Rehabilitation: Romantic Dystopian (Unbelief Series Book 1) by C.B. Stone Page B

wondering if maybe I’m hearing things. “ Climb .”
    It’s that male voice again. I think I must be hallucinating or this is some kind of trick. A test, maybe? How could it be that there’s a rope hanging down in front of me, just when I’ve given up, when I’ve conceded that it’s hopeless?
    Hesitating, I reach out, feeling for the rope. The rope is real. It’s solid and sort of soft in my hand, moving as I give it a small shake.
    “Hurry!” comes the voice again. “We don’t have much time.”
    The voice sounds familiar, like I know whoever is at the other end, but I can’t be sure. He’s only a silhouette against the night sky. But I do know one thing: I have to climb. It doesn’t matter if this is a trick or a test or anything else, I have to climb .
    I can’t stay here anymore.
    Wrapping my other hand around the dangling rope, I tighten my hands as much as I can, then start to pull. I tug myself upwards, finding it hard and slow going. “I’m coming,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I’m coming.”
    It takes forever. I feel like I’m on that rope for half my life, but when the opening of the hole is in reach, it’s still night outside and I can hardly believe it. It’s right there. Clenching my knees and ankles tight around the rope, I use one hand to hold on and reach out toward the ledge with my other.
    I’m shaking, exhausted and nervous and afraid this is all a dream. When my fingertips can nearly touch the ledge, I slip.
    A scream escapes my lips as I realize I’m going down. I’ll fall again and crash into the ground, maybe I’ll break something this time. Maybe I’ll die. Maybe—
    But I don’t fall. A strong, warm hand reaches out and grabs me, fingers wrapping around my skinny wrist. The hand yanks me up, impossibly strong and pulls me over the edge of the opening. I collapse onto a warm body, shuddering and shaking and feeling a sob catch in my throat, threatening to choke me.
    “Shh,” says the male voice again. His hand rubs my back and strokes my hair alternately. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
    I don’t understand why he’s comforting me, talking in quiet soothing tones, until I realize the sob caught in my throat has escaped and I’m blubbering into his shoulder like a baby, clutching him desperately.
    “I’ve got you, Sinna,” the man soothes.
    He knows my name. Taking a deep breath, I manage to compose myself. With what feels like the last of my strength, I shove away from him, moving to sit on the ground beside him. “How do you know my name,” I whisper, still struggling to catch my breath.
    “Don’t you recognize me?” There’s a hint of amusement in that voice.
    Frowning, I finally look up at him and can just make out his features in the dark. “You’re...” It’s Alex. The soldier from the truck. “Alex?”
    He grins, his teeth flashing white in the night. “You do remember. Good. I was worried you were fried.” His tone teasing almost.
    I can’t believe this. Alex, a soldier of all people, has gotten me out of the hole I was sure I would die in. The boy—man—who offered me an escape, has now saved my life.  
    How is that even possible?
    “You ready for me to help you escape yet?” he says, his voice continuing to be surprisingly light, despite our situation.
    I’m nodding my head before I even think about it.
    He gets up off the ground, reaching out a hand to help me up, too. I take it and let him pull me up, wincing at the pain that shoots through my half-frozen bones. “Good,” he comments. “Then let’s get out of here. My shift will be over soon and my replacement will show up. If they catch us here, we’ll both get a lot worse than being tossed in that hole there.”
    He starts to move away from the hole and the camp, out toward the mile of nothingness he told me about when first we arrived here. I begin to follow him, almost mindlessly but I slow down quickly.  
    I can’t go yet, I realize.  
    I still have things to