Camp Damascus(73)

My taps are not magic, and while I often walk them across any surface I can find in moments of stress, performing these steps will not completely alter my reality. This is not a miracle cure.

What does move the needle, however, is the sudden reminder of just how close Willow and I were. I have no recollection of showing these patterns to anyone, yet the girl beside me can repeat every step in perfect unison.

She’s got my back. So does Saul, for that matter.

My birth family never understood these subtle movements, either ignoring them completely or reacting with downright contempt. However, my chosen family doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, they’re quite happy to dance along.

I step forward, finally releasing Willow’s grip and continuing up the porch.

I cautiously peer through the front window. This cabin is exactly how I saw the one in my vision, although it appears one bunk has been moved to the room’s opposite corner.

Last time I climbed through a window in the dead of night I triggered a silent alarm, and I’m not looking to make the same mistake twice.

With that in mind, Saul steps up next to me, following my lead. He gazes through the glass to assess the scene, pointing down at a small metal square attached to the window’s inner edge. It’s a security system, set to activate the moment the seal has broken. One can only assume there’s another unit affixed to the cabin door.

Fortunately, we’ve planned ahead.

Saul pulls off his backpack and sets it down with extreme care, prompting me to recall the highly explosive, flammable equipment held within. Apparently, Saul also saved enough room for a simple flathead screwdriver.

“All these premade cabins have cheap windows,” my friend whispers, his voice slightly too loud thanks to the grinding heavy metal in his earbuds. “They’re all the same.”

Saul gets to work, slipping his screwdriver between the pane and its wooden frame. He does this very, very slowly, working his way along the edge. Once the surrounding material is broken, Saul begins his process of carefully extracting the glass as a single, complete rectangle. He moves achingly slow, carefully pulling away the glass.

“Oh!” Saul abruptly jerks, the pane dipping sharply in a moment that causes my heart to skip a beat.

Saul reels slightly, somehow managing to regain control of the delicate rectangle. I can see now that a large, wispy cocoon is tucked away in the darkness, hidden on the inside edge of the frame. It’s stringy and delicate, like torn cotton candy, sticking to Saul’s knuckles as he pulls away.

“Ugh,” Willow blurts in revulsion.

Saul carefully sets the pane down, stepping back and wiping the white threads away on the fabric of his shirt. A scowl of disgust overwhelms his face. “I saw one of these in the garage,” he recalls, making sure every last strand is cleaned off his hand.

Peering in through the opening, I take note of three wispy white pods affixed to the inner wall. The largest of these cocoons—the one Saul touched—is about a foot long and cracked down the middle to reveal a hollow interior. The others are smaller, two-and four-inch ovals of webbing that are still busy gestating whatever’s inside.

I also note the security trigger. It remains affixed to its window frame, undisturbed.

Saul picks up his backpack and throws it over his shoulder. “Be careful. That stuff’s nasty.”

Saul, Willow, and I climb through our freshly crafted entrance, glancing around the shadowy cabin where moonlight barely seeps. I’m tempted to pull out a flashlight, but the chance of this faint illumination alerting someone is just not worth the risk.

Fortunately, I know where to begin my search.

I motion for my friends to help, pulling the relocated bunk away from its wall to reveal a wooden door below.

“Oh my,” I gasp, realizing my visions were correct.

There could just as easily be a security device hidden behind this door as the last one, but with no way of telling and no possibility of turning back, there’s only one thing to do. I step to the side, then reach down to grab a large metal handle affixed to the oak frame. With one firm tug, I pull the door open to reveal a set of industrial metal stairs leading down into some unknown chamber below.

My companions and I exchange glances—uneasy, but ready to do what needs to be done.

The ground flattens out at the bottom of this staircase, transitioning into a long hallway constructed with clean gray sheets of metal. The floor of this area is lined with ultramodern strips of glowing blue lights, illuminating the scene from below.

Taking the lead, I make my way down the steps.

As Willow closes the trap door behind us, the atmosphere shifts yet again. While the campground had a rustic, natural flow, this basement feels downright futuristic. We might as well be roaming the laboratories of some billion-dollar computing firm.

“What the fuck?” Willow whispers, unable to hold back her amazement any longer as we continue down the otherworldly hallway, bathed in blue.

We cautiously round a corner.

I stop in my tracks, confronted by a long row of chambers lining either side of the space before me. Each cell is protected by an enormous pane of translucent glass, but it’s not their high-tech construction that catches my attention. Instead, my focus is drawn to the bodies huddled in the corners of each chamber: young adults, teenagers, and children stirred from their slumber by our unexpected visit. There are more than thirty people down here, with one to three captives in each bare metal cell.