Free The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

his only comfort the steady heartbeat in his father chest as they scrambled down.
    The slabs were getting closer together. I could n’t get my arms above my head any more. I had to put them at my sides and wiggle like a snake. I stopped, listening for other voices. I could hear Matthew and Pelo; they sounded close.
    “Rosa, are you there? Turn ri ght when you get to the end and crawl through the pipe,” I heard my father say. I rolled my eyes. A pipe. Of course.
    Frederick’s boot tapped my head not so gently. “You all right?” he asked.
    “Uhuh ,” I managed as my head rattled from the tapping. I moved faster. My breath quickened. I needed to get out of this place. The thought of being crushed was overwhelming me, and I started to panic. I shimmied down until my boots hit the end. I looked right but could see no pipe. Light was coming from somewhere, but I couldn’t find the source. My heart was hammering in my chest. Did we take a wrong turn? My hands searched frantically around for an opening to the right, and I cut my finger on a piece of jagged iron.
    “Damn it .” I put my finger in my mouth, tasting metallic blood.
    T orchlight skimmed my hands. “Look up,” he said calmly.
    I looked up and to my right and, sure enough, there was a round opening. I heaved myself up and into it, scurrying along the pipe on my hands and knees like I was being chased. I fell out of the end abruptly, landing on the men who were waiting to catch me.
    Pelo laughed in a short, stressed kind of way.
    They righted me like a toppled bottle and then Frederick came out, landing on his feet with a thump. He smiled at me gently and then turned to the others. We were clustered at one end of a brick corridor, which was scrawled with angry black characters I couldn’t read. Everyone stared nervously at a shining, steel door. It was solid and ominous. It held every possibility to the point where I didn’t really want to open it.
    Matthew si ghed. “If anyone made it, they’ll be in there.”
    We all breathed in , didn’t breath out, and walked together.

     
    Silence can be a good thing…it lulls you to sleep, it calms a sore head. It could be welcome and warm. But this silence was a compound of fear and panic. It was thick and desperate. We perched like birds on a thin branch, three feet from the door, and listened for sounds of life. Nothing but stale, thin air seeped out from the gap at the bottom.
    Matthew had his head in his hands , worrying them back and forth like he could erase it. I grabbed the handle and felt it give easily under my shaking hand. It squeaked long and loud, and then I heard the most beautiful sound in the world. A cry.
    Pelo’s eyes were alight and eager. “Is that your…?”
    I paused, my hand still gripping the steel handle tightly. My relief was mixed with sadness. I knew Orry’s cry . I knew what each cry meant. Hungry, tired, frightened. I shook my head. “No. That’s Hessa.”
    I opened the door, and the screaming filled the space, echoing through what felt like a vast cavern. It was dark and could have been a room or a stadium for all I knew. But I could smell bodies, breath, and warmth pressed against warmth. Shoes shuffled. The smells of wool and rubber sneakers crisscrossed the silence.
    “It’s us,” Matthew yelled fervently. “It’s Matthew. We’re here. We made it.” His voice drained out at the end. I knew how he felt. We were sapped. Anything good and sweet drained from our bodies.
    Lights clicked on , flickering and revealing snapshots of joyful chaos. Everyone was talking, crying, and laughing. People crowded around me like flies to honey. It was obvious they were desperate for good news. They peppered me with questions until I wanted to sneeze.
    As the press of bodies and noise settled, the lights over us set the next one off until the whole space was bathed in cold, white light. Now I could see where we were. They were all here, thousands of people, dirty mouths finally