The Testing (The Testing 1)

We eat the remainder of the chicken and save the greens and the last bag of dried fruit for morning. We will have to think our way out of this maze before hunger takes hold. In the heat of the day, we tried to ration our water intake but now our lips are cracking from a combination of heat and dehydration. We have no choice but to open the bottles that might contain contaminants. The taste is a little off, but neither Tomas nor I detect the metallic or bitter flavors that mean certain death. The one bright spot is that Tomas’s wound seems better as I change the bandage and apply more ointment.

“That’s because I’m being treated by the best,” he says, and gives me a kiss. The hope of the healing wound and the warmth of his lips help me fall into a fast sleep.

Frustration returns with the light. Often we think we are on the right path only to find several turns later that we have to backtrack. More worrisome are the voices we begin to hear somewhere in the distance. Some voices sound as though they are just on the other side of a barrier or building. It is impossible to tell. But one thing is certain. We are not alone in this maze. There are other rats scampering after the seemingly illusive exit.

An explosion rattles the buildings next to us. A scream scrapes the air. Then another. Then silence. We pedal faster. Away from the explosion. Down one road. Dead end. Backtrack. Choose another path.

We try to make jokes when we come to the inevitable barriers that make us turn back. But hour after hour of searching and the jokes come less easily. Our laughter is more forced. Until there is nothing left to laugh at. My scalp itches from the dirt and sweat. My body aches from the constant exertion that seems to be getting us nowhere. We eat the last of the dried fruit. Tomas finds a stale roll in his bag, and we split it to curb the hunger gnawing inside us. The only good news is that we are not yet feeling the effects of the marginally tainted water. And even that news feels grim when we realize that the water will not hold out for much longer. Not a single cloud dots the sky to offer the hope of rain.

My tired leg muscles protest when we choose a path that slants uphill. I force my feet to move the pedals. The higher up the incline we go, the better our view of the city. We aren’t that high, but here and there, where buildings have collapsed from age, we can see beyond our patch of road. And when I squint into the distance, I think I can see the long, domed building that we encountered when we first entered the maze. It is far, far away.

I point it out to Tomas, who gives me the first genuine smile of the day. “Well, the end can’t be that far away, right? Let’s go find it.”

The lure of freedom rejuvenates us. When we hit the next dead end, Tomas says, “Well, that’s one less dead end until we find the exit.” And we backtrack again.

And then we hear it. The sound of boots pounding on pavement. Someone is running close by. We move faster. Turn. Pedal.

Dead end.

The running feet are coming nearer. I look to Tomas. Fear and determination are bright in his eyes as he nods. We both step off our bicycles, lay them down on the ground, and draw our weapons. The pounding of leather on stone is more distinctive. Right around the bend. I raise my gun, hold my breath, and force my hand to steady.

I see the shadow first: the outline of a person. The outline of the gun in the person’s hand. My arm muscles are taut. My finger poised over the trigger as the shadow comes closer. I know my weapon has the farthest reach. The runner could fire the minute he sees us, which means I will have to shoot first. Without knowing the person’s intentions. Without knowing whether he or she means us any harm.

I will my finger to press the trigger as the shadow looms larger and a figure bursts around the corner. And I fail. I can’t take a life. I barely register that the person is male. All I know is that if Tomas and I die, it is my fault.

Only, instead of a gunshot, I hear, “Cia! Tomas? Is it really you?” Before I can understand that we aren’t going to die, I am swept up by a dirty pair of arms into Will’s laughing embrace. His laughter is contagious, and I cling to him. My nose wrinkles at the scent of him—dirt and body odor combined with blood and whatever else he’s run into since this test began. But I don’t care. Face it: I’m not smelling like a rose these days, and holding him gives me hope that Zandri and Nicolette might also be alive.

“It’s great that you and Tomas managed to hook up with each other out here. I never thought I’d find either of you.”

His raised eyebrow asks to hear the story of how Tomas and I came to find each other. So I step back and say, “I had some trouble getting out of the drop-off city. Tomas arrived in time to rescue me from a swim in that river or worse.” There’s no point in telling Will that Tomas and I conspired to meet. It would only highlight the fact that we didn’t include our other friends in the plan. Trust is hard enough in this environment. Now that my shock has worn off, I notice a bandage on Will’s shoulder caked with dried blood. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” I ask.

Will flashes me a roguish smile. “I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding with a tree branch. No big deal.”

“Infection can be a big deal,” I say, reaching into my bag. “Why don’t you let me take a look?”

Will shakes his head. “It’s fine. Honest. Our time would be better spent getting out of this stupid maze. We have to be getting close to the end of this thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to run low on food and water.”

I’m about to insist on stopping everything to treat Will’s shoulder, but Tomas speaks. “Will’s right. We need to get out of here. We can deal with the rest once we find the exit. Let’s hit the road.”

Tomas and I pick up our bicycles off the ground. We wheel them along as we walk next to Will, who is curious how we came by them. Tomas seems content to let me do the talking, so I give Will a rundown on finding the wheels and the bicycles and how we repaired them. It turns out Will found a nonmotorized scooter in a garage. One of the wheels wouldn’t turn, but he managed to loosen it up and rode it on the same road we traveled into this maze.

“I kept hitting dead ends, and I was so frustrated that I forgot to be careful. I was going down a slope a little too fast, lost control, and fell off the scooter. The next thing I knew, the scooter hit the barrier at the end of the road and blew sky high. Guess I’ll have to look for another set of wheels once we’re out of this place. Especially if I plan on keeping up with the two of you.”

As we search for the exit route, Will tells us about his travels, which sound uneventful compared to ours. The water he drank from the first source made him a little queasy, but thus far he’s been able to find supplies and food along the way. When he shows me a spool of wire he found, I’m ready to kiss him. It’s thin and flexible and perfect for setting snares. If we ever get out of here, we might have an easier time catching food. I’m so delighted with the wire that he gives it to me to carry in my bag.

As much as I want it, I shake my head. “You found the wire. You should have control of it.”

“Think of it as a thank-you gift. If you hadn’t stopped me from going for medical attention after the second round of tests, I wouldn’t even be here. None of the candidates who went came back.” Then Will leans down and whispers, “Besides, I don’t know if we’ll be traveling together after we get out of this city. Tomas looks pretty intent on keeping you to himself.”

I start to deny it, but Tomas has not had much to add to the conversation since Will arrived. And when he does, there is a wary quality to his tone that makes me wonder what he is thinking. At the moment, Tomas is walking in front of us. Close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away to avoid participating. I have to wonder if Will isn’t correct. Not about keeping me to himself. Tomas knows this isn’t the time or place for romantic drama. Survival—passing this test—has to take precedence. But maybe the fact that Will doesn’t have a method of travel other than his own feet is making Tomas wary. Teaming up with Will means a much slower pace of travel than what we have set thus far. Although I don’t know how well

Tomas can ride with his injury. He has been limping more and more as the day goes on. If we get out of this maze, I’m hoping we can find a cool stream for him to soak in to help reduce the swelling.

There’s no point in worrying about Will and Tomas now. Not with another dead end looming. We backtrack, take another path. At the next fork there are only two options. Left or right. The compass says the road leading out of the city is somewhere to our right. We head in that direction.

We follow the compass’s direction and keep walking. It is Tomas who points out the size of the buildings that we pass. They are becoming smaller, similar to the ones we rode by when entering the city. The end of this maze must be near. I desperately want to jump on my bicycle and race down the road to see if he’s right. Instead, we walk. A mile passes without a fork, without a choice to make. Two miles. Our smiles become more confident. There are fewer and fewer buildings. Finally, there is just hard, caked earth, the plants that have been able to survive in this landscape, and the road looming long in front of us.

When the city is several miles behind us, Will asks, “Do you mind if I camp with you guys tonight? I don’t want to slow you down tomorrow, but it would be nice to have company for a little while longer.”