Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

I’m bolting through a set of swinging double doors,
searching out the feeble sound, fighting to focus on the
tiniest details. I strain my ears and hear it again.
Heavy, labored breathing.
The closer I get, the more clearly I can hear him. It has to
be him. My gun is up and aimed to fire, my eyes careful
now, anticipating attackers. My legs move swiftly, easily,
silently. I nearly shoot a shadow the boxes have cast on the
floor. I take a steadying breath. Round another corner.
And nearly collapse.
Adam is hanging from bound wrists, shirtless, bloodied and
bruised everywhere. His head is bent, his neck limp, his left
leg drenched in blood despite the tourniquet wrapped
around his thigh. I don’t know how long the weight of his
entire body has been hanging from his wrists. I’m surprised
he hasn’t dislocated his shoulders. He must still be fighting
to hold on.
The rope wrapped around his wrists is attached to some
kind of metal rod running across the ceiling. I look more
closely and realize the rod is a part of a conveyor belt. That
Adam is on a conveyor belt.
That this isn’t just a factory.
It’s a slaughterhouse.
I’m too poor to afford the luxury of hysteria right now.
I need to find a way to get him down, but I’m afraid to
approach. My eyes search the space, certain that there are
guards around here somewhere, soldiers prepared for this
kind of ambush. But then it occurs to me that perhaps I was
never really considered a threat. Not if Warner managed to
drag me away.
No one would expect to find me here.
I climb onto the conveyor belt and Adam tries to lift his
head. I have to be careful not to look too closely at his
wounds, not to let my imagination cripple me. Not here. Not
now.
“Adam . . . ?”