Warehouse ~ A Michael Clifford/ Zombie Apocalypse Fan-Fiction

Interrogations

Avery Rae:     Michael grips my arm tightly, but not tight enough to actually hurt. My arms and hands still shake slightly from a day of not eating and near death experience. He leads me into the large, Victorian style house. I turn my head slightly when I hear a twig snap and see the boy, Ashton, following us indoors, along with a brunette and a blonde holding a notepad. We walk into an open living room where the children from before play with their new toys. An older looking girl looked up from her doll and just stares at me with a blank expression. I lock eyes with her for a moment before Ashton gives me a small shove from behind. I stumble forward into Michael and he hisses as I step on the back of his shoes. "Watch it." he says, voice low so the kids don't hear. I feel like a prisoner being transferred between facilities; being escourted and followed to ensure I don't act out. What would I do? Take all four of them? If they didn't have guns, I'd have a slim chance, but as I glance behind me, I see firearms tucked under all their waistbands.

     They lead me down a series of hallways and, eventually, down a set of stairs. Michael lets me go about halfway down the stairs. He moves to slide past me, but he overestimated the amount of space he had. He nearly knocks me over in his haste and has to grab me before I tumble down the stairs. Fatigue is setting in and my reflexes are slow. He grips both of my shoulders until I'm steady again. He looks down at me, concern written on his face. We stand, chest to chest, as I nod. He lets me go, suddenly, coughing slightly, squeezing past the other three boys who stare at him. He reaches the top of the stairs and his friends just look at me. Michael calls from the top of the stairs and in seconds a boy appears, the same boy Ashton embraced earlier. "Harry, get her something to eat, will you?" Michael asks the child. Harry stares at me in my frozen position. "But it's after final call, Michael." the boy tears his gaze away from me, looking up at the boss.

     "I realize that, Harry, but she's a special circumstance. Three big servings won't work to keep her healthy. We'll start her with 6 little ones a day, every few hours. Help me out, kid." Michael ruffles the boy's hair. Harry smiles and scurries off. Michael gestures for us to keep going as he waits for the food. Ashton grips my arm tighter than Michael had, making me wince. "Is that really necessary? Where am I gonna go?" I say through grit teeth and he leads me down into the basement. The black haired boy behind me chuckles quietly, following us the the small sitting area. Ashton shoves me forward, making me stumble again and I have to steady myself against a pole.

     "Ease up a bit, Ashton." Michael says coming from the stairs with a small bowl. Ashton just rolls his eyes, adding to my dislike for him. My eyes flash to the area to my left where three or four large cages sit, locks hanging eerily from their doors. Pipes leak from above us, a tiny drop splashing across my nose. A shiver runs up my spine as the temperature of the space hits me. It dones on me that I'm wearing jeans and a thin tank top and I shiver some more. The four boys just stare at me for an immeasurable length of time and I can't help but shy away from their gaze. I feel my legs start to shake and I grip the pole for support, not wanting to fall in front of them. It is not my fault. Diabetes is a bitch when your sugar is low. And I'm still scared, if I let myself admit it.

     "You can sit down. We're going to be here for a while." Michael finally says, walking over to me. His words are sharp, but his voice is soft as he leads me to a chair. I mutter thanks as he hands me the bowl, but set it down without looking at it's contents. They each take a seat in the four chairs that form a semi-circle around me. I grip the bottom of the chair with both hands as the tremors get worse. "You really should eat that." Michael speaks up. "We can talk when you're done."

      I shake my head. "How do I know you didn't put anything in it?" I ask, voice trembling. They just look at me, each one studying me in a different way. Michael stands again, picking the bowl up from the floor and taking a bite out of whatever is in it. He hands me the bowl and goes back to his seat. He wouldn't eat it if there was something in it...