

"Risk it" Emma spoke suddenly, allowing her first impulse to be the final decision. The man was silent, only her ragged breaths and the sound of water rushing filling her ears. "I'm going to risk it. I'll take my last guess" she announced again, sure that at least this way one person could live.

With no response, Emma quickly grew impatient. Her friend was suffocating, slowly being drowned by the cold water that poured into their small prison. She wasn't waiting for the psychopath's answer. So she moved between the last two locked boxes, deciding which one would be her final guess.

Taking a deep breath, Emma laid her hands on the surface of each. The metal was frigid beneath her bloody hands, the cold sending chills zipping up her arms. Shivering softly, Emma let her eyes fall shut. "C'mon. Give me a sign." she breathed, pleading with the universe to help her.

Emma held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Only the sound of rushing water filled her ears, the metal growing colder beneath her skin. Her lungs burned, her veins filled with white hot adrenaline. Muscles tensing, Emma waited for a sign. Time was running out. Each second passing was another inch of water suffocating her friend.

Her eyes opened, landing on the box that lay under her left hand. Something about it- she couldn't describe it. There was a magnetic pull, a tightening of her gut that drew her towards it. So with the slightest twinge of hope, Emma lurched for the lock.

"What's the code?" Emma demanded, tears of panic beginning to glaze her eyes. Only silence hung in the air, panic filling her stomach before drowning her heart. "What's the fucking code?" she bellowed, her voice echoing off of the cold, barren walls.

"Since you asked so nicely," the voice responded, "it's a date. A date you hate to remember."

Emma's forehead creased in confusion, her eyes growing wide. "A date you hate to remember" she repeated, thoughts and questions bouncing between every fiber of her being. "9/11?" Emma wondered, twisting the numbers that only kept the lock closed.

"You, specifically, Emma. A date that Emma hates to remember" the man responded, adding a pitiful chuckle at the end of his sentence. The sound made Emma's skin crawl, and her heart race faster.

Her mind spun, racing through every embarrassing thing. The day she got rejected by her prom ask? Emma's shaking fingers spun the dial but the lock wouldn't budge. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to think harder. The day her grandma died? The code was plugged in, but the lock was still frozen shut.

"Fuck!" Emma swore, her muscles beginning to shake as she could feel time slipping through her hands like tiny grains of sand. The harder she tried to grip it, the more it gushed through her fingers.

Closing her eyes, Emma let go of the lock. She pressed the base her hands into her eyes, rocking back onto her heels. "Think. Think. Relax." Emma repeated the mantra to herself, steadying her breathing as she thought furiously.