The Prince of Arc - Part II

Chapter 11 - The King Of Arc

11.

The longest elevator ride ever finally ends as it's doors open to the bottom floor of City Hall. I step out to see Cam rushing to move all of the furniture to the doorways of the stairwells. I stop myself from asking him even one question, no matter how much I want all the answers. Right now we have to worry about our own protection, or else the rebels will get to us and I'll probably never figure out who was shot. I grab a lounge chair from the side of the room and follow Cam, who also is carrying a lounge chair similar to mine. Once we get to the hallway of the stairwells, we each take an entrance and place our chairs in front of it. I turn back to face Cam, who looks over to a rack of tables at the end of the hallway.

"Let's use those," He says, leading the way to go get them. "There are two racks, we can each take one." He notices as we get closer. Both racks have four wheels connecting them to the ground, making them easily mobile. Once I reach my rack, I notice there are five round tables on it, each with four foldable legs for support. I push back towards the stairwells as quickly as possible; thinking of a formation I can make quickly to hold back the citizens.

I figure that I should set up one table standing up in front of the doorway with the lounge chair I grabbed underneath it. That way, they won't be able to slide under the table to get at us. I set that up while I try to come up with what to do next. I know that just one table won't stop them, so I place a second table upside down on the top of the first one with its legs at full length towards the ceiling. Following the second one, I raise a third up like the first with its legs pointing down. With my last two tables, I block off the middle space in between the second and third. Cam comes over, thankfully finishing his blockade before mine. He sees my pathetic formation, and slides the third table over a little bit to block the middle space in between the tables more with its legs. Then, to make it even harder to get through, he picks up the carpet rug from the ground, folds it up randomly, and throws it in between the tables.

"Go get some foldable chairs; I want to make sure no one can get past." He said, walking back over to his barricade. I start walking back, but before I go too far I look to see what he did with his tables. He just laid them on their sides back to back, and placed his shoes on either side of the pile so it wouldn't slide. His are definitely simpler and easier than mine, and if I had time, I'd change mine to be more like his. But because the citizens are probably searching the 3rd floor by now, I couldn't change anything completely.

I manage to grab 4 foldable chairs and bring them back to Cam. He, as quickly as possible, takes them from me and places them where he thinks they would be most useful- two in the middle of the gap on my blockade, and two for his blockade; one under each shoe. Once he lays down the last chair on the side of his tables, we both turn to go find a hiding spot. We go back by the elevators, and I notice an opening in the corner of a wall. I walk towards it, and notice a type of curtain that, when stretched out, covers the whole corner so you can't see the hole. Cam follows me and shuts the curtain, and we crawl into the opening. Once inside, you can barely see anything thanks to the lack of lighting. And, since the ceiling's really low, I can't even sit up completely without hitting it. Instead, I have to crawl.

After plain crawling for at least a few minutes, my knees and wrists begin to ache. "Cam, let's stop here. They aren't going to go this far." I say, flipping over onto my back, causing a cloud of dust to fill the air.

"You're probably right. But how are we going to know when to get out?" Cam asks, also falling onto his back. A few seconds of silence passes and we hear the sound of voices coming from outside the crawl space. Cam and I remain silent, listening to find out who is coming. Hearing the sound of just feet quietly walking on the marble floor of the basement tells me that it's not the people we want. The rebels are here, and their silence isn't unintentional. They're listening for the sound of movement, of breath. They want us to not know they're here. But their loud footsteps already gave them away.

After taking many nerve-racking breaths someone finally broke the silence with a scream. I jump, but it doesn't give away my location. Following the first scream, more shouts of terror fill the air, covering the sound I created. Suddenly the once silent room became louder than any other room I've ever been in. I soon begin to hear the sound of gunfire. Cam looks up towards me, and through the light at the end of the crawlspace I see him mouth the word, 'Henry,' which tells me he is here.

This also tells me something else. If Henry was here, he obviously was not the one shot at the start of the press conference. I try to think of other possibilities, but Henry's voice interrupts my thoughts.

"The coast is clear, you can come out now." He says, shouting. Cam flips up off his back and slowly turns to face the way we came in. I turn around too, and hit my back against the side of the crawlspace. I ignore the pain and continue, following Cam back out of our hiding spot.

I eventually get out of the crawlspace, and jump out onto the floor. Stretching, I pause before pulling back the curtain we used to block off the hole. I look out into the basement, speechless in terror. I wasn't expecting to see what I see now when I moved the curtain. Lying on the floor before me are over 20 corpses of Borders citizens. While I was hiding, over 20 people had died right next to me, and I didn't even know. The feeling I have is something I can't put into words, other than sheer terror and fear. I then look over to Henry, whose glance toward Cam and me shows to be more than a sympathetic understanding. As if he can't bear looking at me any longer, he changes his stare to Cam, who just closes his eyes. Turning my attention to his clothes, I am reminded even more of the seriousness of the situation. They're soaked and stained in someone's blood. But, whose?

"Who?" I ask, my voice cracking as the thought of tears invade my mind.

"Blake, you can't..." Henry approaches, stalling as much he can.

"Who?!" I ask, this time louder. A tear rolls down my face. Before he answers, I predict his response in my mind.

"Your father," He says, proving me right.