Ten Seconds at a Time

A person could stand just about anything for ten seconds. Someone had told Kimmy this at some point. She couldn’t remember who — she wished she could remember. She owed that person a lot. If she ever got out of the bunker, she would track them down and tell them how much it had helped her get through all the intolerable ten second periods that had occurred since she’d been taken and trapped in the bunker.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.” Kimmy counted again.

Once that ten seconds had passed, she would start another ten seconds. She’d been spinning the crank for days at that point with no rest. Her arms were on fire, aching and crying out. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer, her muscles were turning to jelly. But she could last another ten seconds.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

There was a smile on Kimmy’s face the whole time. She couldn’t let the other girl’s know that she’d overworked herself to the brink of collapse. Kimmy had to give these girl’s hope. If Kimmy gave up, then they’d all give up. Even now, though Kimmy didn’t speak Spanish, she was pretty sure Donna Maria had already come to the conclusion that they’d never ever leave.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

And until that day, when they were finally rescued, finally freed from the bunker, Kimmy had to shield them from the brunt of the reverend’s ire. And that meant turning the crank. As long as she kept working, kept turning it, the reverend could go days staying in his own area of the bunker and keep away from them all.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

If they went too long without turning it, he would storm out in a rage, and — at best — he would yell at them all and Cyndee would cry. At worst— well, Kimmy didn’t like to think about that outcome. Because she wouldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t stop turning the crank. She would work on turning it forever if she had to.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

Only, now her eyes were starting to involuntarily flicker shut. Her head was starting to lower, forcing Kimmy to catch herself and jerk it back up. She really needed sleep. As much as she had the determination and will power to keep turning the crank, she was still a person with human limitations. Days on end of turning the crank had already pushed her to her limit.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

And then it happened. She couldn’t lift her arms enough to give it one more turn. She wasn’t sure how much time she’d bought them before she needed to keep turning it again. It had to be enough to last. Last them through Kimmy having a rest. Last them through a few minutes of Kimmy trying to cheer everyone up and lift their spirits.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

She was no longer turning the crank, instead sliding down the wall so she could lie down and finally sleep. Yet she continued to count. Even when she wasn’t turning the crank, she needed her ten seconds to cope. Because even without the physical labour, she couldn’t stand being down here.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

12,648,960 ten second periods. That’s how long she had been down here. Counting over and over again. She would count as she turned the crank. She would count as the Reverend taunted her. She would count as she ate the barely edible terrible canned food. She would count every time she had to inhale and exhale the nasty stale air. And when she finally went to sleep she would count in her nightmares.