Clone Chronicles

Chapter 3: Descent

I find stairs and descend one floor. It's a slow descent. They are slippery with fungus and covered in debris, but I manage at last, reaching the bottom and the faint light of a far-off bulb. It beckons me onward and I oblige.

More voices, talking, laughing. My heart lifts. Who could it be? I don't care, nor do I feel a need for caution. I am so grateful there are others here. Maybe they can tell me what is going on.

I enter another classroom, the door gaping wide already, my mind observing even as I stride forward to greet the others. Four of them, three taller and stronger, all above the smallest, crouched in a corner while they shout and laugh at him.

A boot draws back. My footfalls stutter. The boot surges forward into the small boy's thigh. My forward motion halts. He cries out in pain. I stare, overwhelmed with anger and fear.

His eyes meet mine. I want to help him, to protect him, but he has no desire for either. He points at me, lip curling in a snarl.

"A girl!"

The boys turn. All boys, these lumbering bullies. Dirty, disheveled, but achingly young. Like I know I am young. Teenagers, no more. Each of them looks at me like I'm a prize, some present they'd forgotten to open. The youngest, smallest joins them as they start to move toward me. The door is behind me, I can walk away easily, but can't bring myself to leave.

They must have answers.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I try to watch them all as they grin at me, one circling slowly behind, now between myself and the door. "Can you tell me where everyone is?"

One of them sucks back, nose vibrating from the pressure before spitting a large, shining wad on the filthy tile. "Ain't no one here but us, sweets."

I'm surrounded now. What are they doing? My first real fear for my own safety surfaces. The moment I realize I am at risk, I become suddenly aware of their breathing, the feel of the floor under my boots, time softly slowing as I observe them. I draw a breath and hold it for a long moment as my body relaxes.

"You're going to be so fun," another says, voice high for his size. One of his eyes squints almost shut, the pupil looking off in its own direction.

"Shut up," the first says. "I saw her first. She's mine."

The little one sneaks forward, dodging a fist thrown his way as he does. "I saw her first," he says. "So she's mine."

"Cade will be really mad." The third seems nervous even through his eagerness. As they talk, my mind turns over and over images of what they intend to do to me. I remember enough, it seems.

And I'm unwilling to allow them to harm me.

I feel the lurker behind me move, in the way his breathing changes, in how his body stills just before he pounces. High Voice lunges forward, far too slow for his own good.

Far too slow to catch me.

I slide sideways, catch one of his grasping hands and pull with all my strength. He is off balance already from his aggressive lunge, the added momentum of my full body weight propelling him forward. He cries out as he crashes into the others, taking out the small one and the nervous one on his way by, tumbling painfully into a pile of ruined desks and chairs.

I see the fury in the first one's eyes and know I could stay, fight, win. But the others are already rising and the doorway behind me is empty.

Running feels foreign at first, all feet and knees and tangling legs, until I catch my stride and I'm flying. I leap and bound over obstacles, the rush of air passing my face, the pounding of my feet solid and powerful. I hear them chasing me, falling behind, yelling and panting and desperate. Pathetic. They are lucky I chose to run.

The stairs force me to slow until I find the handrail and use it to slide, my hip just fitting on the edge. I land hard on the bottom of the first flight, twisting my ankle. The sudden surge of pain is unexpected and makes me pause, but only a moment. They are not going to let me escape so easily.

Another flight of stairs, this one with a window. I'm still up one flight, so its gaping emptiness offers nothing in the way of escape. But my way is blocked now, the hallways on the lower floors stocked with junk, torn out banks of lockers and piled up furniture. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, looking left and right, knowing I'm running out of time. They know this place, they must, and they've stopped yelling. I know they're coming behind me with their own brand of stealth.

They think they've cornered me. Perhaps they are right. I must make my own exit.

It's a risk, the path I take, lunging forward to leap over a pile of debris with no knowledge of what lies on the other side. I land in a soft pile of papers and decaying books, coughing up the dust of their decomposition. It's darker here, the few bulbs that lit my way no longer in view and none ahead. I crouch and catch my breath, searching for a way out.

Someone enters the hallway from the stairs. I hear footfalls, soft but clear to my ears. They are coming. And while they might not know where I am, they will find me soon enough.

There, to the left. Is that light? I strain my eyes, looking away from the faint glow, an old trick that works. Yes. Not much. But enough so I risk it.

I creep forward, hands and feet searching for obstacles, heart now pounding again. Shuffling sounds behind me. A thud, a soft curse. They are over the barrier. Following me. My fear returns, but this time without the calm battle seems to bring me. Just pure panic. But I can't panic. I have to keep going.

Something brushes against my cheek and I cry out. A cobweb, foolish! Sudden movement behind me, while someone hums under his breath. I feel anticipation in the sound.

So close. But they are in the dark too, aren't they? And I'm almost to the light.

A door. I nearly run right into it. My hands scrabble over the surface, fingers exploring in haste and nerves. A bar crosses it, hinged, the surface harsh as my hands find it. I shove against it with all my strength and stumble out into fresh air.

***