Chapter 1
With mounting panic, I struck out at the enclosure again with both fists, with the same disappointing result: a reverberating bong that echoed in my ears and sent a new wave of dizziness spiraling through me. I had never before experienced claustrophobia; in fact, I had always found a measure of comfort in cramped spaces. Then again, no one had ever restrained me within such a tight, inescapable space before and at that moment I felt like clawing my way out of my skin to escape the confinement. What was worse: it was growing steadily hotter. I hoped that it was due to my trapped, rapid breaths and wondered how much breathable air I had left.
I had no sense of time. For all I knew, I’d spent my entire life trapped within the rounded, lightless, metallic prison. That was impossible, of course; I had a mother, a father and five siblings. I lived in a suburb of Los Angeles called Rindgedale and attended Lindberg Junior High School. I was thirteen, a C student, first chair clarinet in junior band the previous semester and I took a little too much pleasure from burning things, so I could not have spent my entire life trapped in my clanging capsule, even if it felt like I had.
For the longest time, the only sound I heard was the rushing of blood past my inner ears, a frenetic crimson flow. But now I heard people talking outside my enclosure. I could not make out any words, but a few of the voices sounded vaguely familiar. They seemed to argue over something. I hoped that I was at least a part of the discussion, in particular a fierce debate concerning my imminent release. A couple of the voices cycled through high-pitched complaints that I couldn’t quite make out. Laughter met them, dousing my briefly rising hopes.
I more felt through my numbed buttocks than heard my container scrape over the ground briefly before rising into the air. I could not determine how much elevation I gained, perhaps only inches, but I had no doubt that I no longer rested on the ground for the capsule began to sway back and forth.
Someone was moving my prison, and me.
My back ached and my butt felt dead, beyond numb, as if I had sat on that hard, curved surface for days on end. Now I slid around the small space as the pendulous motion shifted me from side to side. I wanted to take a small measure of hope that at least something new had happened after so much tedious time spent in singular silence and stillness, but I knew deep in my bones that this was not a change for the better.
The voices faded into nothingness as my capsule and I moved away from their sources. Silence did not replace them: now I heard a faint squeaking sound coming from above as metal scraped against metal. Soon my forward momentum ceased and the squeaks accompanied a sharp clicking noise from above me. My prison continued to sway, though the arcs lessened in degree with each swing.
Silence returned—an ominous silence that seemed to sap me of strength. I felt my innards liquefy in response to a threat that my body seemed to perceive but that my brain had yet to acknowledge, a visceral reaction to impending doom.
Dimly, from below my metallic shell, came the sound of crackling.
Something pinged, seemingly from all around me. The air grew warm, then unbearably hot.
I felt as I imagined Gumby would if left on a stove burner for too long, melting slowly into a gelatinous pool of green goo. I barely had the strength to raise my arms and wipe the accumulating sweat from my forehead; I lacked the energy to beat upon the walls of my prison.
The air within the enclosure nearly stifled me: hot, dank, and filled with the smell of my perspiration and probably a nearly lethal dose of carbon dioxide by now. I again wondered how much oxygen I had left to breathe.
Then the air grew hotter still, a sweltering heat that, despite the humidity, scalded and dried my airways more with every breath. The numbness in my backside prevented me from feeling what my shoe-clad feet gradually perceived: increasing heat, rising from the floor of the capsule. Before long, my posterior numbness shrieked out of existence, replaced by instant agony. The soles of my feet began to burn; the shoe tread melted and my feet slid around from side to side.
The weariness I had felt fled with a new wave of frenzied panic as I rose to a squat and resumed pounding against the metal with both fists. Soon, the sides of the capsule grew unbearably hot as well, but that didn’t keep me from raging against it with my fists. With each hammer blow, I could feel layers of singed skin rip away and adhere to the searing surface. “Help!” I screamed in a raw, hoarse voice. “Get me out of here!”
For my efforts, I received a response, but it wasn’t the one I was hoping for and my rising fear became instant dread.
Cackling laughter carried through the thick metal before me, more clearly than it should have. It was a woman’s voice, despite its deep timbre.
I knew this voice as well.
The dread silenced me, but only briefly, for an instant later my shoes ignited, closely followed by my pants and then my shirt.
I shrieked a mindless chorus of panic-induced, terror-fortified squeals until dancing tongues of flame raced down my throat.
