First I throw the metal box down. Hefting it over to the edge of the loft is challenging but the sound it makes when it hits the rotted wood floor is delicious to my ears. Finally, I feel like I have some control over my fate. And yes, hurting Hale in any way is an evil dream come true.

Once the dust settles and I stop cowering that the noise will bring someone to investigate, I lie on my stomach and peer over the edge.

Yes! The box has busted open. Pens, papers, pictures, and a sheathed knife are amongst the rubble.

Okay, now I just have to join it.

I scoot over one mattress at a time and shove them over the side. I try to do it artfully so they land in some semblance of an overlapping cushion for my jump of faith.

It's easier said than done. The first one slides under the loft to a place I can't see, probably the pulpit. The next try is better, but it lands half on the box, which would make for a painful landing. The next two layer perfectly over the flat. Finally, the last one lands upright, and then plonks down on the pile.

I sit cross legged and close my eyes, visualizing the feat I must perform. I need to lower myself and then drop.

After some relaxing breaths, I am ready. One last look around the loft for anything I can use. I find a blanket, a sheet, and the stub of a candle to shove over the edge. The only thing left is me.

My back is slick with seepage from my infected wounds but I persevere. This is my chance. And the vision of Kile in my mind is vivid and inspiring. He didn't want to let me go. He wanted to come with me, even as a prisoner. Okay. I can do this.

I lie on my belly and scoot my legs over the edge until they dangle freely.

My fingers try to get traction but it's only dry, bare floor to hold.

"One."

"Two."

"Three." I let go.

My body swings under the loft. No! I'll fall on the steps and Hale will return to find a crippled, defeated captive.

I try to overcorrect while in air.

My arms flail.

My feet fly up, level with my waist.

I hit the ground. First my tailbone hits the bare floor. My ankles smack next and then my back blessedly hits the mattresses squarely, and my head is last to land.

Shock reverberates through my system. The world goes black for I don't know how long.

My own breathing sounds loud and raspy as I come to. The room swims but I can take inventory of my damage.

My lower back is numb.

My ankles ache and seem swollen already. My nails are cracked and bleeding from trying to hold the seams of the floor.

My neck is the worst. I can't move it without pain stabbing down my spine.

I can't stand until I can feel my entire body, so I gather the papers and pictures within arm's reach and give them a quick look to see if anything can help me. Many of the pictures are of a bunch of kids posed in front of various things: a cart, a building, a stream, in a field. I swear one looks like Jayel. I can't tell if one of the boys is Hale, but I assume so. They all are miniature versions of him with swooping hair and broad shoulders. It must have been before he acquired his evil sneer, because they all wear impish grins.

I manage to flip to my hands and knees and crawl a foot. Then I have to rest. Holding my head up is killing my neck. I want to lie still and somehow black out the pain. I can't. I can sense my entire system weakening from infection. Since the landing, I have bled through my bandages and shirt. The blood is not a fresh cleansing flow, but an oozing black substance that smells of death.

My eye catches on a seam of the mattress. A corner of a paper is peeking from it. I tug it and the seam rips open to reveal a sheaf of rolled papers. I unroll them and flatten them on my thighs as best I can. There are pages of blue prints of the castle. The grounds in detail per season, the wall perimeter with guard routes sketched in, and the interior of the castle with lesser used corridors marked. And then I notice a series of hidden rooms indicated with an X. Rooms I had no idea were ever there. I can't memorize this, so I roll it up again and tuck it in my sock. Hale will know I have it, but hopefully by the time he returns it will be a moot point.

I stagger out the church door, past caring whether I am seen. I have no fight left. Only flight.

I'm surprised to find the cart out front of the church. The sun stings my eyes but somehow I trudge to the cart, knowing that without a horse it is merely a place to sit. The fresh air somehow drains me. It reminds me of how unwell I am. I have to shut my eyes and will off the dizziness and nausea.

I have a cart and no horse.

No means of communication.

No food. I ate the bread first thing when Hale left.

No one recognizes me. I have heard no one pass this church since I have been here.

Frowning, I try to change the disheartening direction of my thoughts.

I think about Kile. Then, I think like Kile. He never saw a piece of scrap or junk he couldn't make into something better.

Maybe...

An hour or so later, I am drenched in sweat but I have fashioned the cart into a scooter. It took prying with the knife, kicking boards apart, throwing boards from the steps of the church to break them, and plenty of mattress springs, torn blankets, and desperation. I will see Kile again. I will warn my dad and try to prevent harm. I have to.

I test out the rudimentary scooter. The wheels are huge and the standing platform is shaky. I have a T shape thing to hold. There is no steering, the wheels only go straight. I'll stop by coasting or jumping off. I take a test glide and the wind on my face brings tears of joy to my eyes.

Please don't let Hale come back early. Or Burke to finish his awful plan. Or Neena. I am sure she would put a swift end to me.

It's slow, but I remember the way to the market.

An hour into my very painstaking, wobbly trip, and my vision begins to grow black spots over it. I can't see straight ahead, and then nothing to the right, and then I can't see at all. When the wheels go off the dirt road, I can feel the change in the way the scooter moves. So I make my way forward, encountering no one, seeing nothing. I can feel the high sun of afternoon and then the slight break as the peak of day wans and then falls into evening. The moister air is a balm on my sun blistered skin.

I have maybe gone a mile.

Eventually, I have to stop. My neck is excruciating, my palms raw from holding the rough wood, and my sense of up and down is shaky. When I sit on what I think is the side of the road, I topple sideways and cannot sit back up. Are my eyes closed? I don't even know. My tongue is swollen so I can't lick my lips or form proper words to even pray for a swift end.

Time passes in a strange way.

"Eadlyn," I hear Kile say.

Sweet. I get to hear his voice as I fade.

"Eadlyn, you're going to be alright. I have help coming. You're with me, Kile. You're okay." His voice cracks, as if even in my dream he can't lie that well. So honest, my boy. At least I knew love in this lifetime. I didn't have to adjust and grow into a choice made through the shallow tradition of a Selection.

I try to form his name on my lips but instead I gasp and cough. It rattles my eyes into focus and I see Kile, his hair flopping over his eyes, his hands on my upper arms, his mouth saying my name over and over.

Odd positioning for a dream.

Then I hear hooves. Also odd for a dream. Sirens. Wheels. A vehicle? Out here in the middle of nowhere? Wait, am I dead or what?

"Kile?" I manage to say, my dry throat cracking on the word and mangling it into a grunting cough.

"Eadlyn, I'm here. I'm here. You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it. You're okay, my girl. You are okay." Something sharp pierces my inner elbow and a cool feeling slides down my throat. I'm on a soft surface. Someone is holding my hand. I feel a damp cloth on my head.

Then, hands all over me.

Noises, voices, sirens, and orders being shouted.

My sight returns in a flash. I see Kile's face twisted in pain. No, it's more like hurt. And worry. I try to say his name but a tube is in my throat. And in my nose. I squeeze his hand. He looks at me.

Everything is there in those eyes. Everything I remembered and everything I dreamed for the future. It's all in his gaze, sweet, smart, caring, hopeful.

"My sock," I try to say.

He comes closer.

"Kile, bombs are near the walls. Look in my sock. I think tomorrow. I got out. My neck."

He nods and motions for someone to come over. I realize we are in an ambulance.

"How?" I try to say.

"She's delirious," an older man in EMT gear says. "I gave her more sedative. The pain must be incredible. I've never seen such torture."

Kile purses his lips and curtly replies, "Make sure she has the right pain meds, but no more sedative until we see her father. We want her lucid. She's trying to say something but I can't make out one word."

I squeeze his hand again. How did he find me?

He strokes my hair off my forehead, hushing me. My tears gush out at his small act of kindness. Heedless of the tubes and fatigue, I throw myself into his arms, which are hard and strong and just as eager to be around me as I am to be in them.

"I'm here." Is all he says, but it's all I've been wanting to hear forever. I sob into his chest.