around, staring up at the searing light. Just then, something floated past the door and down the steps, landing feet from where he lay. With a shaky hand, he reached out and picked up the stem of an orange leaf, wet and dripping. He brought it to his nose and inhaled.
It was the smell of freedom. Of hope.
If he could just get his body to move fast enough because, again, it was too good to be true. Any second the door might close again.
He parted his cracked lips and set the leaf between them. Then he took his car and stabbed the end of it into his palm. The pain awakened him. It gave his body one final surge of fire to move.
Dropping it, he reached his arms out and crawled ever so slowly to the light.
He crawled up the stairs, groaning because everything hurt, and as he groaned, the leaf fell out from between his lips, landing on the stair, but he didn’t take it back again. Every movement was strenuous enough. Everything pulsed like a raw, oozing wound. It all hurt so much, his eyes pricked with tears, but he was not going to cry.
He was not a baby.
He climbed like it was a mountain, and every step forward brought him closer to the summit.
He climbed because something inside him hadn’t entirely died. His old self clung in the deepest part of him. A part he was not going to reach for anymore, but it still existed, and it whispered for him to, Move. Move faster. Climb, Max.
The voices in his head grew.
He heard Conor’s voice. Move, Max.
He heard Dominic chanting. Move, move, move.
He heard Jem crying out, You’re not afraid. I was wrong, Max. Move.
All the voices came together, telling him to go, go, go.
No one’s going to rescue you but you.
You’re going to climb.
You’re going to do it yourself.
Because you’re not afraid.
There’s nothing to fear anymore.
He reached the top and let out a final groan, hauling his body out of that hole. A guttural scream escaped him as he dug his fingers into the soil and moved his entire body out, dragging himself further and further away from the belly of the beast.
Then he stopped, dizzy from exhaustion, eyes blinking rapidly from the colours and the light. He turned and fell on his back, staring up at the sky as light rainfall pattered over his face. There was no sun, just dark clouds and the peaceful drizzle.
The sound of wings flapped nearby. He turned his head ever so slowly toward it. He watched with heavy eyes as a black raven landed beside him, its face turned in his direction, its dark eyes meeting his.
It caw-cawed, then rattled, edging closer to him.
He raised a weak arm out to it, opening his hand but not touching it. The raven rattled and dropped its head into his open palm, moving along and stopping at his wrist for a touch longer. He felt its beak brush along his skin, and then it cawed and shuffled around him.
He twisted his head around, following its movement. He waited for it to lose interest and fly away, but it stayed by his side, dropping its head occasionally to touch upon him like…like he was one of them.
It cawed again, louder this time. Its dark eyes met his again, and he stared into those eyes, lost in a trance.
Then, a calm feeling washed over him.
“No one’s going to rescue you,” he whispered to himself, his resolute voice foreign to his ears. “No one’s coming for you. You have to get out of here yourself.”
He sucked a few breaths in, readying his body, telling himself this would only be over if he made it so.
Then he began to move.
First, he rolled to his belly, wincing from the pain. He set his palms down flat on the earth and slowly rose, like he was doing half of a push-up. The world went dizzy, but still he went, next with his knees. And now he was on his hands and knees and the world was still spinning, but it was okay, it was okay, he chanted that over and over again.
Finally, he stood.
His legs nearly buckled from the weight of him, which was strange enough because there was little left of him now. He was a skeleton. But there he was, standing, wobbling a tad, but standing straight and still staring at the sky, feeling the rain and the chill.