Craig!

His eyes shot open as he lurched off the cold bunker floor. Sweat dripped down his cheeks and his heart felt like it was running a marathon.

This was not the first time Craig has had these dreams, these visions. He knew he should be resting, but he's heard that torture voice ring out in his mind every single night for the past two weeks.

These nightmares kept him tethered to a reality that was no longer his—and they were the only way he'd ever hear that voice again.

"Craig," the utterance was gentle, followed by a soft groan. He turned to his right and in the pale light of the oil lamp, found a pair of vacant gray eyes looking up at him. Her long, silky black hair draped across the makeshift pillow. The dirt in the creases on her forehead wasn't lost on him, even in the darkness. She was cradling an old looking Uzi like it was her only child, just as she did every night before.

"Wendy," he whispered questioningly, ignoring the snag in his voice.

She inspected him carefully for a moment, then reached up to touch his face—maybe this time, it would be different. But as was routine, he quickly shrunk away as if she was contagious. She wasn't surprised in the least.

Wendy sighed and pursed her chapped lips together, as if she was trying to solve some sort of equation. As if the answer wasn't already blatantly obvious.

"You said it again."

He was straining to breathe. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to be alone. "Said what?"

"His name. You said it again."

"Oh. I don't remember."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. Craig wondered if it was out of pity. "I know."