Page 78 of The Souls Harvest
I swing my flashlight left and right to study my surroundings, stretching a hand out to touch the tunnel wall, which is so narrow that two people can barely flank each other without brushing shoulders.
“Ugh, nope. Slimy.”I clean my hand on my trousers, adding more dirt to what is already there, casually patting something hidden in my pocket. When I slide my hand inside, I immediately pull it out as if the small, brass key I forgot about was made of fire and just burnt my fingers.
“Water?”
I startle and gasp, remembering I’m not alone, blinking at Mack, who is standing before me with a metal flask in his hand. “Wow, you were lost in some deep thoughts there.” Despite his young face, a deeper level of understanding shines behind his cerulean eyes.
I pull Galen’s jumper sleeves over my hands, trying to ignore all the loose threads around the cuffs. “This silence doesn’t sit well with everything that’s going on in my mind. It only makes my thoughts scream louder.”
His face gleams with sweat and dirt, and I guess mine doesn’t look any fresher. I can no longer ignore my hair stuck to my cheeks and the revolting feeling of clammy skin and dirty hands.
Mack shrugs and offers me the flask, “You’re scared. I get it.”
I truly am. I have been for days, but hearing someone who doesn’t know me at all say it aloud makes it real. And—in a twisted way—natural.
I push my hair off my face. “How long have we been walking for?” I ask, nodding a thank you, and accepting the flask from his hand. The water is lukewarm, but I’m so thirsty I don’t care as it dribbles down my chin, soaking the collar of my jumper.
“Roughly an hour. Maybe longer. Time still gets all messed up down here. And then there’s you.”
“Care to explain?” I rub my chin dry with the back of my hand.
I try to give him all the benefit of all the doubt before I decide whether he’s a pro at choosing the wrong words at the wrong time, or just someone with a mouth faster than his brain.
Mack lifts a shoulder, then drops it. “You’re slow.” He pinches his chin as if rethinking it and adds, “Slow-ish.You don’t know these tunnels. Don’t worry. No need to feel guilty.”
“I’m not…”Oh my, this one is something else…
I inhale all the sarcastic comments that cross my mind, take another sip of water, which makes my lips twitch as I press them together to keep the liquid down before swallowing. “Is this not the only tunnel?” I ask, handing him back the empty bottle.
“How do you think we move around the cities and villages without being constantly targeted by them?” Mack points at the tunnel ceiling with the flask before turning it upside down and tossing it away when no more liquid comes out.
He opens his arms, noticing my puzzled look. “There are no sources of water in the tunnels. Why should I carry the extra weight?”
The space around us is indeed dotted with small piles of old flasks and black boxes similar to the one Tabitha used to scan the perimeter.
“I see,” I say before crossing my arms over my chest, grabbing at the sides of my jumper and pulling it over my head. My voice is muffled by the fabric when I comment without weighing the effect of my words. “How do you cope? Surviving in hiding, moving through dirty tunnels filled with rubbish. Is it really worth it? I mean, you’re not even a Harvester…” When I toss the jumper away, my skin breathes with relief, until humidity starts coating my arms and neck.
When I think I cannot get more uncomfortable, Mack inches closer, scanning my face. “What’s rubbish for you may be a treasure for someone in need. And—that was all the water I had left. You’re welcome!” he states, leaving me speechless.
Until he flicks my nose. “They’re leaving us behind. Come on.” A laugh that sounds like he has not a worry in life, and he’s off, as I battle the dense mud to lift my feet.
I follow Mack and the rest of the group, reduced to dark silhouettes in the distance, for what feels like another hour, pushing through tiredness and thirst. But when the path abruptly bends to the right, I let out a relieved whimper; the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel has never been so bright.
Tabitha, standing under a pillar of light filtering in from a small opening above us, waits for everyone to regroup around her before saying, “We’re almost there. Merya, radio the others, please. We need the gate open in fifteen, not a minute later.”
Mack stares at me, arms crossed. “Heart above your knees, or you’ll faint.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?” I ask, still struggling to breathe, but slowly straightening myself up.
Despite sweat and dirt, Mack seems to nestle an everlasting ball of energy within him. But I’m glad to see I’m not the only one battling fatigue after our long walk.
Jyn’s wrinkles stretch deeper as if his skin has lost all its moisture. Tabitha’s warm skin tone has turned dull, and the white of her eyes is a web of bloody filaments.
Her hand shakes slightly when she detaches a radio from her belt and passes it to Merya, “I told them to be ready on channel two. Just send the message and get off the channel before they can intercept you.”
Merya’s face is a portrait of urgency. Her jaw clenched, her skin so stretched, when she white-knuckles the radio from Tabitha and rigidly bobs ayesbefore heading for the point where the light intensifies.
We all wait, holding our breath. Not sure what to expect, I mirror the others and remain immobile, with my eyes fixed on Merya, as she plays around with the transmitter’s switches. Crackling noises fill the air like wood in the fire, but soon the noises turn into distant voices.
