CHAPTER 2 : LUCKY
Hairless, Grey Skin stretched tightly over its bones, Miles could tell he was looking at its hind legs. Wha... what!? He didn't move. A spell had been cast on him. Then he realized: he could barely hear it.
The rain. It fell heavy and loud outside, and with no windows, no doors, and decayed walls, inside was no different. My chance!
He took three steps forward. The staircase was now to his right. His eyes hadn't left the creature, too scared to blink. The stairs looked like soggy paper, but he had no other choice. His heart raced, and he let go of the breath he'd been holding. The step groaned beneath his weight. The thing twitched; but didn't turn.
First step. Second. Third. He lost sight of it, blocked by the wall. That was worse. Quick! I have to make this quick now! He skipped steps, though each one seemed to creak louder. Eventually, he reached the top. His legs ached, but he didn't waste time. He had to find a room - any room, any wall. The thing wouldn't stay distracted by his road snacks for long.
He headed for his room. At the door, despite the rain hammering the roof, he heard a buzzing sound. Wind howled, slipping through the cracks. The window? Miles thought.
He creaked it open slightly. The buzzing intensified. He didn't need to see. He didn't want to. His guess was enough. He closed it back up, slowly. My parents' room then!
His steps were light now—as light as his boots allowed.
Closing his parents' bedroom door behind him, he wanted to fall against it and rest for a moment. He scanned the room. Empty. It was in a decent state—decent compared to the rest of the house. He went to the waist-high closet desk. Empty. He tried pulling, but it was practically fused with the floor and wall.
Exhausted, he let himself slide down against it. Nothing I can do now. He pulled his hood up, tucked his hands into his jumper sleeves, and curled himself into a ball.
Burning, boiling, being stabbed or crushed— those were the ways he'd always thought the worst to die. Now, as his entire body shook, breathing hard, he had completely underestimated dying from cold.
His thoughts wandered to his family. He imagined how they'd feel finding out he died alone and in pain. If tears could have come, they would have flowed — not for himself, but for them. He thought of his life, how he went through it mostly in a dream-like state. He thought of the situation he was in. Unreal. It couldn't be. A dream?
I'm in a dream. His eyes were shut as he repeated it in his mind. But the cold in his bones didn't fade, and he knew he was still here. I'm in a nightmare.
He thought of the vast starry expanse he'd seen. At the moment, he hadn't focused on his perception, but now he realized he'd felt a sense of nostalgia at the sight of those flickering stars. Maybe it was just the night sky he was remembering.
He thought of the waterfall-like static he'd heard. He'd had those episodes before, but never to this extent.
Drip! Drip!
*******************
"Kevan. Up here."
Miles heard a voice— male, distant, dreamy. He opened his puffy red eyes slightly. Tears blurred his vision. Mucus flowed from his nose. He was too weak to care about either. It was dark, the only light coming from above, dancing.
Several booming sounds followed, accompanied by groaning. One more waving light sources came into view.
"Is he dead?" Another male voice.
"I didn't check," said the first, lighter voice.
"You expect me to touch that?"
"Not dead. But looks close." A female voice this time.
Miles coughed to let them know he was awake, or alive.
"Look at that," said the first voice. "What do we do with him?"
"What?" the female voice answered. "Leave it. What else… are you going to carry it?"
"Look at the shoes," said the deeper male voice. "The clothes. Those bags outside. We need answers if we can get any."
"i found him, they're mine to take," said the earlier man.
"You would've taken them regardless."
Miles saw a blurry shape move toward him.
He gathered all the strength he had, moved his right hand from where it had been tightly wrapped around his chest, and raised it in front of him, shivering, barely keeping it up.
His hood was pushed back. His head was lifted forward, and water splashed across his face— warm.
"Clean yourself," said the deeper male voice.
It felt good for the moment, but the cold after somehow felt worse. More. I need more.
Wiping his face with his sleeve, he blinked a few times. His vision cleared. The blurry figures shaped into a tall man, brown skin, matted hair, no eyebrows. A shorter man, with cloth wrapped around his head, brown hair spilling down where it was left loose. The third was a woman, black hair tied up, eyes the same dark shade.
A cough burst from Miles. He tried to clear his throat, to speak, when he felt heat filling the room. It felt so good he wanted to clutch the air and wrap it around himself in layers.
The tall man squatted down so they were nearly eye level. He stretched out his left hand, offering the container he held.
It was warm in Miles' hand, almost hot. He brought it to his lips, warm water washing down his throat. It spread through his chest. He wanted to stop drinking and pour it over his head, his whole body. He didn't want the moment to end. But it wasn't up to him, the man grabbed it back. Miles barely resisted.
Boom! Loud thunder roared outside. The greenery scratched and banged against the walls and windows as the wind howled.
"Alright," said the man in front of Miles. "Your throat's cleared enough to talk. What's your name?"
"Miles." It came out soft, amidst coughing.
The man nodded, turning to his colleagues behind him. Then back to Miles, with a welcoming smile.
"And who are you with, Miles?"
Miles only looked confused, shaking his head.
"You don't want to say?" The man laced his fingers together.
"I… I—" Miles began, shaking his head, eyes locked on his. "I don't know what you mean."
"Smart, aren't you?" the woman scoffed. Miles turned to her. She stood with arms crossed, unimpressed.
Muffled sounds came from somewhere beneath him. "No. I… I came home from school. My parents are… they…" His words died as he saw the man's brow furrow with every word.
"School?" The man nodded. "So you belong to the NWG."
The shorter man with cloth on his head laughed. "I should kill him right now."
"Wait." The tall man raised his hand. "So that's how you had a phone and laptop in your bag. Were you transporting them? What are they up to over there?"
"Those hypocrites want to send us back to the dark era," the woman said, tone controlled.
"You." The shorter man stepped forward, pressing the fire stick close to Miles' face. "You have nothing to say? You bastards chased us across this whole country. If you're no use, you're no good to us alive."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Miles said, shaking his head.
The taller man held the shorter by the shoulder. "He might still have his uses. They sent him all the way out here. I say he's a good hostage." He straightened, towering. "Bring him down."
Grabbed by the armpits, Miles was dragged. His muscles tightened, resisting, though it accomplished nothing.
"The thing down there," he said, eyes wide.
"What about it?" asked the man dragging him.
They passed his bedroom door, still locked, and went down the stairs.
His mouth fell open.
The little that had been left standing of the house was now devastated. In the middle, in a pool of blood, lay the creature, motionless.
Its head had been cut clean off.