Sparks Rise by Alexandra Bracken

dragging me back down into this reality.
    The odds are I will never have the opportunity to speak with him again as long as we’re both here. So many different moments of chance had to line up to bring him to this camp, for us to recognize each other, for him to step in, for the power to go out—my hands shake with how frantic I feel at the thought. I didn’t appreciate it enough while he was here. If I could go back and live those few minutes again, I’d have paid closer attention to his smell, the details of the scars on the right side of his chin, the way the warmth of his voice shrank and broadened depending on what he was talking about.
    He’ll go, and you’ll stay, and you’ll live through that, too.
    Will I?
    Do I not get a choice in anything ? He walked back into my heart as a conclusion, not a question. Maybe that’s the whole point—life showing me how good it could be, letting me have it just long enough to want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything else, only to rip it away. When you have nothing for so long, you forget the terror of having something to lose.
    The rustling starts like a foot dragging against the concrete. I lift my head up, trying to squint into the darkness. There are all kinds of rodents in this camp. I’ve had to kill more than one mouse, not to mention an assortment of roaches and spiders, with nothing more than the heel of my flimsy slip-on sneaker. The sacks of dog food must be heaven for them, the easiest pickings for miles around.
    But I know what mice sound like as they scrabble against the concrete and through the walls. That is not a mouse.
    Someone exhales between their teeth. I don’t hear it so much as feel it near my ankle.
    “Who’s there?” My voice sounds unnaturally loud to my ears, even at a whisper. How long had I been sleeping? I would have heard someone coming in; the creak of the door alone would have jolted me out of the deepest layer of sleep.
    I start to draw my legs back from where I’ve stretched them out. But that small movement sparks another one—warm, smooth muscle glides along my skin, up my calf with silent intent. And I think, He’s back, I think, He’s here, he’s got the lock off. I can’t see a damn thing, I can’t get out of this damn cage, this room, this life; the darkness has taken on weight, and I can’t get out from under it. I can’t get out. I am never getting out.
    It’s not until after I frantically kick that I can hear my mind whisper, Snake.
    The hiss sounds like I’ve tried to throw a bucket of ice water onto a fire, it sounds like my heart, the frantic pulse of it just before it stops completely. My numb, frozen body is alive with feeling, overwhelmingly aware of the weight stretched out along my hip, down my leg. By then, it’s too late.
    The metal sheet beneath me pops as weight suddenly shifts. I can’t go still, limp, anything I know I’m supposed to do, I just want out, I want out of here. There’s a moment’s grace as it coils before the lunge. I feel it spring forward, and, God, do I feel it when its fangs punch through my skin and strike the ankle bone.
    I scream in pain and shock and it only—it hurts—
    It hurts—
    It electrifies my brain. I can see colors and lights that aren’t there. I feel the devil in this room as surely as if he’d guided the snake in.
    Stop. Moving.
    It whips out of the cage so fast, I think it’s flying. It leaves the way that it must have come in, through the gap Tildon made trying to pry the door off. I choke on my next breath as its scale-slick body rubs against the first bite the last time. If it’s leaving, it won’t bite again. It’s as scared of you as you are of it.
    I stay still for as long as I can bear it, until the trembling starts. Reaching down as best as I can, I rub my fingers along the punctures, already swollen and tender. They come away slick and warm—warmer than any other part of my body. I can almost imagine how it happened, how the snake was