Trapped

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Authors: Chris Jordan
dissipate. All
    she knows is that at some point she can wiggle her toes, raise
    her languid arms and let them droop across her chest like
    melted bones. Could be hours, days, eternity.
    Thoughts slowly surface out of the inky black, like a die
    rising inside a Magic 8-Ball. The usual 8-Ball answers, too:
    Outlook not so good. Ask again later.
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    Chris Jordan
    She manages to place her tingling palms on the floor, detects
    the familiar roughness of concrete. Not bare ground, concrete.
    Is it night outside, is that why the darkness is so absolute?
    Wait, how does she know she’s inside rather than outside?
    Sluggish thoughts, and then she knows the answer.
    Because it feels inside. The closed silence, the still air, a kind
    of muffled feeling. Definitely in, not out. Enclosed.
    On impulse she flails, looking for a wall. Wanting to find
    an edge, a shape to the world.
    Nothing.
    You’re a baby, she thinks. Lying on the floor like a baby,
    flailing around. Get up. Do something. Learn something.
    Find a way back to the world.
    It takes forever, and she has to endure a violent swirl of
    dizziness, but Kelly eventually turns over, manages to get on
    her hands and knees. Huffing the thick air because the effort
    makes her feel faint.
    Hot, stuffy. Wherever she is, that place can’t be very large.
    The darkness is close, pressing. Slowly, very slowly, she crawls,
    struggling to keep her balance. Not wanting to fall over like
    some cheesy mechanical baby toy. Boink, I fall down, Mommy!
    Counting as she crawls. One two three, four five six.
    Seven finds a wall. A very solid wall. Slippery smooth
    surface. Steel, like the cafeteria counters in school.
    Now we’re getting somewhere, she thinks, and the thought
    becomes a giggle. Now we’re getting somewhere? As if! Hi-
    larious. Ironic. Whatever.
    Keep going. Orient yourself. You wanted to learn to fly,
    flygirl? Seth’s first flight lesson pours into her brain, and it
    helps, hearing his gentle confident voice.
    First rule, know where you are. Find the horizon. Very
    good, keep your wings level. Trust your balance, but trust the
    Trapped
    73
    instruments even more. It’s all about perception, judgment,
    making choices. The choices you make keep you alive.
    I choose to crawl, she thinks. Another giggle. But her
    body keeps trying, keeps moving. She nudges along the wall,
    counting as she crawls.
    One two three four five.
    Six smacks her head. Not hard enough to see stars. She’d
    love to see stars, love to find the sky, locate a constellation,
    but all she’s located is a corner. Ninety degrees. Steel walls
    intersecting. Still, it means something. The world has a
    corner. The shape of it begins to form in her mind. A small
    shed? A big steel box? Where is she and why is she here?
    What about Seth? What about her mom? What about the
    beautiful airplane, and the fantastic flight that somehow
    turned out wrong? What happened? Why?
    Thoughts starting to click along as the drug wears off.
    Suddenly the air moves. And then she sees the light.
    Shocking, blinding light. Light that stops her heart. Almost
    in the same instant, the sound of a door closing. A vault door,
    heavy and solid and forever.
    The light scares her. The light makes her want to pee her
    pants. She has to pee anyhow and this makes it worse, much
    worse. She starts to cry because she hates, she really really
    hates being afraid. Long ago she decided that being afraid is
    what makes you start to die. She’s been there, done that,
    doesn’t want to go back.
    With all the courage she can muster, Kelly forces her eyes
    open. Sees her hands on the concrete floor—she got that part
    right. Turns her head, willing herself to look directly at the
    light.
    Lamp.
    Someone has shoved a small, portable lamp inside the
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    Chris Jordan
    door. The kind of battery-operated lamp you might use while
    camping. The light it throws is actually pretty feeble, but it
    reveals a steel-walled room, maybe eight feet by ten feet, and
    a

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