Falling Skies

Eighteen

"You do know the way out of this place right?" Wren interrogates.

It feels as if hours have passed by, the heat of the growing flames kissing the back of their necks as Ryder and Wren stumble through the labyrinth of Haven. Ryder knows he has the place memorized, he can close his eyes and see a map of the hell. So why, when he needs it most, does the image fail to flicker? Why, when he's in a limbo of two deaths, does he fall upon every dead end in the building?

"I swear I do just," Ryder doubles over, his hands pressed so hard against his knees that he threatens to leave an indent. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

Haven doesn't look so bright anymore. The air thick and clogged all around them, his body clawing at every smoky breath he inhales. All around them lies gray air that sticks to the lungs like mustard gas. It's too thick to ingest but his body forces him to comply. It's all he has but his body coughs and stings in response. It can only be compared to waterboarding, as if the smoke were water running across his face, so close to being deadly but not quite there.

The air smells of a cloudy rot, the operating room being the first to burn leaving a foul stench of human flesh and fae blood lingering in the halls. Ryder coughs at the scent before his body forces him to inhale until he's doubled over at the waist gagging at the wretched stench.

"Ryder, we can't stay here you can't breath..."

Ryder straightens up, balancing himself against the burning wall as he struggles to stand. He's already lightheaded from a lack of oxygen, it's only a matter of time before he's too out of it to lead their escape.

"And you can't walk," he counters. "So don't be so quick to judge."

Wren's head falls only for a moment, his body sat on the floor with one hand pressed tight to his wound. He's visibly exhausted and the sight of him leaves a guilty residue in Ryder's conscience. If only he had gotten to him before the scalpel, or if they had decided on a plan a week earlier. None of this would have happened to him...

He wouldn't be slouched against a burning wall, cheeks drained of all color like his body was drained of its blood. His lavender eyes void of any brightness, just a dull orb that can't focus on what's in front of him. And he wouldn't be missing an organ, he wouldn't be gaped open held together by some makeshift stitches forged together with a bent needle and shaking hands.

As much as Ryder's mind tries to fight it he can't help but recognize his part in Wren's pain. How this is his fault, how he did this to him-

Wren's head lulls, the action forcing Ryder out of his troubled thoughts and back into the burning situation. "You forget I can read your thoughts."

Ignoring his comments, Ryder helps him to his feet. "We need to keep moving." With one hand pressing against the boy's wounds he leads him from their stray corner and back into the main halls.

The whiteness has been replaced with the pitch black of a power outage, just the blinking lights of the sirens lighting their path. Every few seconds the halls are illuminated with white light before vanishing into darkness once more. The boys creep through the shadows, hiding beneath the sirens blare as they travel through the halls unseen.

The noise of the sirens seems just as deadly as the blackening air, the blare mind numbing at its softest as the sound wails. It's a harsh screech that pierces the ears before fading out and starting back up somewhere further down the hall, a circular sound that boomerangs back to the original spot it activated at.

"Stop!"

A voice yells from somewhere down the hall. The blast of the sirens distorting the sound, stretching the word to the point that it's unrecognizable as it travels down each blackened hall.