26. Twenty-Six
There’s not a lot of information you can gather about your surroundings while in the back of a van, especially if you don’t really know where you’re coming from. Not that knowing would help me out, necessarily; I can hardly remember any of my schooling from before, and the kind folks at Omni weren’t overly eager to give me any real education between my Tanks. Anything they taught me was in order to tell if my continued torture was damaging my mental capacity.
It wasn’t.
But I do know we’re no longer on the highway, and based on the violent bouncing of the van, we’ve moved onto yet another unkept road.
When Dane slides the door open, I’m dumbfounded. There’s nothing here. Literally nothing. I look at the guys, almost expecting them to let me in on some sort of joke, but they’re already unloading the few bags we were able to take along with us while glancing around like they’re expecting to find something.
My sneakers scuff and scrape at the tightly packed dirt beneath me, sending small puffs of dust into the otherwise pristine mountain air. This place could never be described as densely packed woods, especially not after leaving the lush surroundings of the house. The trees here are beautiful, their leaves spread out with a freedom not afforded to the crowded trees back home.
Home.
The thought stuns me. Is that what that place became to me? Had I finally found a space that felt safe enough, familiar enough, to call home?
Did I find and lose that safe haven all in a matter of a week?
I don’t let myself dwell on it too deeply, fearing I’ll become heartsick, longing for a place I had only known for such a short time. I can’t maintain my connection to a place that’s little more than a pile of rubble. I won’t lose sight of my goal, my bone-deep need to control myself, and my life. On my own terms. Wherever that life might be.
The sound of stomping draws my attention to the edge of the open space, to the patches of tall grass growing freely. The sea of green flows and churns like waves on a lake, mesmerizing despite Silas walking around. He’s slamming his feet into the ground, tracing in a meandering path across the meadow. He looks like a child throwing a tantrum rather than a 6’7” behemoth searching diligently for an invisible something.
Three more stomps and a patch of earth shudders beneath him, the dust billowing up from a concealed pocket of air.
“Got it,” he calls out, just loud enough for all of us to hear from our spot by the van. The men move before I do, heading straight for the space Silas has indicated, not bothering to follow that same serpentine path.
Silas and Ray work together to uncover the edges of a door laid flush into the ground. When they start to lift it open, the metal creaks and groans as if it were a giant, reluctant to be woken from a deep slumber. The hazy memory of my panicked, frozen body being thrown down a door so similar to the one in front of me needles at the edges of my mind, vying for control, and I have to remind myself that we got away, that I’m not mere minutes from falling back into John’s grasp. That true freedom is finally within reach.
Dane steps down into the void first, swallowed by the ground little by little. The darkness seems to extend in an infinite drop, but within a few moments he’s reached the bottom, his last step a dull thud on concrete. Soundlessly, lights flick on, revealing the sturdy metal ladder and a few feet of a hallway extending far out of sight.
I look to Ray, hoping he would be the one to go down next, but it’s clear by the tilt of his head it’s my turn to descend. I square my shoulders at his unspoken challenge, the amusement clear in his eyes. The cool air kisses my skin as I take the first step down. It seems that it’s been wholly undisturbed for years, waiting for the arrival of its people.
“What is this place?” My words reverberate through the hallway, as if eager to adventure ahead of me.
“It’s home. For now.” Dane’s hands clasp around my shoulders and pause. He looks deeply into my eyes and for just a second I forget where we are. A flurry of excitement kicks up in my stomach, and my heart pounds in my chest before his grip tightens and he pulls me firmly to the side.
“Bags!” Dane shouts up to the surface.
What did I think was going to happen? And why do my knees feel weak right now?
Ray’s head cuts through the sunlight in the doorway, and I look away, suddenly very interested in a loose thread at the bottom of my shirt. Only a second passes before our belongings are being thrown down the hatch, bag by bag.
Once everything is below ground, the rest don’t waste time descending the ladder. Silas is the last to come through, hauling the door shut behind him, the echo of the metal booming though the space for what feels like an eternity.
Each of them takes two bags, lifting their weight with ease, and one is handed to me, the single backpack filled with my clothes. As we pass down hallways and through rooms, I’m shocked at the scope of this place. The maze of corridors seems to stretch on forever in any direction, and I know already I”m going to get lost.
How can something like this exist underground, completely undetected?
How did they find it?
Everyone seems to know exactly where to go, like this is as much their home as the last place. They all head straight to their rooms, each of them set off a large central chamber that’s furnished with half a dozen tables whose seats are connected benches. It reminds me of the lunchroom at my elementary school, and I’m hit with a pang of longing and sadness I had long since forgotten about.
What else has been teased away from my memories?
Dane breaks my reverie by grabbing my bag from my arms and wordlessly heading off across the space. I follow closely behind, knowing I would be hopelessly lost if he decided to turn a corner and forge ahead without checking I”m with him. Fortunately, rather than taking me through another series of halls, he leads me to the door set into the far side of the dining hall.
It looks no different from the rest of the doors, but this one creaks loudly compared to the others. The protest of the hinges tells me it’s been ages since anyone has been in this room. Dane reaches inside and flicks on the light, breathing life into the small space before my eyes.
It’s simple, but it looks comfortable, and it’s not made up of hard lines and metal frames. This room has been neglected for a long time, but there’s soul in here, something waiting to be rediscovered and enjoyed once more. My space.
My very own room.
Dane tosses my bag onto the bed, but he doesn’t leave immediately like I expect him to. He just stands there while I take in the space, watching me with an intense focus that I can’t quite sort out.
Clearly this room has been lived in. There are stacks of books and sketches taped to the concrete block walls, their pages yellow and curled in at the corners, but the art still shows proudly despite the otherwise obvious neglect. The small desk situated opposite to the bed has been lovingly mutilated by scratches and pen marks and paint of over a dozen colors, all cut cleanly by overlapping patches of negative space.
“Whose room is this?” I whisper, not wanting to disturb the quiet that has made this room its home.
“Yours, Madeline.” There’s a bit of irritation lining his voice when he answers, going beyond his usual gruff exterior.
“You know what I mean, Dane. Whose was it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where did the people go?”
He sighs, probably debating whether to answer my question or just walk away.
“This place was designed to be a bomb shelter back in the fifties. As far as I can tell, it housed dozens of people at different periods, but when I found it, it had been abandoned for decades.”
Decades. The thought that this place had gone unused and undetected for so long confounds me. This place, this enormous place, must be filled with so many stories. I glance around the room again, and a shiver runs down my spine, thinking about all the life that happened within these walls.
“How did you find this place? This bomb shelter in the middle of nowhere?”
His face doesn’t change, still set into the hard lines of his permanent grimace. “My family bought the land; now it’s mine. I was going to build on the property until I found it.”
This man is infuriating. With every guarded answer he gives, I’m left with a thousand more questions to ask. Had he been anyone else, I might not feel the reluctance to ask those questions, to push further. Everything about him is screaming at me to back off, to accept the meager answers I have been given. That I should be grateful I received any answers in the first place.
When I don’t pry, I can almost sense a flutter of relief radiate off him before he crosses his arms in front of his chest, shoring up whatever defense might crack and show any hint of vulnerability.
“I’m taking Tucker and Ray out for a supply run, we won’t be back until late. Silas will give you a lay of the land.”
I nod, accepting his words as the orders he’s clearly intending them to be.
“Don’t run off.” His voice is firm, matching the rigid set of his jaw.
I roll my eyes, not caring if he sees how ridiculous I find that statement. Something sparks in him at my small show of defiance, like he’s identified me as a challenge, one that should be dealt with as he sees fit. He tilts his head ever so slightly, assessing me. His hand flexes around the bulk of his bicep, his tanned skin dipping below his fingers.
The smallest hint of a smile changes his face before he turns away and leaves me to the silence of my new surroundings. Something in his expression tells me he’s made a decision, and I’m almost afraid to note how much that excites me.
I take this new solitude to explore the room around me, picking out what little I can based on what was left behind. One of the sketches stands out above the rest, the only portrait, surrounded by a sea of still lifes. Its clean, unhurried lines depict a woman curled up on a chair, her hands cradling a mug.
The artist captures her beautifully, down to the wisps of hair around her face. The longer I look, the more I feel like I know her, not in any literal sense, but I understand her and that far off stare she’s eternally locked into. The way she seems like she’s not really present, as if her body is holding space for her while her mind drifts off to another world. Perhaps a kinder one.
Tucker’s head peeks in through the open door, his blond curls brushing over his forehead in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through them, encouraging the only visible sign of wildness on him.
“Hey, um, we’re heading out.”
“Yeah, Dane let me know you guys weren’t going to be back for a bit.”
His cheeks pinken slightly, and I’m not entirely sure why, but I flush too. For a moment, we just stand there, separated by less than ten feet of space and a world of different experiences. But we’re standing there, sharing this innocent action of smiling and blushing at each other.
Tucker is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat before speaking as if he was preparing some sort of eloquent speech. “I just wanted to say goodbye before we left.”
“Bye, Tuck, See you soon.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt, unsure of what to do with my hands while he turns away and heads towards the exit.
I see Ray running towards the exit after him, before skidding entirely to a stop and turning around. He barrels into my room, taking the turn around the door so quickly he nearly knocks me over.
I grab for him, doing my best to help stabilize both of us, but it’s more of a gesture than anything. My arms reaching out and holding him are no more than a pantomime of the correct way to hold someone up. He’s doing all the work, his own arms wrapping around my torso and the strong length of his body holding me upright.
Our breath twists and tangles into one another, urging us to do the same and tighten the embrace. That ever-present smirk tilts up the corner of his mouth, drawing my attention to his eyes, the golden brown of them twinkling in amusement.
He brings his lips to mine, parting them ever so slightly, just enough to invite my tongue to caress his. The tenderness of the kiss catches me off guard. Normally it feels like he’s doing everything he can to assert himself, force his delicious will upon me, but this time it’s an invitation to join him in this moment. Join in the connection we’re forming through our physical touch.
An unmistakable throat clearing grounds me, cementing me back into the bomb shelter turned home. We don’t need to look to the doorway, or fully disentangle our limbs to know Silas is the one wordlessly scolding us.
So we don’t. We slowly pry our mouths apart and unravel the embrace.
“I’ll see you later. Don’t miss me too much, Princess.” His eyes rake hungrily over my body, reigniting the spark low in my belly before he turns and runs back towards the exit. Paying no more attention than he did on his way over to me.
I don’t want to watch him leave, but I’m even less inclined to see the man standing in my doorway, so I stare off into the hallway for as long as possible before it becomes clear I’m ignoring him and his brooding.
I cut my eyes over to him only to find that he’s not even facing me. Evidently, he’s also taken to the strategy of disregarding my presence. This is the first time we’ve been alone together since the river, and I’m beginning to think complete avoidance is the best possible strategy.
Just as I’ve made my decision to pretend I’m alone in this labyrinth, he turns. His face is a carefully constructed mask of indifference, only betrayed by how long it takes for him to meet my eyes.
What changed?
What happened to the man who was willing to show me his hideaway, the only place he truly had to himself? What could have made him kiss me like he would die without it one moment, only to shake me off and reject me the next?
The questions, and the deep desire to understand their answers, stop short when his harsh tone cuts past the quiet whirring and buzzing of the bunker.
“I’m supposed to show you around.”