Page 46 of Devoured
Marion struggled to sit up, face going gray with the effort. Every inch she gained seemed to cost her something. But she got upright. “I can move. It’ll hurt like hell, but I can do it.”
I tried the same, bracing myself for the explosion of pain in my back. It felt like someone was hammering nails into my spine—like the carved V was on fire beneath my skin—but I stayed upright. “Yeah. I can do it too.”
“Pain medication will help,”Isaac said. “I can get you enough to function for a few hours. Not enough to make you numb—you’ll need to stay alert—but enough to move without passing out.”
“Then we go tonight.”Sela snapped the notebook shut. “Get some rest. Try to eat something if you can keep it down. You’ll need every ounce of strength you’ve got.”
The rest of the day crawled by in a haze of preparation and pain that felt like waiting for execution. Isaac brought food that tasted like nothing, but we forced it down, knowing our bodies needed fuel. He snuck extra medications from the supply closet—not just painkillers but antibiotics for the infections blooming in our wounds, anti-inflammatories to dull the swelling, stimulants to keep us awake and sharp.
Marion practiced sitting up, then standing, then taking a few steps around the narrow space between our beds. Each movement drained the color from her face, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool air—but she kept going. Kept pushing herself past what should have been possible.
I did the same, gritting my teeth against the fire in my lower back every time I put weight on my right leg. The carved V felt like it was splitting open with each step, but I forced myself to keep moving. To prove I could. To prove I had to.
“Your fever’s getting worse,”Isaac murmured, checking my forehead for the tenth time that evening. “The infection is spreading faster than the antibiotics can fight it.”
“I’ll make it.”I had to. The alternative was staying here for whatever Varnar had planned next—and that wasn’t an option. Death was preferable to that.
As darkness fell outside the barred windows, the ward settled into its nighttime routine. Nurses made final rounds. Patients were medicated into compliance, their moans and cries gradually fading into drugged silence. The lights dimmed to that murky half-brightness that made everything look like a bad dream you couldn’t wake up from.
Isaac brought us clean scrubs and real shoes—because we might need to run. “Twenty minutes,”he whispered, glancing at his watch. “I need to clock out first. Make everything look normal. Act like I’m going home for the night.”
After he left, Marion and I changed in silence. The clean scrubs hurt going on. When I pulled up the pants, the waistband pressed against the carved V, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Marion couldn’t lift her arms high enough for her shirt. I helped her, both of us moving slow and careful, like we might break if we weren’t gentle.
Sela appeared at exactly 2:00 AM. “Ready?”
We nodded, though ready felt like the wrong word for what we were. Marion gripped my hand as we started walking—both of us swaying but upright, held together by determination, medication, and the desperate need to escape.
“Remember,”Sela whispered as she led us toward the door, “walk normal. If anyone sees us, we’re going for emergency tests. Standard procedure. You’re patients. I’m staff. Nothing unusual.”
We passed the nurses’ station, where a single staff member sat reading, not even looking up. Down one hallway, then another—each corner a disaster waiting to happen. Any moment could bring security, staff, or someone who’d raise an alarm and drag us back to face consequences that would make our current injuries seem merciful.
But the building felt like it was holding its breath. Like the hospital wanted us to escape.
Sela led us to a maintenance door I’d never noticed, tucked between two patient rooms and marked with a sign: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. She swiped her card, and the lock clicked open with a sound that seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
Beyond was a narrow staircase, plunging into darkness.
“Service tunnel,”she whispered, pulling a small flashlight from her pocket. “Stay quiet and stay close. These tunnels connect to every part of the hospital—but it’s easy to get lost.”
The stairs were steep, and my lower back screamed with each step. The pain was so intense I had to cling to the railing just to stay upright. Marion lowered herself one step at a time, gripping the handrail with both hands, her face twisted with effort. The air grew colder as we descended, thick with moisture and the metallic stench of something foul.
At the bottom stretched a tunnel lined with pipes and electrical conduit, disappearing into darkness in both directions. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow that turned every shadow into something alive. Water dripped somewhere ahead, each drop echoing like a countdown.
“This way,”Sela breathed, guiding us left into the maze.
The tunnel curved and branched, connecting parts of the hospital I’d never imagined. Steam hissed from overhead pipes, filling the air with choking heat. Our footsteps echoed, no matter how carefully we walked, and I tried not to think about what would happen if we got lost down here in the dark.
Then we heard it—footsteps. Behind us. Getting closer.
Sela pushed us between two large pipes, pressing a finger to her lips. We froze, trying to disappear into the shadows, to become part of the infrastructure itself.
The footsteps came closer, now joined by whistling—a cheerful tune that made my skin crawl.
I recognized it.
Tobias rounded the curve, pushing a mop bucket. His face was still swollen from his fight with Isaac, but he was smiling, whistling like he was having the best night of his life. He passed within three feet of us—close enough that I could smell his cologne, mixed with something worse.
We didn’t breathe until he was gone, his whistle echoing down the tunnel like a nightmare in retreat.
