Chapter 27 Survived
Survived
It happens suddenly, no flicker, no countdown. One moment I’m looking at Matt and Morgan’s orange sleeping bags, and then it’s dark—complete and enveloping, a darkness that feels solid against my skin.
“Oh my God,” someone whispers. Logan, of the High Elves, I think. He must be the one that production is doing this to.
“It’s okay,” Bee’s voice, calm and steady. “It’s just one night.”
There’s a shuffle, a soft thud, and then a single, chilling scream.
Cora’s voice cuts the air, panicked. “What was that? What’s happening?”
“Is everyone okay?” Gabriel’s steady baritone asks.
“Something touched me,” Logan says shakily.
“It was me, baby. It was just me. I was trying to hold your hand.”
“Oh.”
A ripple of nervous laughter echoes through the cave, everyone’s voices coming together in solidarity. But Logan doesn’t laugh.
“Nope. Nope. We’re not doing it.” His tone is sharp.
“Are you sure?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Bee.”
“It’s okay.” She sounds defeated. Despite Bee being a jerk, I feel for her.
I’ve been dreading the same kind of moment with Yumi—the show trying to force her to do something with heights that she can’t bring herself to do.
And what are you supposed to do when that happens, besides the exact thing Bee is doing now?
The silent darkness amplifies the sounds of them packing up their things, tripping over a rock, murmuring to each other, and fumbling their way out of the tunnel.
As they leave, there’s hushed discussion among the remaining teams. I hear someone—I can’t tell who—ask if their partner wants to leave.
But everything settles down and it’s silent once again.
The only sound is the drip of the water—water that seemed so majestic earlier when I could see it by sunlight, glittering as it fell from the moss. Now it just feels sinister. With all my other senses deprived, the sound is amplified, concentrated, distilled.
I try to ignore it the same way I used to ignore motion sickness as a kid. I’d pull my jacket over my head and pretend to be asleep until I fell asleep. I’m an adult now and I understand that I’m safe. I’m not even afraid of the dark.
My eyes strain, futile against the complete void of sensation.
In the darkness I know, there’s always a hint of light from passing headlights or faint numbers on the alarm clock.
Here, there’s nothing. I can’t even tell if my eyes are open or not.
Even the labyrinth earlier didn’t feel this dark, because we were moving through it. We were finding a way out.
It’s the same feeling I have after I turn the lights out in the basement.
There’s nothing down there, but just in case…
I’ll run back to the door. Now, though, I can’t run.
I can’t turn on the light. I just lie here.
And I’m going to have to continue lying here.
For hours. I’m not afraid of the dark. So it’s fine.
Yumi’s back presses lightly against mine, her breathing slow and even.
Even as I logically know that there’s nothing in the darkness, I feel my breath hitch. Someone is watching me. Something is hovering just above me. If I reached up, I would touch them. I know there’s something out there. And it’s going to hurt me. Someone is out there and they’re going to kill me.
That’s not true. I ball the excess fabric of the sleeping bag in my fists.
Squeeze. Try to muscle through the fear.
There is nothing. Nothing is going to happen.
I’m fine. But it’s just like every other time that I have a panic attack.
The things I know can’t square the circle with the feeling coursing through my body. I’m not scared of the dark.
But this fear seems to go beyond me. It feels too innate. Too ancient to be reasoned with, too insistent to be fought. This, I realize with terrible clarity, is the type of fear that can only be survived. I grab my necklace, the sharp points a welcome distraction.
I need…
“Yumi,” I whisper.
“Right here,” she answers without hesitation. The sleeping bag rustles, jostling me as she turns and rests a hand on my shoulder.
The vise around me loosens, just a little bit. “This is horrible,” I say, trying to infuse some humor into my voice. Ha ha ha. Isn’t this so funny? It’s so silly of me to be scared.
She doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t tease me about being scared. Her thumb traces small circles on the back of my arm.
She did this after my mom died. I would wake up from nightmares and Yumi would just blink up at me with her big eyes and grab my hand. She wouldn’t go to sleep until I did, even when I could tell she was walking a fine line between dreaming and waking.
I let Yumi take me back to when we were kids and her presence was a given. To when we had nearly a decade of friendship ahead of us, not behind.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For leaving. For letting it get…For everything.”
Her breath catches. She shifts closer, her body cradling mine as she presses her forehead into my back. Her hand slides down my arm until her fingers slip between mine with a natural ease. “I know. Me too.”
The darkness makes it easier to tell her what I’ve been thinking all day. All year. “I missed you.”
She laughs, so soft I almost don’t catch it. “I know. I missed you, too, Noe.”
Centered, anchored, my body starts to relax and surrender to sleep. “I really would change that night, if I could.”
Yumi moves her hand, bringing mine with her as she clutches it to my chest and pulls me into her. “Good. Now go to sleep so I can.”
I laugh but follow her instructions. My breathing slows, evens out, and I fall asleep.
And only once I’m asleep does she fall asleep, too.