When I fall asleep, I dream I’m back in the woods. My hip burns lividly from the wound, open and bleeding once more, the skin pulling as I run, tearing a stitch up my side and making me stumble. The trees hem me in, pressing down on me with skeletal limbs that snake out, snatching at my jumpsuit, my arms, my hair, reaching for my eyes, my face. The guards are behind me, I can hear them running, their breath hot on my neck because they’re almost upon me, their guns aimed at me, my back filling their sights. I weave through the trees, trying to widen the distance between us, making it hard for them because I’m not going back to the facility. I know I’m not. I have my name and I have Tobin’s face in my mind, and I’m not giving either of them up.
In the dream the alarms ring through the wood
