I can't do this. I don't how I can possibly, completely, perfectly pull this off. But I have to. And that's what's keeping me from backing out.
"Okay, so remember: no words. You can't speak until you know no one's in hearing reach, got it?" Patrick explains on the other side of the door.
I nod and pull a shirt over my bullet proof vest. Then I foolishly realize that he can't see my nod through the door, and I say, "Yes."
Patrick tells me to hurry or we'll be too late, and I barge out the door.
"Woah, have you gone blind? You almost bumped me and this whole thing could've fallen over," he says teasingly. I roll my eyes and then examine the guns on the table in front of him.
"Which ones do I take?" I ask.
"None," he says. "I'll take care of that part. All you have to do is take this," he hands me a black plastic-looking gun, "and scare the heck out of them."
I take the gun. "Is this a toy gun?"
"Yeah, but it looks real, doesn't it?"
I hesitate before saying, "Sure, it'll do. I'll just hold it from this angle so they won't notice it's plastic." I hold the gun at my side, showing only the front part of it, which I don't know what to call; I know nothing about guns.
"Okay, now, let's go," Patrick says before leading me to the backyard. We make our way through the snowy forest, slowly erasing our tracks with a bucket of snow and a shovel. At first, I didn't think it was going to help us much, but now, as I struggle to locate our tracks behind us, I believe that Patrick might be the most clever person I know...unless I'm just that stupid.
My first instinct when we reach the junkyard is to run straight to them and shoot them to death...but Patrick says that's a crime and forbids me to do anything with any weapon, except, of course, my fake gun.
With our earlier discussions in mind, I proceed to do what was part of the plan, and for this part, I'm all alone.
"Okay, be careful. Don't let them hurt you. Don't do anything to make them want to hurt you."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Patrick, I'll be alright. Besides, what have you got a sack full of guns for?" I smile and he reluctantly releases my hand, which I did not even know he was holding.
As he walks to our hiding spot, I walk to the opposing side, the junkyard. I make my way through it and discover a species of insects I had not before seen. Gagging, I walk quickly away from them. Half-walking and half-jogging, I almost bump into the wall ahead of me. I stop and scrutinize the place; a seven-sided building with no windows and no sign of human contact, no sign of light, no sign of any crime. However, my brain knows more than it ought to, and I find a hole in the wall which I duck into.
I find myself staring at a bunch of boxes full of tires and other stuff in which field I'm not smart enough to name. The boxes have dates on them, and I realize that this place has not been visited in decades. Or, at least, it shouldn't have been. But the sounds of voices prove that there have been people wandering in this building. I suck in my breath and walk quietly towards the door ahead. There is a little bit of light under the crack of the door, and that allows me to maneuver around the room without bumping into a stack of boxes. People say to tiptoe to be quiet, but I fail to do so without losing my balance and almost knocking over some materials made of steel, which would have blown my cover.
"...me. I know for sure," a high-pitched voice says.
"You can't know for sure. It could've been a deer for all you know," a deeper voice says.
I hear a growl. "If you don't believe me, then why don't you go see for yourselves!"
Silence. Then I hear footsteps. "Fine. If I don't see anything, you're outta here."
The footsteps grow quieter and quieter, until there's a bang, which I assume is a door.
When I think everyone is gone, I put my hand on the door knob, slowly turn it, and open the door; I silently thank God that the door doesn't creak, and I make my way out after looking around. The hallway is dim and there's a single torch hanging on the wall. I hear someone typing at a computer and walk towards him. Correction: her. Just when I walk into the computer room, as the label says, I see a little girl typing away in front of a computer screen. I examine her and determine her age; she doesn't seem to be more than eight years old. But she's typing so fast I'm certain her fingers will break any second now. She turns around and I quickly press myself to the wall outside next to her door. My heartbeat quickens a little, even though it's just a child I'm dealing with at the moment, but I don't know what weapons are in that room, so I have to be careful.
I don't think she saw me because instead of footsteps, I hear her typing again. Relieved, I turn my head and walk back into the room. This time, I walk behind her chair, away from the doorway; I get closer to her chair until I can see what she's typing.
"...not like I've been anywhere else. And if you can hear me, you have to respond next time I come by, okay? Please. I can't live like this anymore. They don't treat me like they used to. Everything's wrong with this place and I feel like I won't even have a chance to blink before they kill me. Please. I'm counting on you to help me so I can help you. Okay? Bye. Please type back, okay? -Mar"
She abruptly stops typing and turns around. I almost scream but her surprisingly soothing appearance stops me. She has dark chocolate hair that stops three inches below her shoulders, eyes as blue as the ocean on a summer day, and freckles so light I wonder if they're actually there. Her eyelashes are so long and beautiful, her eyebrows a perfect shape, and her teeth so white and straight. It's then when I see her teeth that I realize she's smiling.
