Annabel by Lauren Oliver

Author:Lauren Oliver
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Young Adult, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780062237385
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-12-26T00:00:00+00:00

That’s when I knew, without a doubt, that the cure hadn’t worked at all.

now

The light goes out, and the nighttime noises begin on the ward: the murmurs and moans and screams.

I remember other noises—the sounds of outside: frogs singing, throaty and mournful; crickets humming an accompaniment. Lena as a young girl, her palms cupped carefully to contain a firefly, shrieking with laughter.

Will I recognize the world outside? Would I recognize Lena, if I saw her?

Thomas said he would give me the signal. But at least an hour passes with nothing—no sign, no further word. My mouth is dry as dust.

I am not ready. Not yet. Not tonight. My heartbeat is wild and erratic. I’m sweating already and shaking, too.

I can barely stand.

How will I run?

A jolt goes through me as the alarm system kicks on without warning: a shrill, continuous howl from downstairs, muffled through layers of stone and cement. Doors slam; voices cry out. Thomas must have tripped one of the alarms in a lower ward. The guards will go rushing for it, suspecting an attempted breakout or maybe a homicide.

That’s my cue.

I stand up and shove the cot aside, so the hole in the wall is revealed: a tight squeeze, but big enough to fit me. My makeshift rope is coiled on the floor, ready to go, and I thread one end through the metal ring on the door, knot it as tightly as I can.

I’m not thinking anymore. I’m not afraid, either.

I toss the free end of the rope out through the hole, hear it snap once in the wind. For the first time since I was imprisoned, I thank God that the Crypts is windowless, at least on this side.

I go headfirst through the hole, wriggling when my shoulders meet resistance. Soft, wet stone rains down on my neck. My nose is full of the smell of spoiled things.

Good-bye, good-bye.

The alarm still wails, as though in response.

Then my shoulders are through and I’m upside-down over a dizzying drop: forty-five feet at least, to the black and frozen with ice, motionless, reflecting the moon. And the rope, like a spun thread of white water, running vertically toward freedom.

I make a grab for the rope. I pull, hand over hand, sliding my body, my legs, through the jagged hole in the rock.

And then I fall.

My legs leave the lip of rock, and I swing a wild half circle, kicking into air, crying out. I stop with a jerk, right side up, the rope coiled around my wrists. Stomach in my throat. The alarm is still going: high-pitched, hysterical.

Air, air, nothing but air. I’m frozen, unable to move up or down. I have a sudden memory of a spring cleaning the year before I wa cr bmes New Ros taken, and a giant spiderweb uncovered behind the standing mirror in the bedroom. Dozens of insects were bound, immobile, in white thread, and one had only just been caught—it was still struggling feebly to get out.

The alarm stops, and the ensuing silence is as loud as a slap.

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