The Sky is Falling

Chapter Six - Zach Baker

"I just pinch myself, no longer comatose, I woke up, no luck."

Sunday??, May Somethingth

I have officially lost all hope. I'm gonna die down here. And I still don't even know where I am.

I start crying, but I don't even care. I'm past the point of embarrassment. I just want to be free from this awful place. I hope that old man doesn't come down here and see me like this. He'd probably call me pathetic and beat me up, just for good measure.

I don't know why, but something's telling me if I keep waiting, someone will magically appear and rescue me. I know that'll never happen, but I've just been waiting for at least a few days. He never gave me back my phone. It was the only thing that could have gotten me out of this hole.

I hear footsteps echoing down the hall. My heart pounds. Could someone be coming to save me? The door slowly unlocks. I quickly wipe my face with my shirt collar and sit up. Maybe they'll feel sorry for me and decide to let me go. Yeah, right.

That stupid old geezer unlocks the door and steps inside, his eyes scanning the room like he was checking for something. His gaze lands on me, and for a moment, he just stares. He's holding a baking sheet with some food on it. Luckily, the food he brought me before wasn't poisoned. Or, at least the poison hasn't kicked in yet.

"Here's your food," he says weakly, and drops the metal tray on the floor. He walks out and leaves the door open a crack. I don't know if it was an accident or not, but I'm not taking any chances. I scramble to my feet and carefully approach the rusty bunker door. Just when I'm about to open it wider, I realize it's probably a trap, and he's going to clobber me when I get out of here. Or I'm just being paranoid, and it actually was an accident, and he's going to realize soon and close it. A little voice in my head says that no one is coming to save me. Get up.

So I do. I quietly open the door, praying it doesn't squeak too much, and slink down the hall. I emerge into a large, drab area, similar to the room I was in, but way bigger. There's dim, flickering fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The walls are made of those same dirty concrete blocks, and concrete floor. There's some red pillars emerging from the ground. I notice a metal door with a window to my left, but I decide against going in it, in case someone's in there. In the far right corner I notice a metallic ladder mounted to the middle of the floor. I squint to see it's coming from a small square opening in the ceiling. I look around to make sure no one's watching me. I briskly tip toe over to it and look up. I hesitate. The horror-movie-watching part of me is screaming at me to not to go up it, as that's where all the unsuspecting victims get pummeled to death. But the survival mode part of me knows that I have to. This is my ticket out of here.

I take a deep breath and begin climbing, my hands clammy on the rungs. The metal is cool and smooth beneath my fingers, but I could feel the sweat dripping down my palms. I peek my head out of the top of the opening. I almost fall down, it's so bright. I wince and snap my eyes shut. My vision is scattered with floaters as I reopen my eyes. I look around to see rows of ceiling high shelves filled with boxes. My nostrils are hit with the smell of chemicals and machinery.

I hoist myself up off the ladder and onto the concrete floor. As I carefully walk around, I see some forklifts and other machinery.

That's when I see it. The door. A big striped orange door. It's labeled with big unforgettable lettering; "Authorized Personnel Only." I feel a shiver run down my spine as I realize where I am. This is the warehouse next to the field where we used to play as kids. The warehouse that we would joke about because they were taking so long to build it. The field Elliott and I would sneak off to after school to explore.

But this isn't exploration. This is survival.

I take a deep breath and begin moving towards the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I can feel the weight of danger lurking around every corner, but I push on.

I have to get out of here. They built this place to look empty — like nothing ever happened. Like no one ever screamed down there.

I can't believe it. The orange door is actually unlocked. That's when I realize that this is just a phony warehouse used for looks so that no one suspects they're keeping hostages in the basement. That hole in the floor with the ladder probably gets covered back up.

I push the door open to see the old man standing about fifteen feet away, talking with some other middle aged men. This should be interesting. His back is facing me but I recognize him by the blue button up t-shirt he's wearing, and his uncombed receding grey hair. I try to tiptoe around to the back of the building, but I hear one of his goons yell, "Hey!" I assume they're speaking to me. I start running. I think I'm gonna make it but some burly guy who looks exactly like Sandman from Spider-Man steps in front of me. The old dude and another guy stand behind me, so I have nowhere to go. I kick the Sandman dude down south. He tumbles backward and falls into some bushes. I punch the other guy in the throat. He falls back, too. I'm deciding where to punch the old dude, but he pulls out a pocket knife. Uh, oh.

I rack my brain for the random episodes of Dateline I watched years ago. I yell, "FIRE!" to attract attention. If I were to yell "Call the police," people wouldn't even know why to call the police and ignore me. The old guy is confused by this tactic. While he's trying to locate the fire, I slap the knife out of his hand and punch him in the nose. He's not too phased, so I kick him in the liver. Then I scratch his arm, so come worst-case scenario, his DNA is under my fingernails.

Then I run. I run, and I run. I look behind me and see the old dude lying on the sidewalk, injured, like the weak, pathetic old man he is. I guess I should've been paying more attention to what was in front of me, though, because I run into someone.