Nameless

  It takes every ounce of my strength to submit to the warden's demands and sit up straight. It takes even more inner strength not to look away from him.

  He's wearing a standard uniform: clunky, steel boots; black pants; and a matching shirt with the underground logo on the hem. His hair is the same color as the moonstone walls, and his skin is so pale it's nearly translucent. His features are human-like, but his liquid silver eyes lack any human emotion.

  "He paid for over five hours," he tells me, pointing at the visitor lingering near the door. "You better make sure he leaves a satisfied, fully recharged customer, especially after that little stunt you pulled the other day. I don't know why you think you can get past the iron circle, but the more you try, the higher I'll up the voltage."

  I fight back the urge to spring to my feet and strangle him with my bare hands. I attempted that a few times in the past and quickly learned the wardens are a lot stronger than me.

  His lips curl into a grin and he marches back to the door. "The timer starts as soon as the door shuts," he says to the visitor. "And don't go easy on her. She can handle anything."

  "I won't," he says, his thrilled tone making my stomach knot.

  I lower my gaze to the floor as the door clicks shut, expecting him to come at me right away, but several minutes pass in silence.

  He must be drawing it out, toying with me.

  Finally, after what feels like forever, I hear him walking toward me. I struggle to get air into my lungs, and my body shakes so badly my muscles are locking up. I can't go through this again. My mind can't endure pain. Neither can my body.

  "Just hang on for a few minutes longer," he whispers, his voice astonishingly warm. "Then this will all be over."

  I dig my fingernails into my palms until the flesh splits open. Over? It'll never be over.

  He starts humming as he wanders around. I hear metal scratching metal and wonder what he's doing, but I don't have the courage to look up.

  "Why did they make this cell's walls out of moonstone?" he murmurs. "Usually, they're brick or concrete."

  Who is he talking to? Is someone else in here?

  Usually, I don't have multiple visitors at a time, but when I do ... I shiver at the thought.

  Please don't let this be happening.

  "Did you get it shut down yet?" the guy utters under his breath.

  "I'm working on it," a deeper voice echoes through the cell, sharp and static-charged, as if flowing through a speaker. "Just give me a few seconds."

  "You're taking too long," the guy inside my cell says. "If you don't get it shut down now, we're not going to have enough time."

  "Don't fucking tell me things I already know," the deep voice growls. "I'm working as fast as I can."

  There's some clicking, static, and then a low buzz radiates through the air. I fight the urge to cover my ears, even though the noise drills against my eardrums. When I hear the door glide open, I begin to tremble.

  "All right, it's done." The deep voice is louder and clearer, and I realize he's inside my cell now. "We have about ten minutes before the systems come back up." He pauses. "Shit, she looks bad."

  "I know," the other agrees. "I heard the warden mention that she tried to get out of the iron circle. I think they might be punishing her by revoking food and water."

  They both grow silent, except the sound of their heavy breathing. I hate that I can hear them, hate that they're in my cell. I hate that they're dragging out whatever they're going to do to me.

  "Are you sure she'll survive if we try to take her out of the cell?" the one with the deeper voice asks.

  "The warden said she's stronger than most, so she should," the other says. "Although, he didn't tell me why she's so strong."

  "Maybe from experiments."

  "No. I don't think that's going on in this section."

  "Always the optimist."

  "Always the pessimist."

  One of them sighs heavily.

  "Fine, let's just get her out of here before the system boots back up."

  Their words register belatedly. Get me out of here? They're acting as if they're about to save me from this place. But no, there's no way. They have to be here for a different reason. Maybe they're taking me to the dumping grounds?

  No, I'm not dead yet, I want to say, but when my dry lips part, no words come out. Summoning up every ounce of my courage, I peek through my arms. Right in front of me are a pair of clunky boots. A lot of visitors who pass through here wear similar boots, and the sight of them sends a jolt of fear through me.

  "It's okay." His voice is soft and cautious.

  I don't relax. Some visitors like to play games and make me think everything is okay just so they can watch me relax then break me. Instilling fear gets excited. And I sometimes stupidly trust them, believing maybe there's a drop of goodness in one of them.

  The boots shift forward, and suddenly, a guy is crouched down in front of me with his face lowered and his gaze level with mine.

  I find his face surprisingly less intimidating than I imagined. Usually, visitors are rougher with evil, threatening eyes that turn silver when they're hungry. His crystal blue eyes don't carry a threat. If anything, he looks sad and something else. It's been a while since I've seen it. Worried?

  A strange feeling rises inside of me. Safe? Is that what this feeling is? It's so foreign, but I want to hold on to it, wish I could touch it so I could know for sure that it's real.

  "How coherent is she?"

  My head jerks up, and my gaze skims the area until I spot the other guy standing near the door. He looks rugged with blond hair shaved on one side, metal barbells ornamenting his eyebrows and lips, and tattoos cover his neck. He's dressed in heavy layers: a leather jacket over a grey hoodie and a black T-shirt underneath. His baggy cargo pants are tucked into his unlaced boots, and his eyes are set on me.

  I scramble away until my back slams against the wall.

  "Easy there." The one in front of me holds up his hands. He's wearing fingerless gloves, and the pads of his fingers are coated with dirt, the skin raw, rough, very human-like. "We're not here to hurt you. We're here to help."

  I glance back and forth between the two of them then recoil, unsure what to believe. I've played this game before, the building of trust and breaking of it. I've just never seen a visitor pull off such a compassionate look before.

  The guy in front of me tracks my gaze. "That's Blaise," he tells me. "I know he looks a little rough, but I promise he's not that bad."

  I stare at the guy, Blaise, with distrust. He looks rough and angry, like the rest of the visitors.

  Blaise carries my gaze for a drop of a second and then shifts his gaze to the other guy. "Can you just undo the cuffs so we can get out of here?"

  The guy in front of me nods then turns around and skims me over. "You poor thing." He frowns, shaking his head. "I can't believe they did this to you. It never gets easier to see." When his gaze elevates to mine, his eyes are watery. "I'm Ryder. You can trust me, okay?"

  Trust? I don't understand.

  Ryder's gaze falls to the cuffs on my wrists as he pats the pockets of his oversized, green jacket. "Fuck. Did you by chance bring a rod?" he calls over his shoulder. "I forgot mine,"

  "You always forget everything." Blaise strides toward us, reaching inside the pocket of his leather jacket. When he removes his hand, his fingers are clasped around a cylinder the same shape and size as the wardens' beating sticks.

  A whimper escapes my lips. I try to inch farther away, but the wall stops me.

  "Blaise," Ryder hisses. "Move more slowly. You're scaring her."

  Blaise halts in the middle of the cell, his brows furrowing. "I'm not doing it on purpose."

  "I know." Ryder sighs, pushes to his feet, and strides over to Blaise. He takes the cylinder from Blaise's hand then returns his attention to me. "I'm just going to crash the magnetic current, and then we're going to get you out of here." He cautiously crouches down in front of me and
reaches for my ankles.

  I stop breathing. I wish I could trust him, but I don't know how. The word... trust... It doesn't mean anything to me. I've heard it before, but it was always right before a visitor placed their hands on my chest. Trust me, they whispered.

  My breathing turns ragged as Ryder inches the narrow object toward the cuffs binding my ankles. He twirls the cylinder around until the cuffs make a soft clank. My ankles are briefly yanked together before forced apart. The cuffs snap apart and fall off, hitting the concrete. My skin underneath is raw, warm blood seeping out.

  Confusion sets in. Why are they taking the cuffs off? No one has taken them off in years.

  "Now I'm going to take the ones off your wrists." Ryder waits a moment before gently placing a hand on my arm.

  I wrench back, the metal cuffs cutting into my skin.

  "Sorry." He hastily lifts his hand off me. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not sure if you can understand me, but I have to get these cuffs off so we can get you out of here before the wardens figure out we're not really visitors."

  He's not really a visitor? Then what is he? I'm not sure, which means I should be scared, and I am, yet when he reaches for me again, I hold perfectly still. My heartbeat is deafeningly loud inside my eardrums as I watch him move.

  Instead of placing a hand on my arm again, he sets his fingers on the outside of the cuff. Using the tip of the cylinder, he breaks the magnetic current. The cuffs slip from my wrists and hit the ground with a loud clank.

  A strange sensation overcomes me as I stare at my bare arms and ankles. Am I really free? Is this really happening?

  "Do you think you can stand up?" Ryder asks me, sitting back on his heels.

  I remain unmoving, scarcely breathing, as I wait for something to happen: for him to hit me, tell me to take this pill, drink this, do that, put needles in my arms. Then he'll set his hands on my chest and steal something from inside me. But all he does is patiently wait for me to answer.

  "I don't ..." My voice cracks. "I haven't ..." Frustration builds inside me when the right words won't leave my lips. I give up and start to rise to my feet.

  My knees knock together as my legs wobble, and I buckle right back down to the floor.

  Ryder frowns then glances at Blaise. "Someone's going to have to carry her out." He sweeps his fingers through his blond hair, making the strands go askew. "Are you going to be okay getting us out of here without me being your back up?"

  "If we get out of here before the system reboots, I won't need backup. But you can't carry her all the way out." Blaise's gaze flicks to me before settling back on Ryder. "You're the one who has to get scanned. The codes were set up for you."

  Ryder stuffs the cylinder into his jacket pocket. "You can hold her while I get scanned."

  Blaise grinds his teeth, tossing a reluctant look in my direction.

  The corner of Ryder's mouth twitches. "Don't look so afraid, Blaise. She's just a girl."

  "I'm not afraid of her." His voice shoots up an octave, and he shakes his head at himself. "Let's just get her out of here before the systems come back on. We'll worry about backup if and when we need it."

  Ryder nods before twisting back toward me. "I'm going to carry you out of here. If I don't, there's a good chance the wardens might show up before we get out. I know you're scared, but I promise we won't hurt you."

  Fear strangles me as he reaches for me. I start to cower back, but the look in his eyes makes me pause. I don't see any anger inside them, no desire to harm me, just pain and worry. I don't fully understand it, but I manage to stay where I am and let him scoop me up in his arms.

  "See? Not so bad." A faint smile touches his lips as he straightens his legs and stands up. "Now we just need to get out of here, and then this'll all be over."

  The nearness of him terrifies me as his arms wrap underneath me, causing my body to shake uncontrollably. But how carefully he holds me makes it seem okay to stay put, to trust him in a way I've never trusted anyone before.

  Still, I'm terrified. I concentrate on breathing. Breathing, that's easy.

  Ryder follows Blaise out of the cell, pressing me against him until my cheek rests against his chest.

  Air in. Air out. Air in. Air out. Breathe, Allura. Just breathe.

  "Wait, I think there was one more cell down here, wasn't there?" Ryder asks Blaise as we exit the cell.

  "We don't have time for another rescue mission. The orders were to get her out. That's it. We need to go now." Blaise sounds agitated. "The systems could turn on at any second, and then this whole place is going to be swarming with wardens."

  My muscles convulse, and I clutch the front of Ryder's shirt. If the wardens catch them, Blaise and Ryder will probably be tortured and killed. I've seen them kill each other over less. And I'll be left to be punished over and over again.

  "It'll only take a minute to get into the cell. Just run and check," Ryder pleads. "I won't be able to live with myself if there's a possibility we left one behind."

  "Fine," Blaise grumbles then hurries off somewhere.

  While we wait for him to return, Ryder rocks me back and forth, humming under his breath. I find the movement comforting enough that I dare lift my head up to peer around.

  I haven't stepped foot outside of the cells in forever. I forgot what was out here. I used to imagine a better place on the other side of the steel door. It's not. In fact, it might be worse.

  The long hallway is narrow enough that I instantly feel claustrophobic. The walls are made of a darker, smoother stone than moonstone and release a potent stench. The florescent lights are too bright, and the air reeks of rotting death, blood, and filth. The stench is so overwhelming I dry heave.

  "Just hang on a few more seconds." Ryder traces his fingers in a circular pattern across my back.

  I peek up at his face. He's not looking at me but down the hallway. Stubble covers his chin, and strands of his blond hair hang in his eyes. Every once in a while, he tries to blow them out of the way. The way he moves is so human. Most visitors are robotic, rigid, and stiff. Maybe he's not a visitor.

  As if sensing me watching him, his gaze lowers and we lock eyes. His lips part. But before he can say anything, I look away and focus on a faded spot on his grey shirt.

  He adjusts me in his arms. "Do you know your name?"

  I smash my lips together, unsure how to respond. I was always told I don't have a name, that I'm a Nameless. But I don't want to be a Nameless anymore.

  It's been years since I said my name aloud. I'm not even sure where the name in my head came from, or if it's really my name, but it's been in my thoughts for as long as I can remember.

  "It's okay," Ryder says in a gentle tone. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

  But I want to tell him. Whether it's really my name or not, I want to have a name, want to know I still exist.

  "Allura," I whisper. "My name is Allura.

  "Allura." A smile graces his lips. "It's a beautiful name."

  I breathe in the sound, feel the realness of it. Allura. I exist.

  "The other cell was empty," Blaise hollers from up the hallway.

  "I wonder if they died." Ryder curses under his breath. "I'm getting so sick of this shit. There's too much death in this world."

  "You can have a meltdown when we get back," Blaise says with urgency. "Right now, we need to get out of here before there's more deaths."

  "Yeah, I know," Ryder mumbles. "But one day, I swear to God I'm going to find a way to end this. Wardens may think we're weak, but they have a weakness, too. Everyone does." His chest heaves as he blows out a breath then whirls around and strides down the hallway.

  "Which way was it? Left or right?" Ryder asks, quickening his stride.

  There's a faint beep, and then Blaise barks, "Left."

  I bounce in Ryder's arms as he sharply veers left and picks up his pace to a jog. Afraid he's going to drop me, I grip on more tightly and duck my head against his chest.


  "It's okay. It's okay," he keeps saying. "We're almost there."

  "Now right," Blaise says. "And then, in just a few steps, we'll make another left."

  "Goddammit, it's a maze down here." Ryder's boots scuff against the ground as he dodges right then left.

  "I think that's the point," Blaise shouts over another beep. "It makes it harder for intruders and prisoners to get in or out." Beep. Beep. Beep. "Fucking sensors are going off like crazy. The cameras haven't turned on yet, but the systems are close to rebooting." He jogs up beside Ryder. "Once they come on, they're going to be able to track us down within minutes."

  "Then we better move faster." Ryder takes off in a mad sprint. "Get out your gun and be ready."

  Gun? That's not going to stop a warden.

  When I first came to the channels, during one of my few attempted escapes, I tried to hit a warden with a beating stick I stole. When the metal stick connected with the warden's jaw, the stick snapped in half. The warden laughed at me then beat me until I was bloody and broken.

  "Guns ... won't ... hurt"--I suck in a huge inhale--"them."

  Ryder offers me a reassuring smile. "We know. But the bullets are made of titanium, and it slows them down." His smile vanishes as his head snaps up. "Shit, I think I hear them."

  In sync, Ryder and Blaise both rush forward. My fingers clasp Ryder's shirt as he maneuvers from side to side. Blaise keeps muttering about being lost and that he can smell the "fucking bastard wardens all over everything." I'm not sure what he means. I've never noticed a smell. Maybe I'm used to it.

  Ryder tries to reassure me at least ten times that we'll be fine, but I start to wonder if we will find our way out. The wardens warned me, if I ever tried to escape, death would be waiting for me in the channels.

  "Wait a minute ... I think I see ... Yep, there's the exit." Ryder slams to a halt in front of an enormous glass box with thousands of blue rays of light shining inside. "Here, hand me the gun and take her while I get scanned then run through when the doors open. I'll have to rescan before I can get out." He leans forward and places me in Blaise's arms. "God, you can run straight into gunfire, but ask you to hold a girl and you look like you're about to piss your pants."

  "Shut the hell up," Blaise snaps, his arms rigid as he tries to support my weight without fully touching me.

  I jump at the sound of his booming voice and squirm, ready to scramble out of his arms.