Page 61 of Their Will be Done

I stab it.

The machine remains dead.

Tick-fucking-tock, Trinity.

I drag my fingers down my face and stab the button again.

Nothing.

Dad had a laptop too. Never used it, but heard him swearing at it all the time.

Dead battery.

Battery died.

Gotta plug it in.

Cables.

The cables!

My hands are shaking so hard that I drop the bundle of cables twice as I scramble over the floor to the nightstand.

There’s a lamp on it—has to be a power outlet nearby.

Tick. Fucking. Tock.

I yank the nightstand away from the wall, rip out the lamp’s plug, and shove in the laptop’s charger.

What time is it? How long has this all taken?

Don’t look at the time, it’ll only slow you down. They always get it wrong in the movies. Always looking back to see how far they’ve run, then—BAM! Dead.

Don’t die, Trinity.

I fumble with the other end of the charger, but I can’t get that tiny plug in that teeny little hole.

Stop.

Breathe.

Calm down.

Now try the fuck again.

It clicks into place.

“Fucking hallelujah.” My voice sounds hoarse and broken.

I stab the power button. The screen switches from black to gray.

“Oh God, please.Please.” I hike up the side of my dress and fumble in my underwear for the drive.

It’s not there.

I spin around, my eyes going wide. No. No! Did I drop it? Did it fall out while I was wriggling around under the bed?

PINGgoes the laptop.

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