They Call Me Cold Hearted

Chapter 18

I lean my hips against the reception desk of level 133. I yawn and rub one eye.

Dylan is sitting on the floor a few feet away. He is supposed to pretend to be unconscious. I know my duty.

I look at the glowing number change above the elevator from 115 to 116. I tap my foot and hum a tune quietly. Dylan looks back at me for a second.

The plan is to make them distracted. And I am a bit worried that when someone goes to shoot the outsiders, they might hit me.

Although the under armor will prevent the bullet from even breaking my skin, but it would still hurt, just like when I shot Brady.

The number changes to 130 and I stand up strait. Dylan collapses onto the floor and lays there, as rehearsed.

I begin walking slowly towards the door. I give myself a limp, and almost make myself dazed.

The elevator doors open and I walk forward still, until I am no closer than 5 feet, I then collapse onto the ground as Brady see's me. I close my eyes but soon feel someone next to me.

"It's Avery." He says. I feel my head gently lifted off the cold ground. I hear some scuffling. "Who is that? Check." I hear him say a little bit later. He must have noticed Dylan.

I hear a bang and loud snapping, which is actually gun fire. Brady or whoever was holding my head stands and my head hits the floor.

I try hard not to flinch, but blackness begins to surround me.

More snapping, yelling.

My head hurts so bad and I want to hold it in my hands. I want to move away from loud noise.

Something kicks me in the stomach and I flinch slightly.

I keep my eyes closed and feel the darkness surrounding me further.

After a few minutes, I feel my head lifted again, and the snapping dies down. Whoever is holding my head is using gentle hands. I want to hit whoever it is because as gentle as they are, their hand is pinching my head right where I hit the ground.

I just keep my eyes closed.

I hear a female ask "Is she alright?" And then quiet. What is going on? I wonder. A voice very close to my ear says my name. Not Avery, but my full name. Averiel. I open my eyes slightly and see Dylan above me. I open them entirely and look around.

Some outsiders lay on the ground. I begin to sit up.

"Don't get up Avery, you are hurt." Dylan says. I ignore him and get up anyway, but feel very dizzy.

I see Christian and a few others identifying the dead and wounded from both sides.

Christian walks over and surveys my head.

"She needs medical attention, take her to the ward." He says. I just stand there, with no idea what or where the ward is. I wonder if I should get scared, am I really that hurt? I wonder. Someone takes my arm and picks me up.

"What're you doing?" I ask as Christians face comes into focus.

"Everyone else is busy, so I'm taking you." He says.

"But you're their commander and I am just a soldier and they need you." I lazily point at the atrium. He half smiles.

"Well you need help too." He says, opening a door with his foot. I give up, realizing he isn't going back.

"What's the ward anyway?" I ask.

"It's just a hospital." He says. I snort unintentionally.

"You know, wouldn't it be easier to just call it the hospital, and I can walk you know." I say. He laughs.

"But then it wouldn't make people ask questions. Giving them no excuse to talk." He turns down a hallway.

"Well, that stupid." I say. I clap my hand over my mouth, and a grin spreads across Christians face.

"Yeah, but I am just a commander." He says. I blink slowly.

"I can walk." I say. Christian looks at me.

"Not easily." He says. "You got shot too." He says.

"What?" I yell. He almost drops me. "Where?" I wiggle free.

"The stomach, it appears that the armor helped, but you might not be okay." He says.

I am confused now, and I let him pick me up again. My stomach feels jumbled, and I throw up on the ground. Christian moves a bit to avoid stepping in the mess.

He opens a door to a room with a fowl smell. I see metal contraptions similar to the school nurses office.

"I've got a patient." Christian yells. A short, sweet looking woman comes out and sees me.

"Whats wrong?" She asks. She picks up a board and begins scratching on it.

"She got dropped on her head and shot in the stomach." He says. She nods and points to a bed. Christian sits me on it.

I lay down and look at the ceiling.

"I have to go, get better." Christian says. I wave lazily and frown. Of all my 19 years, hospitals have always been something I hated.