I dart awake. My hand snatches the thickest book on the shelf. My instincts automatically on override.

     "Aghhh."

     "Help. Nooo! Stop!" A deep gritty voice protests.

     "Fuc—"

     My eyes travel along the walls, the ceiling, and the air ventilators. The voices and screaming must have come from somewhere.

     I rush back to the desk and rummage through the drawers.

     Nothing.

     No screwdriver that'll help me or useful tool.

     My eyes scan the low shelf behind the desk where a faded vinyl record stands and countless different types of vinyl and CD players.

     Music that I itch to play. I don't think I've ever heard of so many names and artists like Beethoven, Glass Animals, or Cutting Crew. My hands go over them until I find one labeled "New World" by The Zombies and I take the CD out of the case and hold it between my teeth as I grab the chair behind the desk.

     I place the chair below the air vents and climb on.

     My senses tingle with anticipation as I get to work unscrewing the hinges with the CD now in my hands.

     By the time I unscrew all the bolts and toss the lid of the vent aside, my hands are slick with sweat. I dry them on my shirt before jumping on and using my upper weight to holster myself inside.

     I crawl a few inches in when mildew and metal assault my senses. I gag reflexively and will myself to breathe through my mouth.

     My breathing bounces through the narrow space creating an echo. And I'm sure that whoever is on the other side can hear me so I call out.

     "Hello? Is anyone there?"

     I wiggle myself closer until I know I'm at least 10 feet inside.

     "I heard you call for help. I can help." I continue. "I only want to help. Please."

     Silence and then a distorted whimper.

     "Yes, yes I hear you!" I holler.

     The whimpering turns louder, strangled. Then it stops.

     "Where are you?" I go deeper as my need to help rises.

     "There's no cure. No salvation." The same gritty voice returns.

     "What?"

     "They bite."

     "Who?" I stop. "I don't understand. They? You mean those things out there?"

     "No cure. No cure. No cure! Cure!" The whimpering turns to hysteria and my mind begins to swim as he continues. "They're not... Outside. Outside! "

     "What happened to the others? I heard voices." I ask tentatively.

     "Dead. No cure. No cure!"

     "What's your name? Mine's Skylar." I stop and close my eyes. From here the vents split into three different sections. If I go any further I must memorize the route I choose or I'll get lost. I can't get lost.

     Focus. I must focus.

     "There's no help, Skylar."

     "Yes, there is. Can you scream for me as loud as you can? I'm coming for you."

     He begins his chanting and something about it doesn't seem sane. "Skylar. Skylar. Skylar. Skylar!"

     I go straight.

     "I know you. It's all your fault!"

     I halt, the voice now below me. I look down from the vents where the air is rushing out and light filters inside and my heart skips a few beats before coming again in double rhythm.

     I clutch my mouth with both hands to stop the scream rising from within.

     I know him. He's one of the men. The... My mind flashes to the alley at night, the man holding my hand. The eye tattoo. My lips begin to twitch until I'm shuddering.

     "No." Is all that comes out in a hushed whisper.

     There's blood, lots of it on his matted hair. His thumb and forefinger are missing and his eyes are swollen.

     Don't pass out! Keep it together! He's watching!

     I pull back and slump away from his prying, dirty eyes.

     I know he deserves punishment but not like this, especially not like this.

     "You deserve to die you fucking whore! Die! Die! Die! Die!"

     I close my eyes and ears to his words and the profanity that keeps spilling from his mouth. He continues on and on and an animalistic scream resonates from him as he curses at me.

     I start to reverse back, slowly, numbly to his last words that reach me, "You are nothing. Nothing! You little--"

     I am nothing. Nothing but a clipped bird. But it is not my fault that he is perverse and.... and...

     I yelp as an icy arm grabs unto my leg and pulls as I thrash and kick with my right leg. It makes contact with skin as I hear grunting and cursing.

     Whoever is behind me is most definitely not happy. It grabs both my legs and pulls as I scream, my skin scraping against the metal. And it burns my skin.

     I fall, my jaw cracking on the chair as it breaks and I hit the floor with thud but I don't give in without a fight, not even as warm liquid fills my mouth and my vision swarms in and out of focus. I grab unto the hand on my leg and kick and scratch flesh until I know I drew blood on my assaulter.

     Too much adrenaline courses through me combined with my ringing ears and blurry vision that I can't focus. I can't make out a voice through it all begging me to stop. I can't. I can't. I really can't. I'm shaking and stumbling away into my mind.

     I'm soaring through fields of poppies and tress and everything that is breathing, everything that is alive with vegetation and everyone I adore is with me, perched in a branch high up that no wandering hands would ever be able to reach.