The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 3: The Big Show (Part 4 of 5)

If not for the torturous pressure on his bladder, Tray Cullen would have fallen asleep already.  The only thing keeping him awake was his desperate need for the bathroom and the complete inability to get to one. 

Stupid lockdown protocols.

He couldn't figure out what Wiley and the rest were so scared of.  Why lock the Observation Center door from the outside?  Why trap them all in there?  Even if the damn girl changed into some freaky werewolf, it wasn't getting in here.  There was no way anything could get through the solid steel wall or the five-inch thick window.  You couldn't break it with a wrecking ball.

It was just stupid, needless precautions.  Just like the security checks and body scans.  It was almost like they were doing all of these things to make life more difficult for him. 

How can we screw with Tray today? A mocking voice chirped in his head.

He wrapped his right leg over his knee, pressing his thighs tight together.  He shouldn't have drunk all that soda earlier.

Tray had to wait until Emily unlocked the door.  She was on the outside.  Every hour, on the hour, she did a door check and asked if anyone needed out.  In ten minutes, he'd be able to make a dash for it.  He wondered if anyone would notice or care if he didn't come back.  He wouldn't mind spending a bit of time out of the room, stretching his legs.  And he wouldn't mind spending a bit of time with Emily either. 

He had barely had a chance to talk with her since their orientation day.  Of all the people down there, she was the only one he felt a connection with.  Emily was the only one who didn't look down on him.  She was also the only one that wasn't aloof or outright crazy.  And it didn't hurt that she was easy to look at.  Not that she was really his type — far more sexy librarian than what he usually went for.  But it wasn't like there was much choice. 

The doctor was kind of hot – in a James Bond, KGB assassin sort of way.  But she was all kinds of trouble that Tray didn't need right now.

Emily would probably just string him along anyway until she could get in Jamie's pants.  He'd seen the way she looked at him as she sealed them in for the night.  The dude had movie-star looks.  All he'd have to do was bat those long lashes of his, and that would be that.  But that was okay, Tray wasn't interested anyway.  He just needed a friend down here, so he wasn't completely on his own.

That's all she is: a friend. 

His handler wouldn't be happy if he baled for the rest of the night.  But then, he could tell Palmer anything, and he would never know the difference.  Tray was his eyes and ears down here.  He could do whatever the hell he wanted, and he would never know the difference.  It would serve him right for ordering Tray to volunteer for the nightshift.  He hated being up all night.  Or at least he hated it when he had to be sober, like this.

It wasn't like he would miss anything.  The girl was never going to change.  R.J. had gotten all excited when she started coughing.  But when she stopped and went back to sleep ten seconds later, he started pacing the floor.  Tray could see the frustration written on his face.  He actually believed it was going to happen.

What an idiot.

Tray once saw a dragon flying over Lake Michigan, but even he knew there were no such things as werewolves.  Maybe if they all dropped some acid, they might see something tonight, but otherwise, this was all a big waste of time. 

But fine, he'd play along.  Wiley had gotten the charges dropped against him, and Palmer was going to help Whitney.  The clean slate was nice, but it was Palmer's deal that got him in here every day and painted a fake smile on his face.

Whitney was the only person who had ever truly cared about him.  He tried to skirt his memories of her – walk lightly around the edges, so as not to disturb the mountain of festering regrets.  The guilt was piled up like so much broken glass, every shard waiting to stab him in the heart.  She had done so much for him, he could do this for her.

Five more minutes.  Why is time moving so slowly?

There wasn't anything to distract him from the searing pain building in his bladder.  Tray couldn't even see into the enclosure to look at the girl.  Aikman's head was in the way.  That dweeb was a mess.  Next to him, Tray looked like a model.  The guy's skin was a blotchy, pale gray, and his eyes were sunken – the underground must be his natural habitat – he looked like freaking Gollum.

Tray traced the outline of stubble on the guy's head.  He had shaved himself bald to hide the fact that he was going bald.  It would have worked better if he took the razor to it more regularly.  Dark fuzz covered the back and sides of his head, leaving the top smooth and milky white.

Aikman raised himself in his chair and looked through the glass.

Now, what did she do? Fart?