The going is brutal.
My lungs are searing, each breath a ragged, agonizing gasp. Hestia, a half-dozen paces ahead, doesn't falter. She moves with an uncanny confidence, a sure-footedness that belies her frail appearance, weaving through a landscape of treacherous scree and shadowed ravines. She's been here before, with the scouts. She knows this path. This sanctuary.
We are a ragged, frantic chain of humanity stretched across the hostile terrain. I can hear the labored breathing of the person behind me, the scraping of boots on rock, the occasional stifled sob that cuts through the panting of our collective exertion. We are a flock of birds scattered by a predator's shadow, each instinctively following the one in front, praying the one ahead knows the way to a nest that may not even exist.
Arden is a grim, steadfast presence near the rear of our small column, a lanky silhouette against the twin moons, urging on the stragglers. His movements, so slow and deliberate in the training yard, are now economical and precise. Every glance, every gesture is calculated for maximum efficiency, a quiet authority that holds our fragile column together.
He's trying to give them hope.
But I know better.
He knows better.
We are running for our lives, and hope is a luxury we can no longer afford. There is only the next step, the next breath, the next desperate scramble up a loose slope of shale, the burning in our muscles a testament to our borrowed time.
I'm not even sure if we will buy much time at all if we make it to wherever Hestia's leading us to.
But it's all we can do. It's all we can do unless we choose to go back. To turn around. Let ourselves be captured.
I refuse.
My gaze keeps drifting back to the scene behind us. The compound is now a glowing beacon of destruction, bathed in the harsh white light of the alien ship. Small figures are being herded into the landing craft, their movements sluggish, their postures defeated.
My stomach clenches when I think about the people who didn't get out.
The people who are being caught.
The people who are being put back into the cages of the system.
The thought is like a physical weight, pressing down on me, threatening to crush me with its enormity.
But I can't think about that now.
I can't.
I have to focus on the now.
On the path ahead.
On Hestia.
On the mountains.
We're close now, so close I can feel the change in the air, the temperature dropping, the wind picking up, carrying with it the scent of damp rock and something else... something ancient and wild.
The terrain becomes even more treacherous, a maze of narrow canyons and sheer cliffs. The path we're on is little more than a goat track, a narrow ledge that winds its way up the side of a cliff, the drop below a dizzying, stomach-churning void.
Hestia doesn't hesitate. She navigates the path with an ease that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. She's like a mountain goat herself, sure-footed and unafraid, her small body a flicker of motion against the dark rock.
We follow, our hearts in our throats, our hands scrabbling for purchase on the rough stone. One wrong step, one misjudged move, and we're all dead.
But we don't fall.
We keep climbing.
The sun is just beginning to rise, a pale wash of pink and orange in the eastern sky, when we finally reach the entrance to the caves. It's a dark, gaping maw in the face of the cliff, a silent invitation that feels more like a threat.
Hestia stops at the entrance, her body tense, her head cocked to one side, as if listening to something we can't hear. Then she turns to us, her eyes wide, and gestures for us to follow her inside.
Arden is the last one in, pulling a large rock over the entrance, a futile gesture, but one that feels necessary nonetheless. The cave is plunged into near-total darkness, the only light coming from a few small glow-sticks that someone had the presence of mind to grab.
The sudden silence is deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos of our flight. The only sounds are our ragged breaths, the dripping of water somewhere in the depths of the cave, and the soft sobs of the younger ones who have finally succumbed to their fear.
My legs give out from under me, and I slump to the ground, my body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. Hestia is beside me in an instant, her small body a comforting weight against my side.
I can tell she's there but for some reason I just...
Don't really feel much about it.
I'm too tired.
My body is...
It's heavy.
I'm heavy.
I'm empty.
Too tired. That's the thing. It's all... just... too much. I am too tired.
For anything.
It's not physical. The exhaustion goes deeper than that. A bone-deep weariness that settles in my soul, a profound and hollow ache that echoes the cavernous emptiness of my own heart.
The image of Ivan slumped over the controls, the shocking spray of blood across the console, replays in my mind with a vivid, sickening clarity. And then Eric. Standing there. So calm. So placid. The gun in his hand. His eyes, empty one moment, filled with a desperate, agonizing plea the next.
Run, Sarah.
Run.
My own breathing hitches, a raw, ragged sound that is swallowed by the cavern's vastness. I bury my face in my hands, a silent scream building in my chest, a scream that has no outlet, no release.
I can't.
I can't do this.
I can't be the strong one. I can't be the leader. I can't be the one who holds everyone together. I'm just a girl. A girl from Oregon who wanted nothing more than a normal life, a summer vacation, a future.
Mia was the cheerful one. The decisive one. Eric made hard decisions.
And Ivan...
Ivan was the one who knew what to do.
And now he's gone.
They're all gone.
A single, hot tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek, a tiny, insignificant river in the vast desert of my grief. I don't wipe it away. I let it fall. Let it join the others that are sure to follow.
...But I suppose I didn't have much choice about those tears falling, anyway.