The Way Back

Chapter 13

TRIS POV

Darkness.

More than anything I want darkness.

It sounds like a strange concept. Most people associate that word with evil and the unseen. I do too I suppose, and I have seen enough darkness to last a lifetime.

Now I crave it, in a different way. The darkness I am referring to is shadow. Shade. Protection from the blistering sun that is destroying me not only on the outside as I stumble along through the desert.

There are different types of darkness. This is mine: trudging through the heat after a loss that weighs heavy on my heart. I have had to endure that twice now—although technically thrice, if I'm not counting the heat—except this time is worse.

This time I have been out of water for two days. I have walked boiling days and frigid nights without sleeping because I am desperate for water, yet again.

Will I ever not be parched? Will I ever know what it is like to have water whenever I wish?

I don't know the answer, but it is not beneficial to have such thoughts at the moment. All it does is worsen the dryness of my tongue, which seems to be about as wet as the cracked ground beneath me.

The uncomfortable stickiness in my mouth makes me cringe at the evening sun in front of me. Now I am unable to see ahead because of the blinding light, so I keep my head bowed. As I stare at the ring that is outlined by pink skin on my chest, and then my shoes, I tell myself that I am almost there. I am almost to Chicago.

All I have to do is keep walking and not become discouraged by the unknown distance that lies ahead.

Eventually I am so fatigued that I have to swing my rifle over my shoulder and behind my backpack. The hot metal digs into my back, but it's better than holding it any longer. My breathing comes faster now.

When I look up to see if the sun is any farther down in the sky, I lose my balance by seeing the horizon. The ground sways beneath me, and I trip to stay upright. Instead of gazing at the arid floor, I stare at the sky for a moment so I don't confuse myself and fall.

But I do end up perplexed. As soon as I look straight to watch where I'm going, I stop in my tracks.

Which way is the right way?

I spin around in each direction, which does not help the dizziness. Grabbing my head and closing my eyes, I rack my brain for any idea of where I'm supposed to be traveling.

Come on. Think.

Toward the sun comes to mind, but that doesn't make sense. It is searing and bright and doesn't seem to be helping my thirst.

Maybe I should go the opposite direction.

But wait, shouldn't I trust my instincts? My first idea was to go in the direction of the sun, so regardless of how it annoys me, I should go that way.

I'm torn.

What was that saying though, about the sun rising and setting? It rises in the east and sets in the west, I think. So I need to figure out if I was going east or west.

This is so confusing.

In the end, I decide to go west because that is what my gut told me to do. I chase the sun on weak legs and try not to close my stinging eyes. If I do, I don't think I will open them again.

Suddenly, my foot catches on something—a rock, the ground, the air, I don't know—but it sends me flying face-first down into the dusty earth.

There is no water in my body to cry, and no way to groan, so I take the pain and lie in silence.

"Pathetic."

I don't realize that my eyes are closed until they fling open to look at the figure standing in front of me. He seems familiar. He wears black and stands erect, like a soldier. His clothes are a contrast to the brightness of the landscape.

What's his name again? I swear it starts with a T...

"What are you doing, initiate?" he scoffs, his voice low and incredulous.

Tobias. That's right.

I blink at him, and then I am no longer in a desert. Now I am in a warehouse, staring up at him as he glares down at me, his arms crossed. The look is terrifying when he wears it, though I am too numb to react to it.

"Are you going to get up, or what? If you stay down, you're going to get the life kicked out of you, Stiff."

Bewildered; that is how I feel. Nothing makes sense anymore.

All I know for certain is that Tobias can help. I trust him for some odd reason, and even if he is mad at me, he will help me.

"To—" I cough. Then I rasp, "Tobias...help."

I am going to die. I just know it.

"Save me," I croak. If I had any tears, they would be shed by now.

He disappears as I call out to him, and so does the mat underneath me. And then I am back on the dry ground, accidentally breathing in sand, or dust, or both, or whatever. I am too fatigued to force it out past my cracked lips.

But I am not willing to give up.

With my whole body shaking, I crawl. I claw at the earth and drag myself forward with what little strength I have left. This must not be helpful, but it is a few feet closer to home, and that is satisfactory for me.

If I die, at least I will be a shorter distance from home than I was a moment ago.

When my arms collapse along with my lungs, a wheeze leaves me, my cheek pressing into the dirt.

And I allow my body to shut down.