BUNKER 17 — PROJECT BUNKER

6:48:13 HOURS REMAINING

I WRITE WITHOUT STOPPING.

I start with the clues from the first test, spacing them out at the top of the page. My mind runs through code possibilities on autopilot.

C. O. V. A. R. T. I.

I notice that A and T are Alexander's initials. And then, I notice my own. That just leaves O, V, and R. After a minute of problem-solving, I decide it's much too simple and straightforward. Alexander and I bonded over a love of science, meaning I'll have to put more effort into solving these clues than a simple, predictable acronym.

But, maybe that's just it. The acronym is only half of it. I clamp my eyes shut, running through the events of the past forty-eight hours that led me here. The last nightmare I had, and how I woke up in this room. The letters, the explosion, and the alarm. Even still, it ended the same way they always do—with a pile of burning bodies.

I retrace my steps from that morning next. Getting ready to walk into the news station for the last time. Making the conscious decision to finally stop the lies. To tell hundreds of innocent people that there's no ongoing war happening above their heads. I recall the anxiety rising inside of me as I made my confession. The way the broadcast was cut short. The look Alexander gave me from the shadows.

And then, our conversation in the foyer of the building. The way he wore his hatred for me so proudly. The way he confessed to manipulating me—to stealing my research when I was fully convinced we were having a moment. A moment that only existed in my imagination.

The last major event that led me to Bunker 17 was my van escape. I recall the phrases flashing across the screen in front of me. How I came to the conclusion that they were a message from Alexander himself, something he counted on me figuring out. Something he assumed I would've solved faster.

LACARU.

I freeze, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. The periodic table. Atomic numbers. He really is predictable. I rack my brain for the other two phrases I'd solved, coming up short beyond the fact that I thought they were coordinates.

Instead of wasting time digging through my memories, I open that file cabinet in my subconscious filled with my knowledge of the elements. If there was ever a time I needed it the most, it would be this exact moment. I let out a shaky breath, steadying myself before dissecting the first phrase with a fresh perspective.

Slowly but surely, the letter combinations sort themselves out in order from the lowest on the atomic scale, to the highest.

AR, representing Argon with an atomic number of 18. T, Titanium at 22. V, Vanadium at 23. And last but not least, CO, Cobalt at 27. As soon as I have all of the individual pieces, the original phrase I solved reveals itself on the page.

AR-COTIV.

I take a quick sum of each atomic number, circling it before moving onto the letters from the second test. Even though they're scrambled, my mind defaults to the same strategy I just used, sorting the letter pairs with ease.

B-O-S-A-B-A-E-C turns into BA-BEACOS—atomic numbers of 56, 4, 89, and 76 totaling 225. Adding this to the total of 90 from the first phrase leaves me with 315. Just as this final revelation sets in, my vision goes blurry.

The pages before me look like they're melting along with the walls of Ezra's room. I try and call out for him but silence is the only thing that comes out. The chair I'm sitting in begins to move backward and I brace myself, realizing this isn't another test. I'm the only one being affected.

Ezra is miles away from me now, the spinning darkness growing around me making me sick. I clamp my eyes shut, refusing to look for a moment after the chair stops. The sound of a seagull chirping is what prompts me to open my eyes and I take in the new scenery around me. I'm on a beach, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.

There's nothing on the shore for miles in either direction. Nothing except a small hourglass suspended in the hole of a palm tree. As soon as I take a step toward it, the waves begin to roar, threatening to wash over me. I don't have time to explore.

I break into a sprint, noticing an additional detail as I reach the palm tree. A file folder sticks out from the sand, begging me to open it. I check the waves again, deciding to take a chance. The label is the first thing that jumps out at me.

PROJECT BUNKER - PATIENT ZERO

And the picture I find on top of all the reports makes me recoil in horror. I'm staring at a picture of myself, the first report only confirming the worst.

Patient Name

Ivy Carlisle

Patient No.

0

Side Effects

Nightmares about the second location and resident's bedroom

Notes

Adjust dosage for Patient No. 1 — proceed as planned

Get close enough to extract remaining serum research - AT

The last line in the notes box makes my blood boil, instantly identifying Alexander's signature. I've been his pawn for longer than he's led on. I was his whole experiment. The snake's first victim.

A brief reflection across the bottom of the page is the only thing that makes me think twice about throwing the file in the water. Three phrases embossed with gold foil tell me I was on the right track with solving the clues left for me in the tests. And the last sends a chill down my spine, exposing what Alexander truly meant by me being the key to stopping this whole thing.

AR-COTIV ◦ BA-BEACOS ◦ LACARU

He gave me everything I needed to stop the experiment before I even escaped custody. The three phrases from a code only we knew. A code that only I could figure out. I let out a scream of frustration, of anguish for the lives lost because of my naivety. Once again, he's made me feel like their blood is on my hands. Once again, he's given me unspoken power over him, an opportunity to trample the serpent. An opportunity that I discovered a little too late.

Not this time.

I tuck the file folder underneath my arm and reach for the hourglass. There are notches along the bottom base, just enough room to fit a series of numbers. I steady myself, throwing the hourglass against the tree trunk. It shatters instantly, the impact sending the waves crashing onto shore, leaving me gasping for air.

In a split second, I'm back in the chair sitting in front of Ezra's desk as if I never left. Ezra rushes to my side, yelling something about me falling into a trance. I can't respond, mind set solely on destroying the experiment I've been marked for from the beginning.

Determined to set the record straight. Even the playing field.

I scribble the final phrase on the page, noting the numbers underneath and adding them together. 436. Once I'm satisfied, I jump up, grabbing Ezra's hand as I race down the hall back toward the Garden. To the very place Alexander infiltrated Ezra's home. To the moment that set his plans into motion.

It's the only logical place for the hourglass now, considering the water and the trees I've seen repeatedly. And just as I suspected, the same hourglass and clock from the foyer of the mansion are hovering in the center of the Garden now. I take no heed to what the rest of the group is doing, heading straight for the bottom of the hourglass.

Just like the smaller model in my vision, there are square notches along the bottom base. I refer to my paper again, reaching for the first notch. In response to my touch, the gold panel disappears, revealing two rolling number dials. I do the same for the others, noticing that all of them have two dials beside one.

And finally, it clicks. The code is each atomic number in the order of the phrases.

AR-COTIV ◦ BA-BEACOS ◦ LACARU

18. 27. 22. 23. 56. 4. 89. 76. 57. 20. 44. Just as I slide the last number into place, the bulb at the top half of the hourglass cracks, granules of sand spilling out and draining the timer simultaneously. That's it. We're getting out of here.