Stage One: Hope in Darkness

Getting out of the City (Annabelle)

The sun was still rising, my watch said it was six am.

"In here kid," Allen, the crazy trap setting survivalist, says. He is standing there holding open a manhole cover for me. The sewers? He can't be serious right? His eyes say it all, tight, shuttered and serious as can be. Well it's not the worst thing I have had to do to survive.

That thought conjures up distinct memories. Flashing behind my eyes in a strobe of vivid remembrance. Epinephrine is injected into every part of me, my blood vessels doing their job admirably. Fight or flight response kicking on, heart palpitating in an unhealthy rhythm. The images clear, becoming more than just a flash, a moment. They are solidifying, taking shape, settling inside me. No, no please....someone please...help me.

"Annabelle, do you need another reminder?" his voice, that sick inducing vibration of the vocal cords. I lift my head, the restraints biting my wrists and ankles. More blood and bruises. Cold eyes meet mine, hollow, blue. Staring into a deep abyss, knowing a monster awaits within its depths. I mumble softly, my words unintelligible even to myself.

"What was that? You finally learn your lesson, hmm?" He leans in close. Instinct kicks in and without thought a spit. Blood and spittle hit him in the face. Good, that bastard could use some color. He was far too pale, like a walking corpse. A smile pulls at my lips and a laugh leaves me, "I would rather die than bow to a dickless asshole like you." His face twists, pure rage and hate.

That look alone promises vengeance, but he still feels the need to add words to his threat, "Death would be too easy, an escape. Oh no, I have no intention of letting you get away. You are my favorite after all," He grabs my chin firmly in his cold bony hand, "But you will pay for this."

"Annabelle!!!" My eyes come back into focus. The light from the rising sun hits me squarely on my sweat drenched face. Rivulets of hair cling to my face, my clothes are damp from all the perspiration. Something soft and warm brushes against my side, a wet tongue coming into contact with my fingers. Hannibal.

Hands are on my shoulders, squeezing firmly. Not hard but just enough to grab my attention.

"You gonna stand here all day or are you ready to get the hell out'a here?" Allen's eyes are blue, but they are so different from his. Warm, blue, the sun as it hits the lake. Promising cool relief from the sun and a day of fun. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me.

"I don't know where you just went kid but all that matters is the here and now. Whatever happened before is over, you are safe." My brain finally starts to click on. Hannibal is still plastered to my side, whimpering softly. I give a slow nod to Allen as I reach down. Soft fur meets my hand and I thread my fingers into it.

Signing with my free hand, 'thank you Hannibal, my good boy.' He quiets as I stroke him.

Allen watches the exchange with a raised brow. 'Lead the way' I sign to him. No more words are spoken as he opens the manhole back up. A rope tied to Hannibal sees him safely down to the bottom, I follow quickly and Allen takes up the rear. Closing the manhole as he comes down the ladder and plunging us into darkness. The smell of sewage assaulted my senses. My eyes threatened to water from the smell alone. Hannibal's nose was much more sensitive than mine, he must in hell. My poor boy.

Allen had started using simple signs since we had left the tower. Silence was best, and the quieter we could be the better it would be for us. It had been so long, too long since I had been so well understood. Allen's sign language was rough, movements sharp and definitive. It was as if I could hear that gruff tone of his voice, the thick accent, the emotion in his words. Sign language truly was a beautiful thing, every bit as distinctive as a voice. The way someone signed could tell you so much about them.