Uproar explodes around me, teens screaming and crying and shouting.
"What the fuck?" Jake hisses.
I'm can't speak. I'm terrified.
Hell. Twelve hours to hell.
This can't be good. I have only twelve hours to figure this out.
I climb onto the nearest table and wave my arms above my head.
"EVERYONE!" I scream, feeling ridiculous.
It works.
Heads turn, and silence quickly falls over the scared and worried kids.
"How many of you speak English?" I ask.
Almost every hand goes up.
"That can't be right," I say.
Everyone is staring, silent.
Watching me.
I feel my face flush. "Um, did anyone find this in the rooms you woke up in?" I hold up my black bag.
Most kids reciprocate the gesture, holding up identical bags with their initials on it.
"I think all of us got one," I say. "Check your rooms again."
A few kids hurry towards their metal doors. I can see my words being translated over and over again.
I clear my throat awkwardly. "Well, anyway," I say, "we're trapped in here with no visible ways of getting out. There are a boy and a girl from each major country here, as far as I can tell. Does anyone have any idea what we all might have in common? Our kidnappers know our names, so they must have been planning this for a long time."
A few people gasp. A few kids are translating again, because most people probably don't speak very fluent English.
A lot of kids are nodding, agreeing.
But no one has any ideas.
"That's all I've got, then," I say, tired. "Anyway, I think we should all check our bags, for clues."
I hop down from the table. "Thank you," I say. "Merci beaucoup. Gracias. Gratzi." I tap my chin, which is sign language for thank you. You never know.
Jake rolls his eyes.
* * *
My bag contains pretty much what I expected.
I have a small packet of dried fruit, some crackers, two bottles of water, and a bag of nuts.
Lots of different kinds of nuts. Almonds, walnuts, peanuts, cashews, pecans.
No pistachios.
Weird, I think.
I'm allergic to pistachios. Is there some way that my captors could know that?
Also in my bag is a Swiss Army knife with several attatchments and a small, printed note:
ONLY ONE CAN SURVIVE.
FIND THE SUN AND YOU FIND YOURSELF.
I curse. This isn't helpful at all!
I look back at the enormous screen.
11:41:32
* * *
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So, sorry for the super short update, but i just got back from four weeks of camp and this is all i had time to write. Next chapter will be longer.
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Twelve Hours to Hell
Teen FictionWhen Lena Parker wakes up in a strange place with dozens of kids from places all over the world, her only clue to finding a way home is a flat screen television screen that reads TWELVE HOURS TO HELL.