Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Zedediah
The loud incessant ringing of the alarm jolts me awake.
It stops, so I sink back into my mattress.
We have lockdown drills every so often to keep everyone on alert.
So they know where to go and what to do.
I assume this is just additional punishment since bashing my head in clearly wasn’t enough.
I slowly lift my head up and slide my hand back.
A sigh of relief escapes me when my fingers run over the thick bandage attached to the back of my head.
The fact that I don’t feel any stitches underneath is a good sign.
But with the pounding in my temples and the searing pain on my head, I’m still sitting at a strong eight on the pain scale.
My thought that the alarm was just a drill goes away when I hear the second alarm.
We only ring one if we’re just doing a dry run.
Never the full three. So the fact that this is number two isn’t a good sign.
What if it’s the third? Could I have slept through the first?
I force myself up. My toes curl in as my feet hit the cold floor.
Using my nightstand I push myself up to stand.
As I start to wobble, I drop my head and close my eyes.
When I pick my head up I see movement out of my window.
The lights are old so the shadows they cast only allow me to see a figure opening the barn doors before disappearing inside. Harold?
I see my shoes at the end of the bed and walk over, slipping them on.
I don’t dare sit down and bend in an attempt to tie them since I’m pretty sure I have a concussion.
I know if I sit down the chances of me getting back up are slim.
When I limp over to my door and wrap my hand around it, the door knob doesn’t move.
What the fuck? I try to turn it over and over again but nothing.
As I start kicking the door—well, as best I can—pain shoots up my leg when it hits at the wrong angle.
If I try to yell, I know no one is going to hear me like this.
Looking around the room, I try to find something to break through the tempered glass.
When I go to pull out the top drawer from my dresser I almost jerk away when I feel tiny pieces of wood nestle under my nails.
I place it on my bed, giving me a minute to collect myself and hopefully catch my breath.
I gently pick up the drawer, being cautious not to push the splinters deeper, and cradle it against my inner elbows.
I try to figure out the best way to smash my window.
Do I run into it while holding the drawer?
I’m not sure I can. Can I throw it? This is making my head hurt even more.
When I hear commotion on the other side of my door, I raise my arms up, lifting the drawer. But before it can leave my hands, my bedroom door is swung open. It’s Harold. A harsh sound rumbles from my chest and I rush toward him, coming to a sudden stop when he raises his hands.
“Zedediah, it’s your father.”
“What about him?”
“He’s been attacked.”
“Attacked?”
“Catarina.”
That’s all he has to say before I duck under his arm. This random boost of energy feels more like desperation than anything, but it helps me run forward. As I run down the hall, I yell over my shoulder, “We’re not done!”
The alarm finally stops and I press against the sides of my head. The pressure briefly soothing the pounding behind my eyes.
I hear panicked voices in the distance, coming from the fellowship hall I’m sure. That’s our safe meeting spot when this happens. I peek through the door and can’t spot Cat anywhere.
Where is she? Why isn’t she in the auditorium? I scour through every room. They’re all empty. I make my way into the last place I haven’t searched: the kitchen. I glance out of the window above the sink, the fog is starting to lay on top of the grass. That’s when I see it. The barn.