Prisoner

I awoke the next morning inexplicably warm; a feeling I was never accustomed to in that time of year.

I reluctantly opened my eyes and was met with Harry's peacefully sleeping face. It was amazing how some things stayed tranquil in a world that had changed so much.

I stood up and reached under the bed for my journal, but it wasn't there. I gasped, frantically searching under the bed again but still finding it missing. I stood up again, and spotted it beside Harry, open to the last entry I had written. I snatched it away, shutting it quickly. My actions awoke Harry, who groaned softly and opened his eyes.

"What-"

"You read my journal?" I demanded, interrupting him.

He closed his mouth, averting his gaze. "I didn't mean to . . . I was just going to get some paper while you were asleep and I guess I closed my eyes."

"You didn't ask me," I said, turning around.

"Sorry-"

I let out a sudden gasp, my eyes catching sight of the heavy iron door in front of me. It was wide open, and the hallway on the other side of it was staring me dead in the face.

"Harry," I breathed, all thoughts of him reading my journal vanishing. I felt frozen to the spot.
I heard him get up from behind me and step beside me, gaping at the open door before us.

"Holy shit," he cursed.

I regained the use of my legs, and bravely stepped forward to get a better look outside, but Harry grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "It could be a trap," he whispered, eyes sincere but worried.

"I'll be careful," I replied, prying my arm free from his grasp.

I stepped forward again, poking my head out as adrenalin coursed through my veins. It was deadly silent; too silent. Something definitely wasn't right. I took another step, and then another. Soon, I was standing fully outside my cell for the first time since I got here.

"Harry." I looked around me. "Nobody's here. It's abandoned."

The curly-headed boy joined me outside the cell and set his jaw, puzzled just as I was.

"Check the cells."

We began looking in every cell for people left behind. We didn't have any clue as to where they could have gone, or why they would leave just Harry and me here.

When we reached the last cell, Harry sighed in defeat, plunking down on a rickety wooden bench beside the concrete wall. "They just left us," he mused, scratching his jaw.

I huffed, leaning against the wall. Sunlight filtered through a grate in the ceiling, falling down on Harry's hair and casting his face in a thoughtful shadow.

"Maybe that soldier did this," Harry spoke aloud, looking up to me. "The one that took my handcuffs off."

"Oh, Harry-"

"No, I'm serious," he said. "Think about it. He couldn't save everyone, but he could have easily helped at least one or two people; those people were us. He wanted at least someone free so we could help the cause of stopping this . . . this. . ."

He didn't finish his sentence, just drifted off into his thoughts again.

"Regardless. We were left here for a reason. Let's check to see if any soldiers left any weapons or anything behind," I said, quickly switching into gear.

Harry nodded and followed me down the remaining few feet of the corridor and stopped at the end, where another door stood open.

"This looks like the soldier's armory," Harry whispered behind my shoulder, pushing past me to investigate.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you have to whisper? It makes me feel like something bad is about to happen," I said, crossing my arms.

He looked at me, quietly smirking. "Sorry," he said sarcastically.

I sighed, following him inside. There wasn't much there. It seemed like the soldiers had left in a hurry though, grabbing everything they could and running.

In the next passing five minutes, we had collected two pistols, a soldier's backpack, a canteen, and some extra bullets.

When I was around fourteen, my grandfather had taught me how to shoot. I was a shitty shot, but little did I know I would ever need to use that knowledge someday; I'm glad he did teach me, though.

As Harry handed me one of the pistols for myself, he met my eyes. "This is real, isn't it?" He whispered, eyebrows etched together. "What they said the government was doing?"

I hesitated, and then nodded slowly. "Just about as real as it gets."

He averted his gaze and tucked his own pistol into the back pocket of his jeans. "Well I hope to God that it will all be over soon," he muttered.

I mumbled a vague agreement, and then moved toward the door of the storage room. Harry followed close on my heels, stopping once we reached the door that lead to our freedom.

I suddenly remembered something, and then told Harry to wait there for me. Running back to the cell I had spent over two years rotting in, I ducked inside the open door and pulled my journal from where it rested on the bed. When I reached Harry again, I smiled at him and tucked the worn leather book into his backpack.

We exchanged looks, and then turned serious again.

Harry gently pulled me to face him again. "Stay close. Anything could happen out there," he said quietly. The emerald in his eyes was more vibrant, and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. He held his cross necklace that hung around his neck tightly. Good, we could use all of the help we could get.

I nodded silently, then pulled my gaze away and put my hand on the door handle. It took both of us to pull it open, it being heavy and made of iron.

When the door had swung open fully, I expected my initial reaction to be relieved; free.

But my reaction wasn't one of relief or happiness; it was one of fear and horror.

Notes