“If Robert said so, then it’s necessary,” the girl replied; looking at me, she added softly, “just don’t think about it. Try to distract yourself.”
I responded briefly and nonsensically: nodded aimlessly and, tilting my head a few times, looked out the window. Could this really be happening? Is this really happening to me?
But it was happening. Moments later, Sara handed me a pair of plain, faded gray-green uniform pants. I looked at her pleadingly, uncomfortably thinking that she had a very pretty appearance – expressive, almond-shaped gray eyes and plump, pink-peach lips – and a perceptive, empathetic gaze. Then, helplessly and cautiously, I took the pants from her hands and was horrified to realize they were still warm. Shuddering and almost dropping them, I clenched my teeth, suppressing the urge to scream.
A mix of disgust, fear, and despair.
“Get dressed,” Sara’s voice, quiet and filled with sympathy, slipped into my ears. “There’s no other way. I’ll take off the boots now.”
I nodded almost imperceptibly. Thank the heavens that I wasn’t forced to strip the clothes off the corpse myself.
Shaking, I unbuttoned my jeans, kicked off my shoes, pushing them carelessly away from me. My legs quivered. Weakness washed over me, making me stagger and nearly fall, only managing to catch myself against the wall. It felt like I was choking; swallowing was unbelievably difficult and painful. When I started pulling off my jeans, my cold fingers refused to obey.
A persistent voice in my head kept telling me not to do it. To stay in my own clothes, to put on my shoes, and to grab a cup of strong coffee from my favorite café, bursting into the sunny, warm autumn day, wrapped in multicolored leaves and untainted by reality. The voice soothed me, whispered that none of this was real, that I just needed to close my eyes – and then I would wake up in my own bed, the scent of fresh chocolate cake filling my home. I’d open my eyes, and all the difficult years past would be just a dream, and today would be nothing more than the end of a nightmare before waking. I would stand up, hug the person who meant more to me than my own life, and sigh, choked but happy; because I hadn’t lost that person, and it was only a bad dream… The voice was so convincing, and the image so vivid, that I slid down the wall, tears choking me.
I desperately wanted to run away. To hide, to shut myself off. My mind replayed every detail of what was happening, torturing me…
No, today I wouldn’t give up. I had promised that I would never give up. And if that means putting on the clothes of a corpse to go with the Gorgons, then I will do it.
Whining and wiping my tears away, I finally tossed my jeans aside. For a split second, I froze, staring at the pants. Breathe in. Breathe out. I started putting them on, trying to think of something else.
The fabric was still warm from the body of its previous owner. A shiver of disgust and horror slithered down my spine. Her body hadn’t even had time to cool down yet.
The buttons were hard to fasten; I was sure the uniform was new. Unable to hold back, I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and bit down on my skin to stifle a scream.
At that moment, Sara approached.
“It’s almost over,” she said as gently as she could, placing a pair of high boots with heavy soles in front of me.” So… You work as a journalist, right?” The girl asked, crouching down. ”And your name is…?” The soldier was trying to distract me, to break through the oncoming hysteria with casual conversation. I swallowed, sitting down on the floor and pulling the boots closer
“Yes, I’m a journalist…” I replied haltingly, trying to put on the boots quickly to shorten the torment, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t manage to tie the laces. In frustration, I let the laces fall, embracing myself at the shoulders. “Stephanie,” I breathed out the name. “My name is Stephanie Shayer.”
The girl nodded heavily and, unexpectedly, knelt down, leaning forward and deftly tightening the laces on my now boots. Stunned, I couldn’t force out a single word.
“Steph, kitten, – can I call you “Steph?” She said, looking into my eyes, and my lips quivered into a weak semblance of a smile when she clarified the form of my name but not the way she would address me.” I know, this is pure horror, but we need to get out of here as soon as we can.”
I shook my head.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Sara winked and immediately stood up, offering me her hand. I grabbed her hand as if trying to keep from falling into an abyss. “My name’s Sara Karani, if you’d like to know. But let’s just go with first names, agreed?”
When we stepped out from behind the bookshelf, Norman shoved a backpack into my hands before heading to join the others.
“Here. She won't need this anymore. You’ll carry the gear.”
The backpack was packed to the brim and barely closed. I had no desire or curiosity to look inside. Maybe next time. Or better yet, I never want to look in it at all.
Somewhere inside, there was still a flicker of hope that the madness would soon be over. It felt as if I were outside my own body, watching the world through someone else's eyes. I tried to convince myself that it was all a lie, but…
The lamps hummed quietly. The stale, stuffy air – air conditioning wasn’t working – and the acrid stench of decay and damp made me feel nauseous. The lights flickered constantly, growing dimmer and going out for longer periods.
Sara helped shove my small personal bag into the Gorgon's backpack. Because when everything calms down and goes back to normal, and I finally go home, I will need my documents, phone, and everything else that was in my bag.
I tried not to look at the body of the deceased. I hurried out of the book section as quickly as I could, not turning in that direction.
“How are you?” Sam asked cautiously as he approached. I shook my head, pressing my lips together and lowering my chin to my chest, as if to say, "Not now." He nodded understandingly. “We’ll be leaving here soon. While you were…” he hesitated, “getting changed, Robert was trying to contact the rest of his people; it turns out he’s waiting for someone else.”
“And?” My thoughts were heavy and sluggish; I was processing Sam's words slowly.
“I think they’ll be here soon.”
I tilted my head back and blinked rapidly. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would break through my ribcage and burst out. I needed to pull myself together. Calm down. It would all end, everything would return to normal; this was temporary – and the weakness was temporary too, caused by total shock.
“I hope there’s a reasonable explanation for all this.”
“If only,” Dort said evasively. Something creaked, and Sam and I flinched, turning around in unison. Luckily, it was just the radio: Robert was trying to get a signal.
The soldiers had already returned from their patrol. Two, four, seven. I looked at their exhausted faces, feeling their pain and fatigue, and a cold shiver ran through me from the inside; I suddenly imagined what they must have seen that night – because if they had suffered so many losses, if they were scared, then our time underground was truly a gift.
The radio crackled again; Sbort muttered angrily to himself – no one was responding on the other end. The person they were trying to reach seemed to sense the commander’s displeasure. In a moment, through the static and noise, we heard a voice:
“What the fuck, damn it?!” A loud shout, almost a growl, was interrupted by a series of gunshots; followed by a stream of profanity. I, stunned, exchanged a frantic glance with Sam. The radio hissed and whistled. “You’re damn well timed, Sbort! Why call every minute?!”
“Where the hell are you?!” Robert hissed. “You should have been here a long time ago!”
“Well, sorry,” came the sarcastic reply, “I’m not able to arrive