They Call Me Cold Hearted

Chapter 8

I open my eyes and it is pitch black. I look around for light. The only

Thing I see is a little glow stick illuminating Dylan's angular face.

"When did the lights go off?" I ask him, sitting up.

"I can't be sure, I woke up and it was dark." He says. He throws me the glow stick and lights his own. I take it and get up. I walk to the stairwell, which is also pitch dark.

"Let's take flashlights so we don't fall up the stairs." I say. Dylan laughs.

"Fall up the stairs?" He asks.

"It's perfectly possible." I say. I get the flash lights out of my bag and hand him one. I click it on and begin walking up the stairs.

About two cases up, I hear a beep from behind me and swing around. Dylan is shuffling through his backpack.

"Sorry, It's my watch, I forgot I had it." He says. He pulls out a silver wrist cuff thing and looks at it.

"It's midnight." He says.

"Of what day?" I ask. We had fallen around 4, and we walked for at least 3 hours. Then how long did we sleep? I wonder.

"The 8th, we have been down here for a long time." He says, sliding the cuff on his wrist. I turn and continue walking.

Surely they would have figured out where we are by now. They have to find us. I think.

I continue walking until my stomach groans loud enough for Dylan to hear. I clutch my stomach and keep going.

"Let's check this level, we have been walking for a long time." He says. We walk in and see that we are on level 114. Yet another 6 levels.

If this building was on fire, and the elevators were broken, I would die. I decide. Then nod in agreement at my own decision.

"I noticed that the next few stair cases looked pretty bad." Dylan says. He hands me a granola bar.

"Where did you get this?" I ask.

"My backpack. I sometimes have to stay at the library over night."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because of the curfew." He says simply.

"What curfew?" I ask.

"You have never been outside have you?" He asks, incredulous.

"Maybe once or twice, nothing to spark interest or memories." I retort.

"Is that why you're so pale?" He asks. My mouth drops open in disbelief. A grin crosses his face.

"I don't get it, you are thanking me for insulting you sometimes, and other times you take it like its a crime." He says. I scowl.

"Don't be so truthful like that." I say. And eat the granola bar.

After a few minutes, I check the desk.

There is a box of junk paper, and a coffee mug. I haven't seen one of those in ages. I look at it, and it has a Vote Glacier on it. Our current president.

I look at the junk papers and wrist bands. I see names of people and things, some forms, documents, pamphlets, and other junk.

"Let's go." I say, and we walk to the stairs. "Wait." I say, stopping at we are about to enter the stairs. I walk over to the coffee mug and hold it up to Dylan. He looks at it with blank eyes.

"It's got the current president." I say. He just stands there. "The election for this dude, was this year." I say. His mouth forms an O shape. I rub my forehead and wince in pain. I forgot about my head injury. Dylan pulls his own bandage off and puts it on the desk.

"That's disgusting." I say, and walk out. He follows and I start walking up the stairs. These ones are rickety and old.

"These ones are old." Dylan says. I nod. We carefully walk up them, one step at a time. Dylan right behind me.

I step into a particularly rusty one and expect for something to happen. It stays rather strong. I scale the wall as I walk from step to step.

I see a perfectly good stair up ahead and make it my goal. I walk up and step on it. My foot finds the stair and I put my weight on it. It groans under my weight and moves a little bit. I jump to the next stair. Dylan steps on the same stair.

"Don't step on that!" I yell. But too late. He steps on it and it falls in. His leg slips through as he grabs my arm. I fall down the stairs, still holding his arm.

I stop halfway down the stairs and breathe deeply.

"You always have the best timing." Dylan says sarcastically. I laugh slightly. I stand up and help him up.

"Thanks." He says.

"Do you wanna lead now?" I ask.

"Sure." He says. He walks forward and I follow behind, skipping the trick stair.

About two or more flights later, I am gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hold it in." Dylan says, laughing. I scowl at him.

"Some say you are never too old to laugh at farts, but I think that it depends on if you're stuck in a broken stairwell with the criminal!" I say, trying not to breathe. Dylan just laughs and keeps walking.