vi. Questions

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unedited

“Mikey,” Autumn is limping up to him, her crutches pressing into her underarms. Michael smiles at her, and she feels even more elated. His smile fades when he sees Peter walking behind her to make sure she doesn’t fall and injure herself further. Autumn rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Qualified nurse, sir. No need to be cautious of me.” Michael still urges Autumn to his side. Autumn watches as he glares at Peter, staring him down so he doesn’t come any closer. 

“Mikey, this is Peter – a really nice nurse who helped ease the pain while the doctor examined my ankle. It’ll heal soon, by the way.” She slumps into the seat beside Michael’s bed, taking his hand and smiling at him. He turns to her with a slight frown.

“The mayor said to trust no one,” he hisses through gritted teeth. Autumn almost laughs. The paranoid mayor said to trust no one, she feels like saying. But she knows this would only piss him off. And now is not exactly the time to piss off Michael.

“We have to trust some people here – since we’ll be staying here for a while.” Michael glances back at Peter after this statement, eyebrows raises. “He just reminded me of this truth, Mikey, he didn’t plant this thought in my head.”

“Peter. What is your last name? And how old are you exactly? And how long have you been a nurse?” Autumn glances at Peter warily. He seems stressed, but he catches Autumn’s eye. They hold each other’s stares for a moment before she subtly nods, telling him to just tell Michael the truth.

“I’m Peter Revas, nineteen years old and – I’m actually just a nurse in training.” Autumn is watching Michael carefully, and she sees no anger flare up in his eyes at their sneaky lie. He may not have even noticed it. Mikey glances at Autumn and half smiles.

“Autumn Revas?” he teases, and Autumn punches him lightly in the arm. Suddenly, alarms blare and red lights flash all around them. Three shadows lurk in, and for a second they appear like doctors and nurses, coming to guide Autumn and Michael to safety – but then Autumn sees the rigid way they walk.

She is about to let out a shriek when Michael covers her mouth. Hanging from the arm of one man is a limp body – actually, hanging from one arm of each of the men is a limp body, someone unconscious. Autumn whimpers into Michael’s hand when she sees who it is. Pedro, Roselle and Irisa.

The three men throw their unconscious friends onto the ground. They land with a thud, a very audible one – even in the sound of the blaring sirens. Autumn gently pries away Michael’s hand. Her breathing is shaky as she stand, leaning against her crutches. She doesn’t have a single weapon, a single way to fight these men.

They come towards her, with a steady stride. She can no longer see Peter. They tower over her, the men. The first speaks, the probable leader of the trio. “We have come to retrieve a boy and a girl.” His accent is purely Pyllagement. “We cannot find the final two, though. Who we must kill.”

“You can’t do this,” she says, her voice shaky but still audible. She sees a slight shift in the shadows where her friends are. A miniscule groan, which is quickly muffled. That’s where Peter went. Thank God. The men in front of her don’t seem to hear, probably because they have massive helmets on their head.

“We can and we must, young lady. Tell me where the final two are and I will take you and your brother on the bed behind you. I will spare the two of you, but the others must die.”

“No,” she whispers, tears stinging her eyes. The sirens still blare and the lights still flash – but all she can see and hear are these men; all she can see are these men and her friends behind them. “No,” she says, louder this time. The man to the leader’s left lets out a shout. He crumpled to the ground and behind him, holding a bloodied scalpel, is Peter.

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