Sub Zero

Chapter Seven

I stare at Torren like an idiot, with my mouth agape and my eyes bulging. He smiles, and it's almost genuine. I feel sick. "Thought I was a nice guy, didn't you, you poor thing?" He says with a false tone of sympathy. I shake my head. His country accent has even disappeared.

I look at his black hair, his brilliant green eyes, the chiseled chin that I wanted so badly to touch. How could I be so stupid? I fell for this charade of his. All because he was simply nice to me.

Tears threaten to slip down my cheeks. "Why?" I manage to squeak, my voice cracking. He cracks a thin, wry smile, much different than the devious grin that he flashed me at the store. The salty tears finally spill down my cheeks. "I trusted you. I trusted you."

He walks over to me where I sit in a metal foldable chair. It sits, rusting, in the center of what seems to be a basement. He looks me over, then shakes his head, almost sadly, with a click of his tongue. "Such a waste." He sighs. "What do you mean?" I demand through clenched teeth, the pitiful tears still falling. I keep my hands clasped together, hoping to hide their violent shaking. Why did they even untie me?

I glance at Indie with pleading eyes. She almost looks apologetic. She lowers her eyes to the cement floor, refusing to meet my gaze. Torren crouches down next to me, leaning in so close that I can feel his cool breath against my skin. I shiver, and try to shrink back from him.

"You could have joined us, you know. If you had, you wouldn't have to be here."
"Joined them? What the hell does he mean by that? Is this some kind of gang?" He pauses, looking lost in thought for a moment.  "Now, unfortunately, we'll have to execute you." My eyes widen.

"Execute me?" I demand, hysterical. "What did I do? Why am I here?"

He stands, ignoring me. "Indie, you are dismissed." The poor girl looks terrified. She nods curtly, then almost dashes out of the room. He smirks, and turns his haunting gaze back on me. "Why are you doing this?" I whisper. Torren glares at me. "Don't play dumb!" He spits. His eyes momentarily flash with suppressed fury as his hand strikes out and slaps me across the face.

It's different from my mom, some how. His is much more violent, packed with more power. My head snaps back from the force, blood trickling out of my nostril. My eyes sting.

"Pitiful." He mutters. "I would like to play with you, but you'll be dealt with soon enough." He turns on his heel and strides across the room with an almost sickening air of confidence. He glances over his shoulder at me before slipping through the door and locking it behind him with a deafening click. The lights shut off.

After several attempts of opening the door after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I collapse in the corner of the room. I would wipe the blood from my face, but every time I try to, a sharp pain erupts from a definite bruise that spreads across my cheek. Despite trying to desperately stay awake, I drift off to sleep.

Some time later, I am awakened by a loud "bang!" I jump to my feet, which I immediately regret after I nearly collapse with weakness. The lights flick on.

I see a narrow slot open on the door, which is large and metal. A round disk wrapped in plastic slides through the slot, followed by a styrofoam cup. "Morning." I hear Indie mutter sarcastically, as if this was any other normal day. I don't reply.

The slot slides shut, and after I'm positive that she's gone, I make my way to the disk. Wrapped in the plastic is a hunk of stale bread. The cup is filled with water. I don't dare eat any of it.

On the bottom of the disk are a series of numbers, separated by a dash. With a closer look, I realize that the numbers are dates. I drop the disk and back away from the door. The first set of numbers are my birth-date. That only means that the other numbers indicate the date that I die. Two days from now.

I spend the rest of the day thinking about why I'm here as my stomach growls. I can't grasp the fact that I'm going to be murdered. Not executed, murdered. After all, I have done nothing wrong, right? And Indie mentioned that she caused the heat wave that made me blackout. There are others like me?

Also, how did these people even find me? I was so careful. I've been going to the warehouse for years. She also said that we're still at the warehouse. Are we underground?

And what did Indie mean by, "Rookie"? What am I, a baseball player? This doesn't make any sense. My head begins to throb.

At one point, I am tempted to take just a nibble of bread, but decide against it. I at least want some questions to be answered before I die.

The next morning, I hear shouts beyond the door as I absent-mindlessly   twirl a snowflake between my fingers. It's something I do when I'm stressed. I look up with wide eyes as the door bursts open, and in stumbles a hooded figure with their hands tied behind his back.

I scuttle back against the wall. I see Torren behind the door, a trail of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. His face is bruised and bloody.

I find a strange pleasure in this. He kicks the figure, which seems to be a boy, sending him falling on the cement floor. I wince. Torren wipes away his blood with the back of his hand, his features contorted in a look of disgust. He glances over at me, then gives an annoyed look towards the uneaten food.

The hooded boy struggles on the floor, yelling and kicking. Torren smiles cruelly at this. With a final glance in my direction, he storms out of the room and slams the door shut, locking it once more.