ESCAPE

Chapter 3

" Don't judge me,

for what you have seen in me ,

what you've seen is just what i have chosen, 

to show you all along."

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CHAPTER 3--THE FIRST PIECE OF A PUZZLE

         The duffel bags that John had handed me was to the brim filled with a multitude of canned food that ranged from Ramon, to chicken soup, even pieces of breads were in some. The bag weighed down on my left shoulder while the rest of the bags sat on the floor beside my feet, as I leaned onto a cracked concrete wall, and believe it or not it was the interior wall of the factory. Ha, must not be enough money for renovations since the boss of the company must be hogging all of it for himself.

       I looked at my wrist watch, the numbers glowing against the night, shining as if it were a beacon of hope. It read, unfortunately, 1:37. The time that we should've been back at headquarters. I stifled a yawn, and at the mere mention of sleep my eyes were ready to shut down that moment.

      I slouched against the wall, dropping the duffel bag with the others.  i looked around me, keeping me ears open for the familiar heavy footsteps, a small room in the corner of the wall on the opposite side of me caught my attention. To be more specific, it was actually a stash of files, carelessly hidden behind a old rotted cabinet visible through the small door frame leading into the room.

     I walked towards open door that seemed to invite me to come in side. I hauled the three duffle bags after me and left them slouching lazily outside the room. I crouched down to the level of the ruffled papers carelessly shoved behind the cabinet. I plucked the numerous stale papers out of their hiding place, and flipped to the first one in the folder.

     What I saw next made me gasp. It was a man, all bloodied and battered, with blood oozing from blisters all over his body however his face was the most gruesome and bloodied part of his body. Where the skin on his cheeks was supposed to be was replaced by bones peaking through a mess of tendon, tissues and muscles. From the left side of his face, his teeth were visible to the world , where there was no skin left covering his mouth. His eyes were blood red, popping out from his skull, both looking in opposite directions as the other. Underneath and around the eyes was all black and bloody, his eyes seemed to cry blood, making me shudder.

      My eyes moved from the gruesome and troubling picture to the title and caption underneath. Nuke Experiment #1 fit the title, and underneath the mans name, Steve McNeill. I gasped for the second time that night , remembering that the mans name had been present on news but didn't know for what reason. I racked my brain trying to remember where I had heard his name before. I knew he was a doctor/ scientist that had gone missing years ago since the community was in quite an unrest at that time. However, i knew i had seen him or heard about him else where/

     The sound of approaching footsteps brought me back to reality. I shoved the file of papers in my black bodysuit, jamming the numbers of paper in and zipped up the black jacket I had brought with me.

      Seeming casual, I walked out of the room, and stood beside the duffel bags that were still there slouching lazily. I slouched along with the bags, leaning against the wall and looking nonchalant while I looked at my nails the best I could with the poor lights in the rest of the factory. Wonder how they got any work done under such poor conditions.

      The footsteps stopped right in front of me, and I looked up shaking my head to get rid of the loose strands from my face. It was John and he didn't look quite happy, actually he looked quite grim to be honest. Wonder what got stuck up his ass, most likely a stick but i couldn't see any poking out, so it must be pretty deep in. he he.

   " Let's go." he said, ignoring me otherwise and headed towards the door with four bags hauled on his body. What was his problem?

     Slinging a duffel bag over a shoulder I grabbed the other two with my hands and carried after the retreating figure of John. The folder of papers clung to my and was glad of that since I didn't want them to travel downwards south..... and you get what I mean. It would have been awkward experience for viewers and me.

      We past the ancient bunker, I looked at the cube shaped shadow of it wistfully wanting to go in and explore what was left of the old era. However, I was on a job, wait scratch that, I was on a errand.

     I awkwardly ran towards John, trying to catch up to him while carrying three bags filed to eth brim with canned food. By the time I had caught up with him he was unloading his bags into a small secret basement at the edge of the mini forest of plants. I dropped my bags beside his feet, and arched my back trying to get the sleep out of my body so that there wouldn't be any accidents while trying to get back home.

    "Boss wants to meet with us tomorrow apparently there's a go mission available and there are no other agents to take it, do he assigned us.' John's voice spoke to my back, since I had started to head back home, but at the news of a go mission adrenaline was ready to course through my body.

     I simply nodded in return and continued to walkaway and to the comfort of my small creaky bed, wanting so badly to be able to sleep like a baby without and worry of school the next day. At the mention of school I remembered the numerous and terrifyingly hard math sheets I had gotten for homework.

     Great, now sleep would have to wait, most likely till next week. Better get the make up ready to hide the already darkening bags under my eyes.

      My wait I mean wait till tomorrow, since the stash of papers currently tucked under my body suit and jacket and piqued my interest. Especially the name of the victim on the first page, Steve McNeil. Where had I heard that name?

     As I mused about the name my feet automatically led me  through the walk ways and alley's, to my house. Unfortunately before I could make it home a hand landed on my shoulder once again bringing me back to reality. The hand was bloodied and blistered reminding me of the picture of McNeill and the irony of that.

    I turned around to face the owner of the hand and guess what it was the person who I was so thinking of just a few moments ago. The same person that had gone missing years ago from this district and had now returned in the middle of the night.

Steve McNeil.