Light soaks through makeshift cotton curtains as it bleeds into the small, empty room that I’ve awoken in. Muggy air fills the confined space, seeping into the textured whitewashed walls that surround me. A thick musk coats the room, and the temperature is stiflingly warm. No vents or air flow has turned this foreign, tight space into a preheating oven. I feel a bead of sweat roll down my chest as I blink the murky film from my eyes. How long have I been out for? Where am I?

I place one arm behind myself and try to push up to a sitting position, but a fiery searing sensation fills my shoulders and stomach as I lay back down. I take a quick, painful glance over my right shoulder and I notice that I’m laying on a thin plastic blue mattress, resting atop a small wooden bed frame. The bed almost stretches the length of the room. Both my right arm and the side of my neck ache.

I remember Naia getting ripped from under the bed as I hid helplessly in the closet with Elyse. I remember fleeing the Colony. I remember the stars overhead, how terrifyingly vast the endless, starry sky felt. And finally, I remember Elyse falling helplessly to the ground after running into more intruders on the surface.

What happened to us? Where am I now? The room is empty, save for the bed and a single wooden chair sitting in front of the window. Where have they taken Elyse and Naia? They could be anywhere. And what was the attack about? Who were the intruders, and why am I still alive? Questions swirl through my head, clouding my thoughts.

I look to my throbbing right arm to see a deep purple bruise. A tiny pin prick sits snuggly in the center of the purples and blacks. A few cracks in the plaster webbing from the corners of the ceiling catch my eye. The room is old and run down, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m probably on the surface now and most of the surface has remained untouched for a long time. That’s what I can remember Jeremy telling us anyways. Thinking of my father and mentor makes me wish I had had a chance to say goodbye. What might have happened to him?

A shadow flashes across the window, squawking frantically as it flies past. I jump, painfully jerking my head towards the noise. I can’t reach the curtain, but I don’t need to pull back the cloth and expose the shadowy figure to recognize the animal as it hops back and forth on the window sill. The small outline would fit perfectly into my hand, singing it’s sweet, carefree song. Although I’m not sure I could identify types, I remember a good amount from Jeremy’s Instruction lessons on birds.

Longing to see more of the bird, I grit my teeth and push myself to a standing position. Pain shoots through my wrists and legs, and my head starts to spin as my blood flows towards my toes. After a few seconds, the bird’s crisp song fills my ears again and I slowly move towards the window. I peak between the folds of the curtain to see a small blue bird perched on the window. It’s orange breast and white underbelly puff and vibrate as it throws it’s high pitched squawks into the air. I catch the bird’s attention, and it stares intently in my direction for a few seconds. It emits a final chirp and takes flight.

I draw back, almost startled by the speed at which the bird vanishes. It flies towards the fiery yellow-orange horizon. Following the path of the bird, I squint towards the vibrant yellow ball hanging low in the sky. It burns my eyes as I glance across it, surprised by how much damage simple light causes my eyes. My mind wanders back to the lessons Jeremy taught us about the Earth and the Sun. I stretch my arms, reaching forward to grip the thick metal bars attached to my window. My pale skin catches the gleam of the gigantic setting star, absorbing my first few moments of pure sunlight. The light warms my face and tickles my forearms, something artificial light never did. A tingle runs up my spine as I close my eyes for a moment. I let the Sun beat down on me as I try to sort through my memories and emotions. The terror of the unknown feels suddenly real.

I am alone in this abandoned room, with no personal belongings and no idea how I got here. I was kidnapped by two men on our way away from the Colony. My friends were taken as well. Many, if not all, of the Colony dwellers are dead. Even as I try to tell myself to stay calm, I can feel my heart inching closer to my throat. Confusion sweeps through me, seeming to promise no answers and give no advise. I am lost.

Heavy footsteps tromp down the hallway outside of my room. I tighten my grip on the metal bars, trying to steady myself before turning my focus away from the Sun. Something clatters against the outside of the wooden door, clawing and scratching at the lock. I hear a small click, and the door pushes open. A large man dressed in a tattered t-shirt and cargo shorts pushes into the room, holding a fistful of assorted keys in one hand and a small bucket in the other. Sweat drips from the fat man’s elastic-like jowls, leaving a small trail as he moves farther into the room towards me.

The man makes eye contact with me, grunting as if he’s trying to tell me he’s seen me standing by the window. One meaty claw slips the keys into his pocket, while the other extends to grab the lone chair in the room, exposing the crook of his elbow. The skin around the veins is irritated and bruised, becoming more blotchy as the veins move away from the bend in his arm. Dirt covers the rest of his arm.

The man sits, parking his massive girth on the small wooden chair. His slimy forearms grease the wooden armrests of the small desk chair as I watch the fat man struggle to stay upright.

“You can sit or stand. I don’t much care. I’ll only be tellin’ you this once, so pay attention.” He speaks without breaking eye contact. Hundreds of questions flood through my mind as I watch the beefy man breathe heavily, attempting to catch his breath before he begins again.

“You will address me as Warden Krog. I am in charge of the prison sector here. You answer to me.” Prison sector? Where am I? What’s happening? I try to take it in, but I’m unable to comprehend the Warden’s simple statement.

“What have I done? Where am I?” I ask.

“Don’t ask questions, girl. You’ll learn your place quickly, and your place doesn’t come with the right to questions. You’re a member of the St. Louis Nation. You belong to us.” One hand leaves the window bars, falling limply to my side. I toss it into the air with a shrug.

“What’s going on here? What makes me your property? ” Krog cuts me off. He pitches the bucket towards me. I feel my body painfully tense as it strikes the window bars near my head. I swallow hard.

“I said no questions! What isn’t clear? You are my prisoner now and you will be used as the St. Louis Nation sees fit.” He points to the bucket on the floor. “That is your toilet, this is your cell, and you should view that window as a luxury. Misbehave and we’ll be sending you down below.” Krog grins. “And I do count questioning as misbehaving. Dispose of your waste out the window.” The Warden stands, pushing the chair away from his sausage-link legs. The fat around the man's eyes bounce as he moves, and a small pool of sweat sits on the edge of the chair. I picture the Bluebird dashing from my windowsill for a moment, and suddenly wish I could fly free of this strange, horrible man's clutches.

“A nurse will be in some time to check your vitals and determine when you can begin donating and how much you’ll be able to live without. As long as all of your tests check out, that is.” Krog starts towards the door, but I can’t help myself. I blurt the first thing that’s floating near the front of my brain.

“What will I be donating?” The man simply laughs as he puts a hand on the doorknob.

“You’ll donate whatever we tell you to donate. You’ll do whatever we tell you to do. You’re our property now, and we’ll do what we like.” Krog pulls his keys from his pocket as the door swings open.

“But, where am I?! What about my friends? Please, tell me what’s happening!” My shouts are worthless. Krog slams the door as he exits, locking it from the hallway. I’m alone, confused, and helpless to find my way out of this situation. I feel the heavy metal bars closing around my shoulders, pushing me towards the edge. With no one to bring me back, I worry that a meltdown might spell the end for me. Pain aches in my stomach, doubling me over. Terror grips my intestines, pulling me farther from reality and deeper into the web of doubt and inevitable failure resting deep in my skull. I’m lost, I’m helpless, and I have a sinking feeling that pain is coming my way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the setting Sun dip below the horizon. Deep reds and oranges are cast through my room, my prison cell. This is where I will die. I fall onto the blue mattress, bury my hands in my head, and being to cry.

Fear isn’t a new emotion. I felt fear during my time in the Colony. But nothing like this.

Panic, confusion, fear. They’re natural emotions, and there were many times when my familiar surroundings didn’t seem familiar at all. Waking up in a cold sweat during the middle of the night, hands gripped tightly to the edge of the small bed. I remember the isolated, vulnerable feelings sweep through me as I tried to distinguish dream from reality. I would expect monsters or shapes from the void to appear, swallowing me back into the darkness, but the confusion always seemed to pass and my sleepy brain would right itself eventually. Confusion and terror are natural parts of everyone’s life. But I’ve never experienced a night like tonight.

Darkness floods my prison cell. The lights went black hours ago, and the small sliver of a Moon does little to brighten the black space. I can see my hands near my face, but can’t make out familiar wrinkles or scars. My skin feels tight and confining, my jaw clenched shut indefinitely. The blank white walls stare as I rock, trying to sort out dream from reality. I slap myself, throw myself off the bed, bang my fists heavily against the locked wooden door. No one answers my cries for help. No one cares enough to open the door and set me free. Tears rush down my face as I slam my shoulders into the metal bars along my window, first the left shoulder, then the right. I feel bruises begin to bubble under my squishy, fat arms. This doesn’t slow my constant barrage of strikes. My knees tremble as I throw myself against the unwavering bars until I finally collapse onto the floor. I do not know where I am or why I am here. By the end of my rampage, I have accepted the fact that I will die in this room, alone, insane, helpless. I shut my eyes, trying to dam back the tears. My worn body accepts the moment of rest, subduing my conscious mind into almost instantaneous sleep.

I am awoken by the familiar rattling of keys against the outside of my door. The overhead light encased in a metal cage lights up above my head, and a woman enters the room. She closes and locks the door behind her, keys in her right hand and a small red bag in her left. I think about sitting up as she approaches but my body aches from my tirade and laying still seems to be the best solution to my pains. The woman pulls up the wooden chair next to my bed.

“Hello, Aly. My name is Patricia. I’m one of the nurses here.” The woman makes no eye contact as she speaks and she keeps her words short as she digs into the bag on her lap. “How do you feel?”

“Confused. Where am I?”

Patricia nods as if she was expecting my question.“I’m not sure what Warden Krog has told you, but you’re being kept in Prison Building Three.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why am I here? Why can’t I leave? Wardens, nurses, I thought the world was over. You’re not supposed to be up here. Who are you people?”

“Let me assure you, the world is not over. We’ve been surviving up here while the rest of you lived comfortably below the surface. You are the property of the St. Louis Nation now, that’s why you’re here.” The first few rays of sunlight sparkle through the window.

“The St. Louis Nation, what is that? Where did you people come from?”

Patricia withdraws a small plastic tube as she looks towards me. “We are the survivors. While you were bundled up tightly in your metal cathedrals we lived out the horrors that plagued this land after the fall of the Western hemisphere. We are a group of people sworn to survival, and we’re all prepared to do what we need to do to ensure we’re going to be alright. I can’t even give you an estimate on the number of St. Louis Nation members. We’re growing every day. We didn’t become the most powerful faction post-apocalypse by twiddling our thumbs. Now stick our your right arm,” she commands. My arm still throbs, the mysterious bruises rest in the crook of my elbow. I hesitate, but Patricia snatches my wrist in her fingers and uncomfortably pulls my limb straight. Pain explodes through my bicep and around my shoulder. I wince as the deep bruise continues to painfully pulsate.

Patricia withdraws a small needle and syringe from the red bag.

“Hold still” she demands. Before I can react, she’s digging the needle deep into my bruised arm, searching for a vein. I cry out, trying to draw back. Her fingers wrap tightly around my weak forearm, holding me in place as she continues to search for the blue tunnel.

“What are you doing?” I shout.

“Stop struggling and this won’t take more than a minute or two.”

“I never gave you permission to do this! Take that out of my arm! There’s no reason for this.” Panic floods through me as Patricia hits a vein. A deep crimson stream flows from the needle into the plastic tube.

“You don’t understand, sweetheart. You don’t have to give us permission to do anything. It’s actually quite the opposite now.” I try to lash out at the nurse, swinging a hand in her direction. Her head ducks my lazy attack with ease. Still maintaining her grip on my arm, she brings the other hand to her hip. A small pistol is strapped to her waist. I freeze, anticipating a bullet in my stomach.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Calm down and this will be over in a minute. I’m warning you, brat, if you try something like that again I’m not against shooting you and leaving you here to bleed out. You’ve got no bargaining chips anymore. This isn’t your cozy little Colony home. You’re in my world, and it’s time you understood that. Clear?” I nod, dropping my shaking hand towards the bed.

I sit motionless while she samples my blood. Patricia screws the cap tightly onto a small vial of the thick, maroon substance. I can feel my body reeling as it tries to make up for the loss of liquid. Even though I didn’t lose a substantial amount, I’ve got no idea when my last meal was or how much water I have left in me. My head nods back and forth and my ears buzz slightly.

“What’s it for?” I ask after I feel my head stabilize a bit.

“The blood? We’ve got tests to run on it before you’re useful to us. Until then, you’re on vacation.” Patricia cackles as she speaks, exposing her crooked yellow teeth. Years without any paste or floss seems to have taken a toll of her mouth.

“Why did all of this happen? Why did you decide to destroy us, and what happened to my friends? And the others from my Colony?”

“I never heard the exact number of Colony members living inside of that underground shell, but our infiltration of your community did show us that you were very well stocked and healthy. We’ve known about your Colony for months but last night was finally the night when the majority of our forces went ahead with the attack. From what I’ve heard today, you were the largest Colony we’ve taken down to date. Your home is pretty well cleaned out, no known survivors, and 13 new slaves. The results were pretty smashing, if I may say so myself.” Patricia cackles again and I feel anger bubbling in the tips of my fingers and on the front faces of my cheeks. I take a quick breath as I realized I haven’t inhaled since she started talking.

The nurse continues. “You really can’t figure out why we did this? I know it’s impossible for you, but try and put yourself in our position. We’ve been living up here for a long, long time. Without lights for the first few years, without substantial food for months on end. I can’t remember the last time I felt truly safe, or the last time I knew that the day after next would look like. We are all products of chance and timing, and you were fortunate when your time came. But for you to understand why we did what we did you would have to imagine yourself in scenarios and situations you wouldn’t believe if you tried. We may seem like the villains to you and I know that there’s nothing I can do to change that. But just remember what you’ve been through in relation to what I’ve been through.” Patricia finishes and I can’t contain myself any longer.

“What I’ve been through? My life hasn’t been all fun and games living underground. Sure I had a bed to sleep in and a warm meal every morning, but you’ve got no idea what kind of lonely it is living in those tunnels.”

Patricia cackles again. “Aw, you were lonely? You poor baby! Would you like me to find you a warm bottle or a blankie you can wrap up in? Your life sounds so difficult,” she mocks. “Forget all of us living up here fighting each and every day to avoid bullets and famine, your loneliness must have been killer!” Memories of sleepless nights and companion-less midnight walks dance through my brain, adding to the nurse’s torturous sarcasm. Without thinking, I spring from my seated position on the bed and move towards Patricia with one hand raised above my head, ready to strike. Patricia reaches to her belt and draws the pistol, pointing it at my stomach. I stop abruptly. What had I expected?

“We’ve been over this. Sit down.” She never flinches. Without thought or hesitation, Patricia is prepared to kill me instantly. What had I been hoping to accomplish? I back away slowly, taking my seat back on the plastic mattress.

“You need to understand one thing right now before you spend any more time here. You won’t survive if you continue to act this way. Someone’s going to kill you. I know you’re confused, but I’m trying to do you a favor here. There are plenty of other nurses or guards that would have shot you the second you stood from the bed. If you don’t start acting like you’ve accepted this as your fate, you’re going to die. It’s that simple. Do you understand?” I glare back at the nurse with nothing to say, eyes lock against hers.

After a few moments of silence, Patricia takes the red bag from the floor and leaves towards the door. “We’re protecting you here. Three meals a day, shelter, protection. At least act like you’re grateful.” My mouth falls open as she finishes speaking, and leaves through the wooden door. She locks it behind her.

Grateful? I’m supposed to act grateful to the people that murdered my friends and destroyed my home? I owe these monsters nothing.

I sit on my bed for the rest of the afternoon, unsure of what to do with my time. I struggle to process Patricia’s act, playing the hero to my damsel in distress. With her warped, jaded thought process I’m surprised she’s lasted this long after the attacks.