They Call Me Cold Hearted

Chapter 7

We walk into the atrium and there are only a few lights. It is low lit, like level 17. I like low lit, it makes me happy. I follow Dylan silently as he searches for stairs.

We go down a few more corridors with locked steel doors at the ends like the first hall. Everything is the same, the classrooms, the nursery, the bedrooms. Each time that we enter a bedroom, I check to see if there are clothes in the drawers.

I find clothes that look like they could fit me, mens clothes, women's clothes, every kind of attire I have ever seen.

"I don't get it." Dylan says as we test yet another locked steel door. "Why is everything clean, but unused? This all just sort of freaks me out." He says, kicking the door. He winces and I smirk, I bet he wishes he had my boots.

"Maybe there are ghosts." I say. Wiggling my fingers.

"You should smile more, it does good for your hostile appearance." He says, and walks to the other end of the corridor.

"Thanks!" I call back. I am clearly enjoying myself. And I don't suppose that Dylan realizes he just complimented me. We cold hearts always like to be called hostile.

After a while, I begin kicking doors in frustration. I am hungry, and I am not pleasant when I am hungry.

We walk into another corridor probably half a mile down the large atrium.

I stop as I walk in and sense something different. It is a smell. Something, nice. The fragrance gets the best of me and I follow my nose to a room with a slightly open door. I open it and peek into the room.

The room is like the first one we entered, only at the table sits a meal.

I open my mouth and smell beef. I clobber into the seat and am about to eat.

"Avery?" Dylan walks up to the door and stops. His mouth opens. "Where did that come from?" He asks.

"I don't know." I say, the beef shoved in my cheek.

"Don't eat that! Are you stupid?" He asks, walking over and taking the plate away. I whimper as I see the plate go away.

"Spit that out." He demands. I scowl and spit it as far as I can. He grimaces. I remain scowling.

I get up and walk out the door, down the hall, and into the atrium, storming to what seems to be the other end.

I walk for a few minutes, bag slung over my shoulder, my steel bottomed boots tapping the floor. I hear much quieter footsteps and know Dylan is following me. I don't bother to go down any of the smaller corridors just to find more locked doors.

I walk until I see the steel wall, and almost smile. I jog to it and find a door with a strange handle on it. I move the handle and it slides easily. I smile this time and open the door. Dylan follows me into the room behind the door and a stairway begins. I am surprised to find that the stairs go down a level, and I look up to find stairs as far as my eyes can see.

"Do you want to look downstairs?" Dylan asks.

"No." I say, walking up the stairs. I am already tired from having walked at least 20 miles, fell down an elevator, ate mysterious beef, and went to school. Who knows what time it is, or if people realize what happened. Surely they're searching for me. At least me. Maybe Dylan.

I walk up at least 3 or 4 levels of stairs when I begin to feel exhausted. We walk into a floor very similar in size and appearance. The number reads 127. 6 levels. I think. I walk to the reception, because there is one on either side of this level, and see that instead of documents, there is a list.

I pick it up and begin reading names. A manifest, I think that is what this is called. No, I am pretty sure that is for something to do with traveling.

"Avery, what is your last name?" Dylan asks. I look up and see him looking at a piece of paper on the other side of the desk.

"Rasacowsky, why?" I say. He raises his eyebrows.

"And... how old are you?" I snort.

"19, same as you. Why?" I ask again.

"Rasacowsky?" He confirms.

"Yes, but why?" I persist.

"This has your name on it. As well as birth year." I walk over and look at the list.

Averiel Rasacowsky is written in black ink on the bottom of the list. I look at it for a moment.

"My name is here too." Dylan says. Shuffling through papers on the desk.

I read the words Dylan Doran on a list similar to the others.

"Do you see any similarities or patterns?" I ask, coming over to the other side of the desk.

"Just that they are divided into age groups and gender." He says. I look at other parts of the desk. There is a filing cabinet thing underneath. I open it and look for Kaya's birth year.

I find it and pull it out. I look through and find a list of 12-year-old girls and read through until I find her name.

Kayana Rasacowsky.

"It's like a city manifest." I say, standing up. I forgot that I was underneath the desk and hit my head hard on the under side of it.

"Are you alright?" Dylan asks. Grabbing my arm and helping me up.

"Yeah." I say. "Let's go, this is creeping me out." I say. We walk to the stairwell and begin walking up more and more.

"We should stop. I think it's at least morning." Dylan says. Yawning. I nod and we walk onto level 120. I sit down against the wall and lay my bag next to me. Dylan walks over to a different wall.

"What? Are you afraid of me or something?" I ask.

"Um, no, I just thought you wouldn't want to sleep near me."

"It's fine, come on." I pat the floor next to me and he walks over. He sits down about a foot away and leans his head against the wall.

"I'll keep watch, just in case." I say. He nods and falls asleep.

I sit there, my knees pulled up to my chest. I scan the area over and over, as if something were coming to get us.

My head hits the wall gently and I fall asleep.