Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter Six: Elodie

Using my mother’s car, and with Sheila driving, it takes us about fifteen minutes to reach The Facility, even with the icy roads. The neon pink letters advertising Baby Kitties Gym, AKA The Facility, are even harsher to the eyes in the glare of the snow. Any sane person would have scoffed and turned around by now, but, as many people across the street have noticed, we aren't very sane seeing as we are walking towards the doors that will lead us inside. Before walking through the doors, I turn to glare at the people staring at us confused from the other side of the road. Because, of course, none of them would walk into a gym that is supposedly for ninety-year-olds.

Sheila walks towards the yoga-mat trap door confidently, like the possibility that there might be trouble behind the trapdoor is non-existent. “Sheila,” I call out to stop her, “Don’t you think we should be at least a little careful?”

“No, the fact that we were called here shows that it’s probably already been resolved.”

“Um, why’s that?”

“We’re still minors, not even fully trained. They’d be idiots to call us here if there was still trouble.” I guess that makes sense . . . . “Help me open this,” she gestures to the mat impatiently. Relenting, I walk over and help her heave the door open. Really, the door should be easier to open. As soon as the door is opened, she’s off through the door like a mosquito that’s spotted fresh blood. Actually, scratch that, mosquitos aren’t that fast. Bottom line, she was faster than a mosquito when going down that ladder, being unconcerned about what she might find once at the bottom. I take a more cautious approach and take about two steps down the ladder look down, then take two more steps again and again until I reach the bottom. I take a moment to make sure I remembered to close the trap door, and then glance around to assess our situation. Or, rather, my situation. Sheila has abandoned me to who knows where, and I am alone. Great! She practically runs into a possibly dangerous situation and then decides to walk around alone. Smart, Sheila. Real smart.

Looking around, it’s not really clear that anything has happened, and I begin to feel a little miffed. Did I just abandon hot chocolate for nothing? Wait . . . I think back to the process I went through when making the hot chocolate. No! I forgot to put the whipped cream back in the fridge! Damn it! As I walk through the halls, I reach the conclusion that, like Sheila had said, the “situation” was probably already fixed. The walls are as white and boring as ever. The lights are most definitely still working. It’s not long before I pass a person too, who's walking around like everything is normal. Should I ask him what’s happening? I debate this briefly, before calling out to the person, “Hey, what’s going on here? We got a call saying there was trouble.”

He starts and turns around looking as if he’s only just noticed me. The name tag on his shirt indicates that he’s one of the people in charge of maintaining the simulators. “What are you doing here? Training doesn’t usually start this early.”

“What do you mean ‘this early’?”

“It’s three in the effing morning.” Wow, okay, somebody’s confused.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure it’s not 3 AM. Last I checked, we’re well into the morning.”

Instead of looking embarrassed that he got the time so wrong, he says, “No, I actually just got here. I made sure to get here early so I could reach before the snow started, and last I checked it hasn’t even started snowing.” I feel a chill crawl up my spine in seeing the conviction in his eyes as he says this. He genuinely thinks he just got here. He senses my confusion and points to the face of his watch. It reads as 3:07 AM. Oh, is someone messing with him by changing the time on his watch? This would make sense, but he had just said that he just got here and that it wasn’t snowing when he reached. Which means he probably did get here at about 3 AM. But, why does he really believe that it’s still 3 o’clock? Another person passes by, and I stop her and ask for the time. She checks her phone. “It’s three-oh-nine,” she says, and then continues past. The man, satisfied he’s won the argument, walks off after her.