have been trained to react this way, and yet how can someone fake being so terrified, especially someone so young? Then again, if she was from Core City she had probably been trained from infancy. Who knows how many children they had working undercover? They had even more eyes and ears than I realized. That thought send a cold chill down my spine and I bit my lower lip. I pressed my palms to my knees and stood. Suddenly this tunnel was too dark and too small. The walls were closing in on me. I tried to breathe but my chest was tight as if a rubber band was acting as a tourniquet around my lungs. Reese stepped closer to me and curled his arms around my shoulders. I wanted to push him away. He was the one that brought me here! Now, we were both probably going to die. I wouldn’t even mind dying so much in itself if it meant I could escape a life imprisoned by a marriage I did not want and a Doctrine I did not support, but my death becoming an example to others who questioned things the way I did would mean that the government won. Accepting my death would mean they finally found a way to break me after all. I didn't want my death to be their triumph.
Was there any possibility – even the tiniest, slimmest possibility - that this little wasn't a government spy? Was it even remotely conceivable that she was really from up there , and somehow found her way into The Complex? I didn't see how. This place was well sealed. It had to be. We created and circulated our own oxygen through generators and artificial greenhouses. If there were holes in the foundation big enough for a person to fit through, by now we would have no air and we would all suffocate.
What if the scientists were wrong about the air on the surface not being breathable? What if they were wrong about surviving humans turning into savage cannibals? What if other humans found a way to survive just like we did, and we don't know about them and they don't know about us? I couldn't deny any of these possibilities but they still sounded like desperate fantasies in my head. They seemed like daydreams I had when I was younger, like running through grass or feeling sunshine on my face. Suddenly I realized I was doubting every question I had ever asked and every daydream I had ever held on to. What if that was exactly what the government wanted? What if they didn't plan on sending me to the transitional containers but instead they wanted to break me in a way that made it seem like it was my own decision? NO! I couldn't let that happen either! They couldn't win!
The band around my lungs tightened. I wheezed as I inhaled. Was there enough oxygen in these passageways? They were supposed to be sealed off, what if they weren't fit for breathing? I tried to inhale again, and wheezed again. I couldn't stay here. I was going to suffocate. I needed air.
I bolted. My legs jerked forward as if they were their own entities and sailed me down the pitch black hallway. I practically slammed myself against the steel door (How did I even know where it was?) as my fingers frantically groped for the handle. The moment I felt it, I yanked. It groaned in protest but finally gave. I shoved my shoulder against the door. It opened just enough for me to squeeze through. I inhaled. STILL WHEEZED! I moved away from the door and pressed my palms to my knees.
Breathe, dammit! BREATHE!
My self-commands were minimally effective but at least I was trying. My lungs seared as I struggled to draw air into them. It was as if my esophagus had swollen, leaving only the tiniest possible passage and air had to make it through a tunnel no larger than the size of a pin in order to fill my lungs. My body simply needed more air quicker than I was able to take it in. I closed my eyes. Maybe the air in the passageway was poison. Maybe I was dying. This
Was there any possibility – even the tiniest, slimmest possibility - that this little wasn't a government spy? Was it even remotely conceivable that she was really from up there , and somehow found her way into The Complex? I didn't see how. This place was well sealed. It had to be. We created and circulated our own oxygen through generators and artificial greenhouses. If there were holes in the foundation big enough for a person to fit through, by now we would have no air and we would all suffocate.
What if the scientists were wrong about the air on the surface not being breathable? What if they were wrong about surviving humans turning into savage cannibals? What if other humans found a way to survive just like we did, and we don't know about them and they don't know about us? I couldn't deny any of these possibilities but they still sounded like desperate fantasies in my head. They seemed like daydreams I had when I was younger, like running through grass or feeling sunshine on my face. Suddenly I realized I was doubting every question I had ever asked and every daydream I had ever held on to. What if that was exactly what the government wanted? What if they didn't plan on sending me to the transitional containers but instead they wanted to break me in a way that made it seem like it was my own decision? NO! I couldn't let that happen either! They couldn't win!
The band around my lungs tightened. I wheezed as I inhaled. Was there enough oxygen in these passageways? They were supposed to be sealed off, what if they weren't fit for breathing? I tried to inhale again, and wheezed again. I couldn't stay here. I was going to suffocate. I needed air.
I bolted. My legs jerked forward as if they were their own entities and sailed me down the pitch black hallway. I practically slammed myself against the steel door (How did I even know where it was?) as my fingers frantically groped for the handle. The moment I felt it, I yanked. It groaned in protest but finally gave. I shoved my shoulder against the door. It opened just enough for me to squeeze through. I inhaled. STILL WHEEZED! I moved away from the door and pressed my palms to my knees.
Breathe, dammit! BREATHE!
My self-commands were minimally effective but at least I was trying. My lungs seared as I struggled to draw air into them. It was as if my esophagus had swollen, leaving only the tiniest possible passage and air had to make it through a tunnel no larger than the size of a pin in order to fill my lungs. My body simply needed more air quicker than I was able to take it in. I closed my eyes. Maybe the air in the passageway was poison. Maybe I was dying. This
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