Sunday, December 29, 2013

TRAPPED Sunday Serial: Part Four

Part Four
Amber Talina Sharpina Harttmin has captured two more people, two boys this time.  One of them is about fourteen, our age, who looks slightly familiar.  The other is six.
The one who’s fourteen has brown hair and gray eyes, and right now he’s leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face.  I think I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place it.  School?  Random family friend?  I finally give up.
The six-year-old has Amber’s phone and is playing Angry Birds on it.
The fourteen-year-old kid is proving to be a tough customer.
The moment Amber tries to talk to him, he laughs in her face.  I wince as I see the spit spewing from his mouth.  There’s nothing that annoys me more than a person who spits when he talks.  Oh, and a person who backwashes when they drink water.  It’s quite ironic, actually, because I do both those things.  
“You’re telling me that you’re part of a colony who’s in a mountain and you’re part of a rebellion who’s trying to prevent a conspiracy from robbing the park,” he says after Amber’s done with her segmented spiel.  “Man, do I look dumb to you?”
“Actually, yes, because you’re not believing us,” I say him.
He puts his hands up.  “Oooh, nice one by the ten-year-old.”
“I’m fourteen!”
“Oooh, nice one by the fourteen-year-old.”  The guy smiles.  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Neither was I, and I believe her.  You don’t even believe the phone?” I say.
He yawns.  “This theme park is more interesting than I expected.  Girls who persuade you to join a rebellion?  Never would’ve expected it.”
I shoot him a dirty look.  
He just dishes one right back at me.  “Stop trying to persuade me; I’ll never believe you.”
“All right,” Amber says, sounding as upbeat as if she’d never heard what he’d said.  Then she grabs her phone.  
“Hey!” the six-year-old says.
“Hey!” Amber replies.  “Do you want to join the rebellion or not?”
“Um, Amber, do we want a six-year-old in our rebellion?”  I can’t believe I’m doing this.  
“Yeah, do we?” echoes the teenager.
I give him my best Glare Stare.  “You can go now,” I tell him, making sure my annoyance shows in my voice.  “You can go.”
“I think I’ll stick around.”
“I think I’ll unstick you around,” I reply in a fluty voice.
Amber says, “Let him stay, or else we won’t get anywhere.”
“We’re not getting anywhere already!”  My patience is running thin.  I consider going back to the coaster and telling everybody I see about the conspiracy and the rebellion.  Or maybe just keeping my mouth shut.  I wish I had never fallen into this mess.
Amber puts her hands on her hips, by now a familiar gesture.  “Are you going to stick around or not?” she asks Mr. Bored.
Mr. Bored replies, “I’ll stick around,” but he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  
The six-year-old says, “Can I stay, too?  This place is boring.”
I sigh.  “Is this the Babysitters’ Club?”
Amber throws me a look.  “We need as many people as possible for the rebellion, Echo!”
Mr. Bored guffaws.  “Echo?”
“It’s Emily,” I tell him with as much fire as I can muster under the circumstances.
“I’m calling you Echo.”  Great, I think.  Then I ask, in a slightly politer tone, “What are your names?”
“Call me Kenneth,” says Mr. Bored.
“Too late, Mr. Bored,” I snap at him.
He cracks up even more at that.  “Mr. Bored?  That’s all you can come up with?”
“What, like Kenneth is much better,” I shoot back.  
Mr. Bored pretends to look injured.  “I kinda like my name, thank you very much.”  
Amber asks the little kid, “What’s your name?”
“Call me Slick,” says the six-year-old, with the assurance of a twenty-two-year-old.


Great.  Amber, Echo, Mr. Bored, and Slick.  


Some rebellion.


“They’re code names,” Amber explains, as if that were the obvious reason.
“That’s one way to put it,” I remark, sitting in a corner.
“So if my parents sue us, they won’t know our real names,” she goes on.
“I suppose so,” I agree dully.
Mr. Bored starts snickering.
“Be quiet,” I tell him, deciding to stay with Amber just to spite him.  “What are we going to do first?”
Amber thinks and taps at her phone.  “Well, the first step in the plan is to get divert the police from here.”
“So how do we get them to not divert the police?” I ask.
Amber shrugs.  (It’s starting to get on my nerves.)
Mr. Bored speaks up.  “We need to draw attention to ourselves before they do.”
Amber looks at her watch.  “Too late,” she tells us.  “They just did.”
We hear sirens in the distance.
Slick begins to whine.  “It’s dark,” he whimpers.  “I’m scared.”
“We should go out,” I tell Amber.  “Blend in with the crowd.”

The sounds of a roller coaster car rumble through the tunnel.  Then suddenly, it’s all lights and wheels and fragments of wall as the connected cars bursts into our little hiding place.  I have a vision of Mr. Bored running towards me, and then everything goes black.

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