Billies Seasonal Weather Anomalies

|| Nine ||

It takes me all of zero point eight seconds to realise three crucial things about the air vent; one: it's cold, two: it's dark, and three: it stinks. Since I've got so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, it's not too hard to block out the bitter chill that hangs in the stagnant air. For the dark, I've got a torch. I alternate between clasping it in my hands and holding it between my teeth. As for the smell, I suppose it's only my fault I forgot to bring a peg to stick on my nose.

Thankfully, unlike most places, I don't have the added stress of having to work out where I'm going. There's only one room in the vault which requires only one air vent. Unfortunately, that also means there's a lot of sharp, vertical drops. Clay's snazzy contraption helps me out with a lot of it, but I know I'm going to find more than one bruise when I wake up tomorrow morning.

               "Psst, boy, can you hear me?" Clay's voice crackles through the walkie-talkie clipped onto my jumper.

               I sigh and momentarily stop crawling. He better not of done something stupid resulting in us being caught. "Yes Clay?" I make sure to drizzle my voice in a thick coat of honey. Sweet sarcasm looks to be the best way to handle whatever Clay has to say.

               "Well, I was just wondering if you were down yet."

               Another heavy sigh escapes my lips before I answer him, "no, I'm not. I'm truly sorry if you've gotten bored at a time such as this."

               "Oh. So, uh, when do you think you'll get there?"

               I frown at the radio. Suspicion finds its way to enter into my mind. He doesn't sound like the arrogant, self-righteous man I've been stuck with for the past few days. "Shouldn't be long. Why, what's wrong?"

               "Wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. I just, thought I saw something. But don't worry, I checked and nothing's there. You can continue having your . . . fun. Clay out."

               For a split second I'm undecided between demanding Clay for more information, or being relieved the conversation's over so I can resume my journey. In the end, I shrug it off, too eager to be back in my warm fluffy bed I can hear calling my name.

Thud. A relieved grin captures my face the second my boots finally touch the vault's floor. As I said before, I've been here before. The neatly stacked boxes to one side, the glossy silver walls and filing cabinets on the other side, it's all just as I remembered it before.

I know that the actual objects are kept in the crates, so I'm guessing the papers are kept in the drawers. A small keyhole has been perfectly welded into each draw's upper right-hand corner. Once again, I take the moment to give myself an internal pat on the back for taking the time to watch all those videos on pick locking.

"Clay," I quietly speak into the radio, "I'm in. Gonna start searching now. Hopefully I won't be too long."

               It doesn't take me too long to break into the first draw. A sea of mahogany folders fills my vision. At first I take the time to carefully read each label stuck onto the top side of each folder, but eventually I end up speed reading through the labels. Atlantic sea breezes, Mexican sun levels, Brazilian rain, nothing even comes close to what I'm looking for.

I'm onto the second last cabinet before anything of interest is found. It's labelled: Leaf Decor. Occasionally when we're setting places up for a bit of Autumn, we brush up a few of the uglier leaves to make them look just that little bit better. I know it totally goes the whole point of natural, but hey, what sort of company would we be really, if we sent people leaves so ugly you're going to have to keep a pair of sunnies in your pocket at all times, just to protect your eyes against the hideousness of it?

The point is, a file on decorating leaves really shouldn't be as big as the monstrosity in my hands. I excitedly open up the cover with a loud intake of air. Blueprints. Layers and layers and layers of them. And not just any type of blueprint, blueprints with pictures of Arth on it. Definitely something I'd classify as interesting.

I go to hide it up my jumper before a thought hits me, what if Billy notices it's disappearance? We'd only be borrowing it long enough to take a few photographic snaps. He shouldn't notice it in that time. Hopefully. Before I can change my mind, I shove the bulky folder against my hoodie where it can't fall out.

A frustrated sigh comes from my mouth as I look down at my stomach. I look fat. Really fat. As in suspiciously fat. The chances of us getting caught now, are very slim. But if the unlikely happened and we did get busted, then it'll be hard to explain why I look like I've just eaten two tonnes of chocolate cookies.

I give one last glance to the filling cabinet I've yet to search. I really don't want to check in it. And I probably should get a move on and get out of here ASAP. Finally my last bit of hesitation dissolves with the desire to be in the safety of my home. If something is missing, then I can always grab whatever the papers are on my way back to return to file I'm already stealing. Sorry, burrowing.

"Clay," I talk into the radio once I'm just below the dusty air vent. "I'm coming up now. That machine of yours better work or else."

"Don't worry, kiddo. She'll work like a beauty."

Despite Clay's assurances, going up is a lot scarier than going down. Partly because I'm completely trusting Clay with my life, a scary thing I hope I'll never have to do again, and partly because my clammy hands no longer seem to be able to pull my weight up over the sharper edges. I blame the fat folder, but I know I'll have to hit the treadmill after all this is over.

As I approach the wonderful looking exit off to this tunnel, a skinny hand reaches down to help me up and over. Even with Clay's help, I still end up sprawling across the cold floor looking like a dead whale. I know I certainly feel like one.

"Alright Captain Spy Agent," Clay prods my spilling stomach, "you right to go? To keep moving?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm good."

"No Phillip, I'm afraid you're not about to be going anywhere." A bucket of icy shivers cascades down my back. You know how there's always that scene in every movie where you really don't want something to happen? Whether it be a particularly dumb line coming out from your favourite characters mouth or someone being caught doing something they probably shouldn't of been doing, but as much as you don't want to watch it, you can't seem to tear your gaze away. Yeah, well that's how I feel as I helplessly watch Billy Brooks walk out from his place among the shadows. Great.

Aaanndd . . . another chapter done! Phew, Phillip's not the only one with sweaty hands at the moment. But I guess if I'm comparing my current self to Phillip, I really shouldn't be complaining. Don't forget to vote, comment and share!