There was a long silence, and then Jeb’s hand touched mine. I grasped it, needing the help to get back on my feet. His other hand pressed against my back, and I started forward again.
“Curiosity,” Jeb said in a low voice.
No one replied.
As we walked, I considered a few sure facts. One, I was not the first soul they’d captured. There was already a set routine here. This “Doc” had tried to get his answer from others before me.
Two, he had tried unsuccessfully. If any soul had forgone suicide only to crack under the humans’ torture, they would not need me now. My death would have been mercifully swift.
Oddly, I couldn’t bring myself to hope for a quick end, though, or to try to effect that outcome. It would be easy to do, even without doing the deed myself. I would only have to tell them a lie—pretend to be a Seeker, tell them my colleagues were tracking me right now, bluster and threaten. Or tell them the truth—that Melanie lived on inside me, and that she had brought me here.
They would see another lie, and one so richly irresistible—the idea that the human could live on after implantation—so tempting to believe from their perspective, so insidious, that they would believe I was a Seeker more surely than if I claimed it. They would assume a trap, get rid of me quickly, and find a new place to hide, far away from here.
You’re probably right, Melanie agreed. It’s what I would do.
But I wasn’t in pain yet, and so either form of suicide was hard to embrace; my instinct for survival sealed my lips. The memory of my last session with my Comforter—a time so civilized it seemed to belong to a different planet—flashed through my head. Melanie challenging me to have her removed, a seemingly suicidal impulse, but only a bluff. I remembered thinking how hard it was to contemplate death from a comfortable chair.
Last night Melanie and I had wished for death, but death had been only inches away at the time. It was different now that I was on my feet again.
I don’t want to die, either, Melanie whispered. But maybe you’re wrong. Maybe that’s not why they’re keeping us alive. I don’t understand why they would.… She didn’t want to imagine the things they might do to us—I was sure she could come up with worse than I. What answer would they want from you that bad?
I’ll never tell. Not you, not any human.
A bold declaration. But then, I wasn’t in pain yet.…
Another hour had passed—the sun was directly overhead, the heat of it like a crown of fire on my hair—when the sound changed. The grinding steps that I barely heard anymore turned to echoes ahead of me. Jeb’s feet still crunched against the sand like mine, but someone in front of us had reached a new terrain.
“Careful, now,” Jeb warned me. “Watch your head.”
I hesitated, not sure what I was watching for, or how to watch with no eyes. His hand left my back and pressed down on my head, telling me to duck. I bent forward. My neck was stiff.
He guided me forward again, and I heard our footsteps make the same echoing sound. The ground didn’t give like sand, didn’t feel loose like rock. It was flat and solid beneath my feet.
The sun was gone—I could no longer feel it burn my skin or scorch my hair.
I took another step, and a new air touched my face. It was not a breeze. This was stagnant—I moved into it. The dry desert wind was gone. This air was still and cooler. There was the faintest hint of moisture to it, a mustiness that I could both smell and taste.
There were so many questions in my mind, and in Melanie’s. She wanted to ask hers, but I kept silent. There was nothing either of us could say that would help us now.
“Okay, you can straighten up,” Jeb told me.
I raised my head slowly.
Even with the blindfold, I could tell that there was no light. It was utterly black around the edges of the bandanna. I could hear the others behind me, shuffling their feet impatiently, waiting for us to move forward.
“This way,” Jeb said, and he was guiding me again. Our footsteps echoed back from close by—the space we were in must have been quite small. I found myself ducking my head instinctively.
We went a few steps farther, and then we rounded a sharp curve that seemed to turn us back the way we’d come. The ground started to slant downward. The angle got steeper with every step, and Jeb gave me his rough hand to keep me from falling. I don’t know how long I slipped and skidded my way through the darkness. The hike probably felt longer than it was with each minute slowed by my terror.
We took another turn, and then the floor started to climb upward. My legs were so numb and wooden that as the path got steeper, Jeb had to half drag me up the incline. The air got mustier and moister the farther we went, but the blackness didn’t change. The only sounds were our footsteps and their nearby echoes.
The pathway flattened out and began to turn and twist like a serpent.
Finally, finally, there was a brightness around the top and bottom of my blindfold. I wished that it would slip, as I was too frightened to pull it off myself. It seemed to me that I wouldn’t be so terrified if I could just see where I was and who was with me.
With the light came noise. Strange noise, a low murmuring babble. It sounded almost like a waterfall.
The babble got louder as we moved forward, and the closer it got, the less it sounded like water. It was too varied, low and high pitches mingling and echoing. If it had not been so discordant, it might have sounded like an uglier version of the constant music I’d heard and sung on the Singing World. The darkness of the blindfold suited that memory, the memory of blindness.