Stung - By Bethany Wiggins Page 0,69
time my legs are burning almost as much as my arms are, and my palms are wet with blood instead of sweat, the air changes. Dry heat is replaced with sweltering damp that clings to my skin and makes it hard to breathe. The lower I climb, the cooler the damp air becomes, taking on the smells of rock and dirt. And the tunnels.
I take another step down, and my foot doesn’t land on a rung but on solid ground. Hands grab my shoulders and pull me backward, but it is too dark to see who it is. A callused hand tears the mask from my face and clamps down over my mouth. I sag with defeat, for I am certain I’m caught. Whether by the militia, the Inner Guard, or the raiders, I can’t say.
I struggle against the hand, catch the calluses between my teeth and bite, but the hand doesn’t release. “It’s me, Tommy,” the owner of the hand whispers into my ear. “We’re not safe yet. So shut up, stop trying to bite me, and hurry.” He releases my mouth and takes my hand in his, pulling me slowly through the dark.
“Where’s Bowen,” I whisper. “He’s gone. And shut up!” Tommy hisses.
Gone? As in dead? I can hardly walk. All I want to do is fall to the floor and weep. Bowen is gone, and now I have nothing to live for and nowhere to go. I hang my head and let Tommy lead me.
We don’t walk far, but with every step the fetid smell of the tunnels grows stronger, the air thicker with moisture. Mist coats my tongue with each breath, and the hard ground gives way to water. Cool liquid oozes into my shoes and soaks my socks, filling the spaces between my toes.
Tommy slows his pace. “Stop splashing! You’ll give us away,” he warns. Do I care if I give us away? I care if I give Tommy away, but not myself. I silently ease my feet through the ankle-deep water. After we’ve taken too many steps to count, we stop.
“Duck,” Tommy says, clasping the crown of my head and pushing down. I fall onto hands and knees, slopping slimy water onto my face. “Crawl.” We slosh through the water. The hard floor grinds against my knees and stings my torn palms.
Tommy stops and then light fills the dark. A single match burns between his fingers. We crouch in a low-ceilinged cement tunnel filled with stagnant water and cobwebs. And huddled on the side of the tunnel are Arrin and Bowen.
Bowen’s eyes meet mine and he smiles. I stand and throw myself at him, framing his face with my hands. He sags backward against the stone wall, totally limp, and I press my lips to his. His arm comes around my waist and lies lifelessly there, holding me gently to him. And then he returns the kiss like I’m the blood transfusion he needs to stay alive.
His lips are cool, yet spill warmth through my entire body. I hold his face firmly against mine and feel as if I’m going to burst with the knowledge that he lives.
Quiet laughter fills the tunnel. “Now I see why you’re so attached to her, Bowen. You’re gettin’ sugar,” Tommy says.
I pull away and look into Bowen’s eyes. “I thought you were dead. Tommy said you were gone and I thought …”
The match flickers out, and I use the darkness as an excuse to kiss him again, deeper, slower. Another match scratches, and light flickers on the tunnel wall.
“Ew. You guys are gross,” Arrin says. “Can we go already? Before she accidentally eats him?”
Bowen sighs into my mouth and I lean away, combing the hair off his forehead, studying his face for a brief moment. With a smile plastered to my face, I stand and help Bowen to his feet. He doesn’t wobble, even a little, and my mouth falls open. He smiles again. “Guess the IV’s working its magic,” he says. “But I’m still weak. And still losing a bit of blood.”
I peer at his bare, blood-covered stomach and wince. I am the one who did that to him.
The match flickers and goes out again. Tommy lights a third.
“Didn’t you pack a flashlight?” I ask.
“You’re so stupid!” Arrin grumbles.
“Of course I packed a flashlight,” Tommy says. “But there’s no way we’re getting out of here that easy. Not with you along, Fiona Tarsis. The militia will scan the ground for any type of energy current, except fire.