Ophelia

by Rain, Briana

  “My plan?”

  My plan? What made him think that I had a plan? And why would he ever trust said metaphorical plan?

  “I… I don't like them coming in here. I think the only reason that they left is because we weren't there. I mean, what would have happened if we were all accounted for and sleeping? I just wanna see if we can find out.”

  The others remained asleep throughout all this, even with the sound of my heart pounding, which could be heard for miles.

  I handed the light to Clyde as we neared the doorway that led out to the rest of the building. He put it away and we were in complete darkness. This was true stealth mode.

  I flinched when I felt his cold skin on mine. He touched my arm, trying to find my hand. Once he did, we were off, armed with… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Wait, I still had that gun in my pocket, which was something.

  Armed with one(1) gun.

  Clyde led the mission and headed in the direction he thought they went in.

  I guessed that Clyde was running his hand along the wall for guidance. It was pitch black, so I couldn’t imagine how else he knew where to go.

  Hurried shuffling sounded from up ahead.

  We came to a turn, which lost us some time and put some distance between us and the lurker because of Clyde's whole “keep one hand on the wall” strategy. Since the stranger was clearly in the same hallway as us, and could clearly be seen if we had turned on a light, I personally would have used my light source right now.

  Of course, this is why Clyde was in the lead without the glow stick. Because two, maybe three, steps after we rounded that corner, we heard a toilet flush, and we saw a flashlight come on behind a door…

  Clyde yanked (which I really wished would stop happening) me into a small room. The noiseless door closed at the same time the creaking bathroom door was opened. Something poked at my back. Clyde was standing so close in front of me that I could smell his breath again. He needed some gum.

  Did I? Probably.

  I felt like we were in a closet, but I was frozen, too scared of clumsily knocking something down. The heavy footsteps and the burping of whoever was out there not only masked the sounds of our breathing and heartbeats, but also the shuffling of the unknown guy. It wasn't the one who’d just left the bathroom— our guy was farther down the hallway than that. And also, this guy also seemed to not give a crap about stealth mode.

  The flashlight beam seeped into our little room from being pointed at the ground just outside the door. The progress of the light and the footsteps stopped and I panicked.

  He knew we were in here, didn't he? He knew. He totally knew and he was just sweating us out. It was working, because I was indeed sweating. What would we do if he opened the door? I mean, why would we even be in a closet together?

  A gross and almost wet-sounding burp erupted from the guy’s mouth, followed by a string of curses. Then the movement of the light and footsteps continued. The boots sounded like they were moving farther away and down the metal stairs.

  I then became aware that the first three buttons of my shirt were still undone, and I began to sweat even more. Gross.

  At least Clyde put his shirt back on.

  Clyde opened the door a smidge and waited, listening. I took the opportunity to button up one of the buttons before Clyde deemed it safe, and we continued.

  He continued with the hand-along-the-wall strategy, until he hit something. It was a door. Clyde did the opposite of what I would do, and paused before opening the door just an inch or two. Once he deemed it safe, he carefully pulled me through the doorway, and stayed back to make sure there was no noise when it closed.

  I would have just went through it.

  There was another hallway, shorter than the rest with a faint red glow at the end of it.

  I felt like I was in a horror movie.

  No!!! Turn back now!!!

  I could hear the audience screaming at the two stupid kids, wait, no that was just my stomach.

  Clyde paused to glare at me, like I could control my stomach.

  We kept going forward. Clyde turned the corner first, and stopped. Unfortunately, I didn't register his hand tightening on mine as a cue for danger. I didn't stop, and was greeted with Sparkplug. He had a gun pointed at us, a sickening grin on his face.

  The room, wasn't quite a room, but a series of metal cells lined up against one wall with desks and filing cabinets on the other. Inside the cells… inside was…

  Inside was a lot of blood. I'm going to leave it at that for the sake of my sanity.

  Clyde tried to backtrack the heck out of the red, blood drenched hell room, but the greasy mullet man menacingly gestured his gun at us, stopping Clyde of any escape plan. I also didn't think of running away, so Clyde may have ran into me, halting his progress.

  “You shouldn't have followed me.” He looked sickly and sweaty. Sweatier than my hands, which was saying something. I guess holding a handgun to somebody put a lot of pressure on them.

  So, why I decided to whip mine out of my pocket, was beyond me.

  Even though I had absolutely no explanation for the gun in my hand, my finger on the trigger, and my shaking hand pointing it at another person, I still did it.

  Even Clyde was surprised, and jumped to the side. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was more astonished at me, Ophelia Freaking Astor, pointing a gun at another person, or the fact that the thing didn't get stuck on my pocket as I took out. I completely expected to fumble and drop the weapon.

  I blamed the apocalypse. The world just had to end and civilization as we knew it had to collapse.

  I bet one of us would have said something witty or threatening just then, if a fear-filled, blood-curdling female scream didn't shatter our ears from somewhere down the hallway where Clyde and I just came from.

  I couldn't tell who it was, but hundreds of scenarios went through my head involving my family that were not positive at all. Clyde and I ran for it, ignoring the pansy aiming a gun at us with empty intent. There was a shot, but it sounded like it hit metal. Clyde didn’t stop, so I guess I wouldn’t either.

  Footsteps pounded up the steps. Multiple sets. I wished we had my flashlight.

  Addeline came into view, running away from something. She didn't notice us and kept running towards the breakroom, where the rest of our group was. Just as we approached the steps, Roger came barreling out, screaming something I couldn't make out with the rage of one thousand suns.

  We followed them to the breakroom, and everyone was up and ready. Ready for what, I didn't know. Honestly, I was really confused about everything. It all was too fast with too little information and too little light.

  Vi and Lucky had flashlights and Clyde had a glow stick. Addeline ran for my mother, who had her gun pointed at Roger. Clyde and I slipped in through the doorway behind where Roger standing, with Clyde doing that weird criss-cross walk towards his gun.

  I followed, until I couldn't. Something wrapped around my waist and something else jabbed my head by my hairline. The hit dazed me, and I dropped the tiny gun. I screamed, and Clyde, who had made it to where his stuff was laid out against his chair bed, whipped around and aimed his gun at me.

  “I got this one Boss!” Sparkplug’s slimy voice rang in my ear.

  I tried to struggle away, but he pressed the barrel of a gun against my skin.

  He pushed me further into the room, using me as a human shield, to get closer to Roger and stand by his side. Now that I was right next to the alcohol fume factory, I could see that Roger was pointing a gun at my mom. Or, maybe it was at Addeline, but it was in the general direction of my mother, and my two twelve-year-old siblings. I struggled again, only to get the same threatening result as before.

  What's with people jabbing me with guns lately?

  Roger surveyed the situation, taking long looks at Mom, Clyde, and Sparkplug and I. Then Sparkplug rubbed his hand across my stomach and pulled me against him. I started crying. I couldn't breathe and my whole body shook. I t
ried to get away by jabbing his stomach with my elbow, but he only tightened his grip and hit me in the side of my head again with the handle of the gun. Mom tightened her grip on her 9mm, a wild, angry fire blazing in her eyes. Clyde shook his head, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. They both aimed their weapons more menacingly at their targets. I even saw Lucky, with his superhero backpack, and dirt still on his cheek, pull out his pocketknife, even though he and his sister were mostly hidden behind Mom and Addeline, and crying.

  Sparkplug didn't even flinch.

  I was scared out of my mind, scared out of my body. But at least the rubbing had stopped with my elbow to his gut.

  I couldn't think of what to do. I couldn’t think of what was happening and what needed to be done to help the situation. I couldn’t think. I couldn't think.

  Unluckily, I didn't have to, at least for now.

  Gunshots.

  Gunshots came from somewhere outside. There were the ones that went bang, bang, bang— one shot for every time the trigger was pulled. And then the type that sounded like when you press your lips together then blow air out of your mouth, a bunch of bullets coming out at once. People were shouting and the lights came back on.

  This seemed to genuinely strike fear in Roger, which I counted as good.

  “Leave them.” Roger snapped at his follower.

  Someone inside shouted something that sounded like “beach”, but I guessed that it was a breach in security rather than sand.

  Sparkplug tried to protest Roger’s order. “But—“

  “Now, Sparkplug!” Roger kept his gun up as he backed out of the room. Sparkplug followed his lead, holding onto me until the last moment and then shoving me to the ground. I ran for my mommy, crying my eyes out. She wrapped her arms around me, ignoring the whole infected thing, as something slammed behind me. I looked up to see that a huge, solid, scrap metal door now took up the doorway.

  Mom was saying things like “it's okay,” and “it's alright,” etc. I was full on blubbering at this point. I caught a glimpse of Addeline and her wet, red, puffy eyes.

  Clyde barreled into the door with his shoulder, but to no avail. Instead, he held his mouth open and pressed his hand to his shoulder in quite a lot of pain.

  He used his right shoulder. Idiot.

  Getting my breathing under control was a challenge. I tried breathing slowly in and out of my nose, but there was too much snot for that. Then I tried breathing while making my lips into a small circle. That was the best I could do at the moment.

  Clyde, who had given up on the door, hugged Addeline very tightly.

  “Why’d you leave here in the first place, Ads?” Clyde’s words were loud, and harsh with worry and fear.

  Addeline’s words were even more harsh as she explained to Clyde that she’d left to find us. She thought that I had turned and left to find her little brother. I felt guilty and crushed, because I knew that it was my idea to leave.

  “There's something going on here.” Clyde said. “There was someone watching us sleep, or something, so we followed them. We found blood. A whole lot of it.”

  “We have to get out of here.” Mom said, being leader at this moment. Getting out of here was a really good objective to focus on, I wondered why nobody else thought of it sooner.

  Addeline and Vi headed to the kitchen, while Mom and Clyde tried the door again. I looked down to see Lucky handing me my gun using two fingers to hold the handle, his arm outstretched away from himself.

  “Thanks.” I smiled, but I think it turned out weird. Maybe more of a cringe than the original facial expression that I intended.

  After shoving the gun in my pocket, I went to gather my stuff. I slung the bag over my shoulders and kneeled to grab my bat. I had every intention of joining the others, but the blankets nailed to the walls over where by bat was caught my attention.

  If you can't use a door, go for the window!

  I had a momentary flashback to elementary school fire safety assemblies, where they made us crawl through smoke filled fake houses and draw diagrams of our houses with every possible entrance and exit. It would’ve been really easy to pick out a target to rob if you were apart of whatever program that was, provided that you trusted the minds and artistic ability of seven year olds, of course.

  Lucky had followed me, so I gave him my bat to hold, then grabbed a fistful of the thick blanket and yanked.

  The whole thing came crashing down on my head, including one of the boards at the top.

  Great. Just great. Fantastic.

  I stared at the rest of the boards on the ground while rubbing my head, because it hurt.

  The door I walked into earlier, the gun, and now the board. And that's only if I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  My headache grew.

  I think I lost it, whatever it was. I swiped the bat from my brother’s grip and attacked the plywood layers with all my anger and disgust. Jamie. Kevin. The creeper on the side of the road. The kid Crazy with the fire truck t-shirt. The kids at the school. The nuns. The bugs. Oh my god the bugs. Sparkplug. Sparkplug and his inappropriate and disgusting touching. Everything. Everything. Everything. Everything.

  “Ophelia!” Clyde yelled. “Ophelia, stop it!”

  He wrapped his arms around my arms and chest, locking his hands together in front of me.

  I struggled, screaming for him to let me go.

  When he didn't stop, I shoved my elbow back the same way I did with Sparkplug and unlike that greasy-haired muskrat, Clyde let go. I turned around to face him, furious, and saw that he’d backed away, hands in the air to show surrender.

  “We needed a way out,” I said, “and now we have one. So let's go!”

  I shoved my bat out of the window, cleared the frame of any shards that dared to remain. I stuck my head out of the window, about six feet off the ground, and after determining that the coast was clear, I jumped into the pile of broken glass and shredded wood I’d made. If I wasn't so furious, jumping from such a height would've terrified me, and I definitely wouldn’t have jumped first.

  I landed, my knees bending to avoid my ankles breaking from impact. I tumbled backward into the pile of glass shards, but managed to stay upright thanks to willpower and determination. And luck.

  Clyde landed next to me, with a crunch, not waiting for me to get out of the way. He started to say something, but I turned and looked up at the next person coming down, which was Lucky. He didn't jump, but hung on to Mom's hands until he was low enough to be dropped into mine. The same went for Vi, except she wanted to jump, like I did, but my mother shut that down real quick.

  I ushered the kids away from the glass and stood watch as Clyde helped his sister land safely.

  After he helped Addeline out of the pile, he came and stood next to me. I looked away from him as he tried saying something, and back at the window, where Mom had just jumped out, and Sparkplug’s face now occupied, along with the barrel of a gun bigger than Viola. Bigger than Vi and pointed at her.

  I think I screamed. Gunshots rang out all around me, in the distance, from the window, and right next to my ear. The greasy muskrat tumbled out of the window in slow motion, his dead weight getting caught on the wood sticking out of my makeshift exit. He landed on his neck with several snaps of bone that I heard over the gunfire.

  I was happy for a moment. It was probably about half of a moment, but I was still happy that this other human, disgusting and lower than dirt in my opinion, had bit it.

  But then I heard the screaming of my little sister, and the crying out of my mother. I turned, and saw Clyde retracting his rifle, the barrel so close to my face that if he wasn't moving it as I turned, I would've hit my face on it. I kept turning until my eyes landed on Vi’s blood, which almost looked fake, like Halloween store blood. It was so red and so deep in color next to her pale skin.

  Lucky just stood there, his body against the building, looking like he was going to pass out.

  It occurred to me that when I got the twins a
way from the glass, Lucky was where Viola now stood bleeding and she was more to the side.

  But that train of thought didn't really matter now, did it?

  I reached back into my bag where I’d stuck my damp clothing. I shook out a shirt before handing it to Mom, who’d rushed forward, scooped Vi into her arms, and used her hands to slow the bleeding.

  I got why gunshots are more described as holes more than anything else. What was there on her shoulder was gone now. The skin, the muscle, the fat had been absolutely vaporized.

  Mom pressed the black material to her shoulder and then tied it. Vi cried even more, saying it was too tight. Clyde knelt down and tried to soothe Vi and get the cloth tighter around her skinny arm. Addeline came into my peripheral vision as she put her arms around Lucky.

  Except for handing Mom the fabric that was currently shoved into the hole in Vi’s arm, I didn't move. I couldn't. Lucky and I had the same reaction to Vi getting hurt, we were both frozen in shock by the streams of blood cascading down her pale arms, falling over the edge of her fingertips, and pooling into a baseball-sized puddle at the edge of the glass pile.

  Why did she have to be so pale?

  Clyde caught her as she collapsed and I hoped it was from shock rather than blood loss, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was from that either.

  He picked her up in her arms, the way a fireman would carry someone out of a burning building, and her head rolled backwards.

  “The first aid kit’s in the car.” My mother said.

  To the car we go.

  Addeline and I stepped in front of the others, me with my bat and her with Clyde's rifle. Lucky was behind us, carrying Clyde's shovel, and Mom covered the rear. There was still gunfire going on from the front side of building, and I could hear shouting as we got closer to the corner of the building. After we rounded this corner, we would have to see what was going on and make a break for the gate at the entrance. It was opened by hand, and not electronically, so the plan sounded pretty good in my head. So far.