Something in the Mist

Prologue I

Something in the Mist

Prologue I

If you value your existence in whatever civilization that is left, I highly suggest you drop this and run as far away as possible. Burn this. Shred this. Shoot it—if you somehow still have possession of a gun. The fact that you hold this in your hands simply amazes me. You must have gone through hell if you really wanted this that much.

If you are seen with this in your clutches, you endanger everyone around you. This name is a threat to the small sliver of humanity that remains scattered across the galaxy, and they will still sleep at night if they take you out, along with the population around you.

If you have been seen in public with this weapon, you’d better get rid of it. If I were you, I’d pack up and find a way out pretty damn quick. But if they’ve seen you, there’s no use. It’s interrogation and gas chambers for you.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

* * *

My footsteps clunked hollowly against the metal catwalk as I raced through the engine room. The hum of air purifiers and oxygen pumps whirled around me as I approached the door, evidently locked. I glanced behind me before pulling out the identification card I had pocketed ages ago, and I swiped it along the lock. On the small screen, a man’s face appeared, baldheaded and middle-aged. He had the hardened look that we all acquired living down there, no stealing necessary.

The light above the door turned green and the pressure inside hissed as I pulled it open, racing down the hall. I turned another corner to reveal a guard pacing the corridor. His hand brushed across the weapon secured to his hip. I was once told that they could paralyze you, but that was right after the Escape. During those times, lots of stories spiraled by. No one knew what to believe.

I slipped into an abandoned passageway to avoid the guard. As he passed, he swept against my uniform skirt ever so slightly. I held my breath, waiting for him to turn his head. A feeling of dread settled in my stomach—the sensation of a second of panic. I prepared for our encounter, and a thought flashed through my mind of whatever my punishment might possibly be that time. Having already been caught more times than I could count in places that technically were off limits to civilians, my punishments had become harsher by the hour. It was only a matter of time before I’d be whipped. Or the chastisement I tried not to think of.

The guard’s footsteps receded and I continued on my path. I’d memorized the hallways—every twist and turn, each way my footsteps echoed on the metal bunker walls, all the cameras that watched, their red lights blinking in the dimly lit hallways. Only a few more and I’d be there.

A turn to the right, a twist to the left, a duck behind an oxygen pump as a guard looked my way, a sprint through another intersection, and the door stood in front of me. The sign above, “Authorized Personnel Only” called my name. A beacon of hope, almost. The unmoving lights above me were almost a challenge.

The lock on the metal wall next to the door flashed. The sensor woke up and demanded a key card or security would be called. Swiping another identification card—this time, the credential of a woman with blond hair—the light flashed once more. I couldn’t breathe—only the gears inside the lock, the single beep, and the hiss as it popped open could be heard. I pushed it open and slipped through, closing it behind me. I slid the second ID in my pocket—I’d need it to get out; only doctors were allowed in this section.

I turned around and let my breath out. I was finally there. That was the first time I’d mustered the courage to enter the hospital wing. I felt relieved; I’d made it through without being caught. I also felt anxious; what would I find?