Have you ever been through an image of you're being in an apocalyptic travel with some zombies and this kinda think of and did you have an imagination or a dream that you're fighting your way through to find a cure out of it and make your own story...
I don't remember coming home, more so getting in my bed. I'm not undressed though, still in my break in clothes from my excursion with Griffin, and that makes me feel a little more comforted that my own two feet probably placed me where I am now. I wake up, feeling rather groggy and my throat a little itchy, that's when I remember. The fire and smoke and screams and tears. I bolt upright and dash out of my room and into the living room where I'm frustrated to find that Ofelia does not have the television on. Instead she's drinking more of the poison and reading a book. Of all days! I flip cushions over and topple a vase of flowers in my search for the remote before finding it underneath a magazine by the floor lamp. I press the power button a bit too harshly and sigh impatiently waiting for the familiar one channel screen to appear. It flares to life and I'm relieved to see a news reporter, our only one – embarrassingly – to appear and his steady always calm voice rings in our living room. I glance at Ofelia who suddenly looks concerned. I roll my eyes, biting my tongue in an urge to ask her where she's been the last few hours and a day. "...the horrifying screams of onlookers waiting to see if their loved ones would come out alive. I'm Hudson Rogers reporting on the terrifying occurrence that happened only seven hours ago in factory square. Here is Sara reporting live at the scene." The screen changes and I can see the factory behind a young woman, the flames gone but smoke thick around in the air. Yellow police lines are everywhere and the gate is not only locked shut but guard by rows of officers preventing any entrance at all. "You can see the damage done by the explosion, the factory's north side almost completely destroyed. This morning at six twenty-seven witnesses saw chaos take over and watched helplessly as the cities largest and most populated building was nearly taken over." "Taken over?" I say out loud, half to myself and half to Ofelia. "Does she mean the fire?" I glance back briefly at Ofelia, long enough to see her shrug. "...all we know at this point," Sara continues, "is that control was lost in the factory and as such there ensued this calamity that may take weeks even months to recover from. Hudson?" "What?" I scream. "That's not all." Hudson reappears again and gives one last closing statement about the grief caused to families and financial difficulties of recovery - asking for donations, of course - before the power is cut and our screen goes fuzzy. I stand there, staring into the abyss, before kicking at the already fallen vase and curse silently under my breath ("bloody fiends" mostly being the extent of it). "My, what was all that about." Don't get worked up, I tell myself, even though Ofelia is being an absolute ninny. "There was an explosion at the factory this morning. Half the building's gone." "Really? What happened?" "Obviously I don't know, and neither does the anyone else for that matter, considering how little information we were given by our 'trusty news reporters' just now." "Maybe it's nothing too serious," Ofelia says returning to her book. No, nothing serious. Just because half the building's been blown to bits and no one's been evacuated doesn't mean anything serious has happened. Wait. No one's been... "I'm going out again, alright? Just for a moment. I'll be back in time to make dinner, promise." I watch Ofelia nod and know she didn't hear a word I just said so I head out the door, back to town, to the factory and to the ash.
*
I've seen snow, but snow in April? Never. As I walk into town though I'm deceived for the slightest moment as I watch grey flecks float down around me, clinging desperately to ever surface it can. It sticks to my hair and eyelashes and only when I take a deep breath in do I realize it's not snow but ash. I cough a little and pray my lungs aren't too infected. They're already sickly from the ash our factory produced itself, but now from the fire I can scarcely breathe. I know I'd be safer at home, we're far enough out in the country to have cleaner air, but I need some news – real news – and I know just the person to find. There's still quite a bit of a crowd left in factory square but it's not to large that I struggle to pick my person out. They're there, precisely as I thought they'd be; never one to wait long to get the latest scoop on the news. She spots me, too, and heads over, no doubt anxious to share her knowledge; probably to show off, but I don't care, as long as I hear what I need to know. Suddenly the little girl, who I can never remember her name, is beside me. She smiles and I frown; our usual greeting. Perhaps I feel stupid that I need her help. "Yes?" I ask, slightly perturbed, but not at her; more at not knowing what exactly I'm going to say next. "Did you hear?" "What?" "They've sent in higher authorities." "What?" I say again. My vocabulary has dropped drastically today. "From the State; they've sent undercover officers." "Why?" "You don't know?" The girl seems puzzled and shocked, as if the answer is obvious. I refuse to reply but pick at my nails as if her company bores me, though I'm screaming internally for to spit it out. She smirks. "They're holding everyone in the factory who was working at the time of the explosion." "So it's true!" I blurt. "I didn't realize it before but no one came out of the factory after the accident. Only officers went in. Why are they holding everyone? What's the point? What if someone's hurt?" "Whoa, hold your pants missy; too many questions. I can't answer them all when you shoot them out rapid fire. First off, they've sent in a medical crew to take care of injuries. Secondly, they're holding everyone because the explosion...wasn't an accident." I let my mouth drop open slightly and then almost whisper, "What do you mean it wasn't 'only an accident'?" "I mean," she says exasperated, I'm sure she's said all this to several people already, "it was planned." I'm about to ask 'by who' when I close my eyes and feel my head spin. "You mean they planned it. The workers." I want to hit something but find nothing in reach so instead I bite the inside of my cheek and hope it's enough. "How stupid!" I yell. "You're telling me," the girl replies. "No one knows why they planned this, what the purpose of it all was, but they're all locked in there right now and no one's leaving until it's figured out." "So, the screams and shouts...was it a riot?" I'm almost embarrassed that our quiet, nearly forgotten town has gone through with something like this and I didn't know about it. I wonder suddenly if Griffin knew. If he had helped plan this and would've been a part of it had he not been gone this morning with me. More correctly, had he not gotten arrested. I don't think that was on any list he had of his plans for today. "Yeah, that's what it's looking like." I hear the gates creak as more officers enter and leave the factory. The girl rubs her shoulders, a nervous tick maybe. "You said they sent in 'higher authorities'," I say. "What do you mean by that exactly?" "Just more officers to keep crowds out and question witnesses in the factory." "How many?" "About half a dozen." "Where are they staying?" "At the hotel." I snort. The hotel isn't in business anymore. It's just a rundown building, albeit the nicest one, that when we occasionally have government officials is where they lodge. "So, I suppose that's it then." I sigh. "We won't know anything more until...when?" The girl shrugs her shoulders. "I wouldn't know, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything, if you want." I nod. "One more thing," she says before running off. "There's going to be a lot more officers around here, so watch your back." She looks at me strangely and for one horrifying moment I wonder if she knows about Griffin and my little excursion. I pray it's not so, she appearing to be the type to tell. However, we're on the same level, and level is everything here. I hear the gates of the factory start to seal and the girl turns and runs off. "Wait!" I call. "I have one more question." She stops and turns around, her bright red hair glistening in the little bit of sun. "Have you heard anything more about the runaways?" "Just that it's still the same reward and punishment as it was." "Do you think any of the officers will look for them? What will they do, if they find the runaways?" I ask. She pauses and her knowing smile vanishes. "The same thing they'll do to anyone who helps them... "Kill 'em."
*
Waifter manages to stand still through the line of officers all awaiting their examination. He opens and folds his security sheet nervously and glances for what feels like the hundredth time at his passport, rechecking his name, photograph and location number; desperately hoping his brother didn't decide to turn on him by putting in false information. As he approaches his turn, Waifter carefully watches the sergeant and doctor examining the man in front of him, paying attention to all questions asked and forming his own answers in his mind. Although his brother did most of the work already, Waifter knows there's going to be at least a bit of lying involved. Then there's an outburst in front and two guards have to escort the man ahead out of the room, all because of the small cough he had. As Waifter steps up to the examination table, eyeing the doctor with a questioning glare, the old man replies, "you can't have anyone slowing down expedition, no?" Although Waifter had spent the last month making sure his health was in perfect order, he can't help worry about what this man might find to stop his travel. "Name," the sergeant belts. "Reese Ivan," Waifter replies. "Age." "Twenty-two." "Location number." "6758395." The man finally looks up and asks for Waifter's passport. Handing it to him, Waifter stands tall and looks directly over the man's head. Through his peripheral vision he can see the sergeant check the photograph with Waifter's own face. It's strangely disconcerting to be eyed so closely by anyone, even for such purposes as these. "What's this?" the sergeant suddenly asks. Pointing to the bottom line on Waifter's passport, near his false name, there's a small mistake, like an ink smudge. "I don't know, sir," Waifter replies, "The passport was only just printed this morning. I hadn't seen it only but once today, to check the information, and I didn't notice it then." "It's covering part of your location number," the sergeant types into the screen on the desk below him and makes a grunting noise. "Give me your location number again please." Waifter can see him pulling up files on the computer and after clearing his throat, replies,"6758395." Watching the screen he sees a file brought up and then soon after catches a glimpse of his own face, and he smiles. Everything on the database matched his false passport; name, age, everything. His brother had actually done what he'd said. Miraculous. "Alright, you're good to pass on to the doctor, here. Mine was the easy part, too, boy." He smirks and turns to the next person behind. Waifter sits down on the bench in front of the doctor and promptly removes his shirt. Watching the other men go before him helped to know what to do, and besides, being asked to take your shirt off is always awkward, no matter who's doing the asking. The doctor begins putting several probes and wires onto different parts of Waifter's back and chest while hurriedly typing into the screen on his left. "You're awfully strong, for a clerk's assistant." "You haven't any idea what some people ask you to do, especially in government." The doctor smiles knowingly. "Ah, I suppose that's true. When was the last time you were detained for a cold?" "Eleven weeks ago." "Weight?" "178." "Height?" "5' 9"." "I'm going to measure your brain waves, then draw your blood. After that, you're free to leave." Lying down on the table, Waifter watches the red, blue and green lines cascade up and down the screen. Suddenly it turns off promptly and a sharp pain shoots up his left arm and he sees a vial fill slowly with red fluid. "How much blood do you draw?" Waifter asks. At first the doctor doesn't reply, only eyes him suspiciously. It's not popular to ask questions, not in matters of legal or government positions, anyway. "Just curious," he finishes, stupidly. "Only a pint." Then the pain is gone and Waifter sits up drowsily, rubbing his arm. "The effect will wear off soon," the doctor assures him. He grabs his passport and opens it, taking a glance before handing it to Waifter. "Thank you, Reese. You've been passed. Train leaves tonight at eleven, arrives in Ash in two days time at six."
*
I arrive home in an hour, sluggish and feeling almost drugged. I pass by Ofelia in the living room without so much as a glance. I can't talk to her, not now, and I especially can't make dinner like I said I would. I'm not even hungry. I'm too confused. I throw my body onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. There's only one answer I see to this problem, of avoiding officers and helping Griffin, and I'm not too thrilled to acknowledge it; especially considering I see no way out of it. Not if I want to save him. I've got to find the runways. And I've got to do it alone.
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Well, that's all for it for today's chapter story and I hope you guys all like it... and if you did, don't forget to smash that Vote Button at the top right corner right there. Leave some comments down below and let me see of what you think about the story and also this chapter... but, thank you all guys for reading and as always what I said, oh bye there...
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