Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
There’s hope. There’s still a chance someone could save me.
I grab the orange flare gun and hold it to my chest. My heart thunders against my ribcage, the beat filling my ears.
I’ll have to wait until it gets closer to dark to use it if I want the best chance of someone seeing it and coming to my rescue. That’s if anyone cares enough to. No. I have to stop thinking like that. I’m still a student at Corium; surely, they’ll send a search party out. Except no one knows I’m gone, only Ren.
Leaning back against the tree, I stare up at the blue sky and try not to think about the way he smiled at me right before we took off.
Did he do something to the helicopter?
My stomach churns at the thought. He wouldn’t, would he? The doubt grows in my mind like ivy, snaking through each thought. I don’t know the answer to that question, but I can only hope he wouldn’t set me up like that.
The minutes tick by so slowly it’s almost paralyzing. The throbbing in my leg turns to numbness after sitting for a while. I shiver, the cold breeze seeping into my bones. As the day passes, my fear of being left out here alone mounts.
I stare at the flare, wanting to fire it off. I contemplate doing so but decide to wait a little longer. I only have two, so I have to make the use of them count.
The sky grows darker, and I swallow thickly. I’m thirsty, hungry, and while my leg isn’t hurting now, it needs medical attention. I look down at my bloody hands and pick some of the small metal pieces out of my skin.
After a while, the shock I’m in subsides. My body aches again, then real pain sets in, accompanied by the cold. As the sun sets, the temperature drops, and I shake. Fuck, if these injuries don’t kill me, the cold will.
The weight of it all presses down on me, and I pull the flare gun away, pointing it toward the sky, making sure I’m in the clear and not going to hit any trees. My finger shakes as I wrap it around the trigger. It might be a long shot, but I have to try. At least if I die out here, I’ll die knowing I attempted to save myself. Saying a silent prayer, I pull the trigger and watch as the flare goes up, sending a bright orange distress signal into the sky.
The signal lasts as long as a firework before it dissipates, the smoke drifting off in the wind. It’s just another drop in the bucket. All I can do is hope someone saw it and that whoever that person is gives half a shit about me because God knows, no one in Corium cares about me.
No one but Brittney… and maybe Quinton, or so I thought.
2
QUINTON
I watch as the gray leather surface of the sandbag turns red. My blood leaves a strange pattern as I punch it over and over again. My knuckles bleed profusely, but they don’t hurt anymore. I hit harder, hoping that the pain will return, but I’m already numb. My body and mind are numb, leaving nothing but a hollow feeling behind.
I would rather feel the pain.
I push myself to the brink of passing out before finally stopping. Hugging the bag, I lean against it, pressing my sweaty forehead to the smooth surface to catch my breath.
Just like before I met Aspen, the world spins out of control, and I can do nothing to stop it. I feel helpless and weak, and I hate it.
Walking into the gym’s bathroom, I actively avoid looking into the mirror as I run cold water over my hands until the water turns from pink to clear. My heart is still racing, and my breathing is labored. Each breath I take seems to be shorter, with less air making it into my lungs. I feel like I’m suffocating. The walls are closing in on me, leaving no space for my lungs to inflate all the way.
We’ve been living underground for months, but this is the first time I feel like I need to get some fresh air to breathe. Without even drying my hands, I leave the gym and head to the surface part of Corium.
My body operates on autopilot, carrying me to the helipad without thinking. As soon as I step out from the tunnel leading to the outside, cold Alaskan air wisps around me. I’m only in gym clothes, my body sweaty, making the cold send icy pricks across my skin.
I am no stranger to grief, but this is different because this one is on me. I made Aspen want to leave this place. It’s my fault she’s dead, and I don’t know how to get over that. I don’t know if I can.