“I see you, dear darling. I see you.”
I nearly break my neck snapping my head around to see who it is. Not able to tamp down panic, little puffs of rancid air flood in and out as blood throbs in my veins and in the back of my eyes. I can’t hear myself breathe but I can feel it. I can feel my chest constricting and my stomach cramping, yet I feel alive. My fingers are tingling with a strange warmth, and my fear doesn’t hinder my senses, it sharpens them.
All I can see is a silhouette of a woman, just outside the room, crouching in the hallway. As she rises, her knees crack slightly like she’d been in the position for quite a while. I shiver as I realize that she probably watched us walk into the room.
"Ah! Did you hear that? I’m getting old,” she mutters and flicks a speck of dust off her pants. “I have to admit, I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you’d be with your boy, Elie. That’s where I sent all the guards. Silly, silly me.” She butchers the pronunciation of his name so bad, I have no choice but to cringe.
“W-what?”
"Yeesh, at least I’m not hard of hearing. I guess having bad eyesight is compensated for with good hearing. I really do have bad eyesight. Blind as a cat, I am. Or is it bat?” She takes a step, just a tiny, half-step into a square of light. It’s enough. The single square of light emanating from the TV, lights upon her hair. Locks of unkempt, red strands, looking frizzy and malnourished are hanging in uneven swathes around her face. It’s Diane Warhol, the director on the Facility, already infected, but with a protector of her own--just like Quentin. Someone, or something, that keeps the virus from killing her just as Quentin stops the virus from killing Elie.
“Are you really alone? Gosh, I thought you’d at least give me a bit of a challenge. Patricia warned me about you, you know. Patricia is always right.” I take a frightened step back, and feel sweat prick my skin, but find myself latching on to what she said. She thinks I’m alone. She thinks I’m alone!
I flick my eyes in Jayne’s direction to see if she caught onto what she said. I nod my head towards Diane slightly, praying she’ll understand. Her eyes widen slightly, and after some slight hesitation, she takes out her pen.
Jayne, God bless her soul, starts edging around the room to get behind Diane. It’s funny, such an elegant name for such a dried up weasel-woman. I start yapping more, hoping to keep her distracted. Although, if her eyesight is really that bad, there’s no way she’ll be able to see Jayne creeping up behind her, right? The TV and computer screens have a minimum glow, the light couldn't even reach the deep corners of the room and it barely spilled out into the hallway.
Diane steps farther into the room and I realize that she has a gun. A real gun. My heartbeat skyrockets, blood bounces in my fingertips, acid burns it’s way up my throat as my stomach clenches. There’s no way we have a chance if she uses her gun.
Frantically, I start asking her questions, because that’s what you do when you’re distracting someone that rants. “Who’s Patricia, Diane?”
“Oh, you don’t know? You poor dear, living in the dark. Patricia says to put you out of your misery. You know, like you might put a four legged ant out of its misery by just killing it.”
“Four legged ant?”
“Well, I suppose you’d have to take the legs off before you kill it. It’s not often you just find ants with only four legs. Have you ever burned ants? You know, with a magnifying gla--” she abruptly stops and cocks her head, “Patricia tells me you haven’t been honest. There’s someone else in this room, isn’t there?”
Shoot. My eyes immediately go to Jayne, who’s frozen just a few feet away from Diane. Time slows as Diane turns and catches sight of Jayne. She pulls out her gun and I realize that there’s nothing I can do to stop her. I want to scream, to be able to run up in front of Jayne but my feet are just not fast enough and when the gunshot rings out, I do scream. What little breath I have fills my lungs and unleashes into a rage-filled noise. My ears--they ring, but not because of the gunshot. My hands--they ache, they ache to hurt.
Diane sways slightly, and falls as Jayne stands there, shocked, but completely and utterly unharmed. And it’s then I realize that there’s a third figure in the room. A third and a fourth. A man, with a gun in his hand, and Sheila.
The waning light from the TV unveils the tears in her eyes as she stumbles over to me. Her hands reach out to take my shoulders and she whispers, “Never leave me behind like that ever again. I had no idea what to do, no way of knowing if anyone was in danger, it was the stupidest decision to just leave me there. You’re such an idiot!”
Her lips quiver slightly as she pulls me into a quick hug with a large, unnecessarily hard thump on the back. She calls me an idiot one last time before turning back to the man, who’s lovingly assessing his gun. She points to him, “That’s the dude who shot Diane over there. He says he’s going to take us away from the Facility. We’d have to leave our home, our families, but we’d all be safe. Our families too.”
“Ah yes,” he shrills, “Let me introduce myself. I’m Mr. Dungworth, here to take you away from this dingy crater. Your knowledge of this place will be useful. Of course, you won't be able to go back home for a while--Diane Warhol’s minions will be on the lookout for you . . .” he trails off and looks at one of the computer screens. “Did that boy just knock someone out with a chair? Very impressive.”
Oh, no.
I rush to look at the monitor, along with Jayne and Sheila. In a second, Elie is on his knees with his arms wrapped around someone’s legs. He reaches into his pocket, and shoves a lockpick into the guy’s leg. He’s actually holding out pretty well. Suddenly, he has the dude’s gun. My hearts pounding more than it ever has as I register how wrong this situation can go. I tug on Sheila’s arm, “We have to go help him.”
The man--Mr. Dungworth--bobs his head and produces his gun, “Let’s go then.”
We all but sprint down the hallway and clamber up the ladder into the shed. I don’t wait for anyone to catch up, I’m just running. The rocky asphalt might as well have been a track. I can barely feel my feet as they fly, but I can pay no mind because if I do I will stumble. I’m flying forward, lungs burning, legs tingling and I yank the door leading into the Facility open, this time holding it open for Mr. Dungworth. After all, he’s the one with the gun. He strides forward, purposeful and swift. Even swiffer when we hear a gunshot ring through the air.
I’m on a cloud, barely feeling, yet completely focused. Elie cannot die today.
The more empty rooms we pass, the more time I feel that we’ve wasted. And when we finally turn the corner into the the right hallway, I feel my heart constrict with a painful jab. Elie’s on the floor, completely limp, with a gun pointed to his head.
I’m already running towards him. A gunshot rings out. Two gunshots, actually. One from Dungworth and the other directed towards Elie.
One gunshot misses, the other hits its mark.
***
Author's Note:
Yeah, sorry it's a little crude. I basically wrote this at 11 pm yesterday but figured I would edit and publish today. The writing might not be at its best.
So, what do ya think happened? Do you like the name Dungworth? That one took a lot of thinking, lol.
See ya next week.
♥️♥️♥️
CITEȘTI
Lunar Virus ✔️
SFElodie's life changes at the turn of a doorknob when she is forced into joining a secret organization that claims to be protecting the Earth from aliens. But with every step she takes, she finds the organization, or the facility, as they call it, be...
