Script

Chapter Five: Where?

I heard a rustling beside me and I sat up strait, only to feel my skull sear with pain, so I closed my eyes again. When the pain lessened, I slowly opened my eyes and scanned my surroundings. Amy was leaning against the wall next to me with her head on my shoulder, she was still breathing, but they were short, quick breaths and she had a black eye, a large bump on her head, and an injured wrist (probably broken).

             We were in an oddly shaped room full of wooden crates which vibrated with the movement of the room. I assumed we were in the bottom of a boat, but when my ears popped and I heard the wind against the wall instead of water, I figured we were in a plane. I stood up slowly, trying not to make a noise.  Amy stirred but laid her head back against the wall. I took a step to walk over towards the crates against the opposite wall, but my foot didn't go the estimated amount and I fell flat on my face with a cringe-worthy crack. I lugged myself to a sitting position and felt my nose. Blood had started to flow from the break, so I tilted my head back and sniffled in.

            After my nose stopped bleeding, I looked at my feet to see why I fell over. My feet had been tied together by a thick sailor's rope to form hand cuffs. Clever, but not clever enough. I tightened the muscles in my ankles and slid my feet through the loops.  I stood up again and wobbled my way over to the other wall.

            There was a puny hallway heading through the aisles of the commercial airplane, leading to the cockpit. I peeked through the window on the door and guess who I saw? If you said Dr. Clery, you're correct! (I truly do despise that guy). But my friend wasn't alone; Gunther was beside him at the steering wheel (or whatever you call the thing that you steer with on a plane). There was also a slim, tall boy, with a strong build, about my age sitting in the first seat behind the cockpit. I was about to open the door when I remembered Amy. I ran over to her and shook her gently till she woke up. Her eyes fluttered but she didn't say anything. I could tell she was in pain by the look on her face as she slid herself from the rope-cuffs. I helped her stand up but she shook when she walked. I slowly rubbed the bump on the back of her head till she spoke,

            "wh-where are we?" She shuddered but turned her head to look me in the eyes. She looked so small surrounded by the big crates, and her big brown eyes were scared and pleading. She was only nine, and all I really wanted to tell her was that she was having a bad dream, and to go back to bed, but I couldn't lie to her. I motioned her over to the wall and ripped a piece off of my jacket to wrap her wrist in.

            "The man that came to our camp was mom's brother, I have no idea who the creep is with the gun, but Dr. Clery called him Gunther." She put a finger to her lips and pointed to the door. I stopped and listened. I could hear faint footsteps heading in our direction. I grabbed Amy's hand and ran over behind one of the crates. 

The door slid open quietly then shut.