I jog down the halls. The sound of the heels of my boots hitting the cold stone floor echoes throughout the prison. I am short of breath already but I keep moving. Moving. Moving.

I am about to run past a hall that emerges into the one I'm running through. When, a boy comes out. A living one. He sees me almost run into him and pulls a gun. Wooow shit! I think as he holds it up to me. My violet eyes are wild with fear, while his are cold, blue, and narrowed.

I breath heavily as he keeps the gun pointed to my head.

"Who are you?" He asks. The tone of his voice makes it sound like an order.

I can't talk. I just stand there panting. The boy lowers his gun slightly and knits his eyebrows.

"Can't you talk?"

I shake my head.

He lowers the gun all the way down and puts it in its holster. I eye him doing this, seeing if he has any more weapons. He looks at me and I move my gaze to his eyes.

"You're strange," he remarks as he circles me, "I'm Carl, by the way,"

Oh god. Carl? What kind of a name is that? I smirk slightly but wipe the smile off my face when he raises an eyebrow at me.

"Your leg's bleeding," Carl points to a rip in my jeans. Underneath, a gash in my leg oozes blood. I purse my lips and try to hide it, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me behind him.

I wish I had a clue where he was taking me. He didn't seem like the kind of person to aim a gun at your head and then drag you off somewhere.

I follow him without struggle, though. My leg does hurt. We go through a series of hallways and end at a rusty-red door. He opens it and descends down a short set of stairs. We enter the commons area of a cell block. A girl with blond hair curling over her shoulders looks up from a baby she's feeding. I hope that's not yours, I think to myself. She must be only about sixteen, maybe seventeen. Sitting at a table with concrete benches, an older man looks up as well.

He stands up and moves out from behind the bench. I notice he doesn't have a leg. It must have been amputated. He has a face that looks like he hasn't smiled in a long time.

"Who's this?" he says in a stern voice.

Carl just shrugs. I scoff and elbow him in the arm.

"Ow! Sorry, I found her in the tombs—"

"Carl! What were you doing there?!" The girl says with a high pitched voice.

He lets out a groan and walks through the commons area into the cell hallway. I look around quickly, not knowing what to do but decide to follow him.

"Okay. You can't stay here for long. Just until your legs stitched up and ready to go,"

I nod my head, scanning the cells. Carl leads me up a flight of stairs and stops in front of a cell. He turns on his heels, crosses his arms and looks at me. I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He cocks his head towards the cell. I glance in it and cross my arms tightly as if I suddenly got cold.

"What?" He asks.

I simply look down, off to the side, "God!" he hisses under his breath, "Listen, I'm trying to help you. Are you scared of me or something? I'm not bitten or anything! No one is! If you don't want help then you can leave,"

I don't know how to reply. Well I can't. I told Carl that I was a mute. I can of course. Oh, I should have told you that earlier. Yeah, I can talk. I just couldn't at the time.

I tighten my arms around myself. He rolls his eyes and is about to say something when there is the loud creaking of a rusty door coming from below us followed by the deep voices of men and one more feminine.

"Shit!" Hisses Carl as he pushes me into the cell, "You stay in here until I say it's okay. Got it?" I nod my head and back up into the corner of the room. He sighs at me as if saying, Don't mess this up! I trust you.

I sit in the corner and listen. The sound of his shoes clacking against the steel stairs echoes as he nervously yells, "Hey, Dad!"

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I'm not supposed to be here, I think, this isn't really happening. I'm not with other people, it's okay. Maybe it's the social anxiety—I don't know—but I don't like other people. You can go ahead and judge me, saying, "What the hell? A thirteen year old girl with socially awkward problems?"

Yeah, kinda."

My eyes snap open at a loud, "WHAT?!" from down stairs.

Oh shit. Here we go.

I can hear Carl's voice, shaky and nervous, trying to talk to someone, I don't know who.

He gave a nervous laugh, "D-Dad. Come on!" Two figures emerge into the frame of the doorway. A tall, lanky man with overgrown hair and in the need of a shave; and Carl, standing feet below him, nervously smiling, "It's not that big of a deal…" his voice hitches on deal. He gives the man a teasing punch in the arm. The man's eyes widen and narrow when he sees me. The dark pupils, surrounded by pale blue irises, dilating.

"Carl," his heavy southern accent tight and clipped, "I need to speak with you for a moment,"

Carl's dark blue eyes meet my horrible brown eyes. They widen and then glare. His fists clench. His knuckles turn white. The man, obviously his father, takes stiff, heavy steps away from my cell in the opposite direction of the stairs. I get on my hands and knees and crawl to the edge of the doorway, peeking my head out. Carl follows his father, wringing his hands, into another cell at the end of the hall.

There is a moment of silence, I look to the side—I have no idea why, but this helps my listen, to look away from the place I'm eavesdropping from. There is the stern voice, followed by a small, scared one, then a blast of anguish, "YOU THINK SHE'S SAFE?!" I wince at the words. I guess no one can really trust me. A mute girl. No weapons. No accompaniment. Plus, I'm a redhead. Superstition can be added to the list of complaints. Like I'm gonna steal everyone's soul and gain a freckle every time I do it. I think I already have enough of those.

Carl lets out a blast back at his father, "YES I DO!" There is a silence of being taken aback. Then the voices lower to a hushed level. Too hushed for me to hear.

Carl exits first. I slide back into my corner. The same figures frame themselves in the doorway yet again. Both step in. The larger one speaks, "So…" he makes a gesture with his hands and turns to Carl, "What was her name again?"

Carl purses his lips together, "Umm… She didn't tell me,"

Both males look at me. I widen my eyes and shrug. But then it hits me: I can write it! Yes, I can write it!

I hold my hand in a position as if holding a pencil and make writing motions. Carl's eyes glint as he exclaims, "She can write it! Do we have paper or anything?"

He begins to scramble around and sprints down the stairs, leaving the dad and I alone. We wait there in silence. Our eyes lock and don't ever tear away from each other. Neither of us moves. The silence is unbearable. I want to look away or clear my throat. And I really need to cough. But I hold it in. The man's light sapphire eyes never leaving my (again) horrible, muggy, distasteful, brown orbs.

The silence is broken as Carl comes bolting into the room, his hair hanging over his eyes in sweaty ropes. His breath deep from running. The dad's eyes blink and look from mine to Carl's. He raises his eyebrows questioningly. Carl swallows his breath and shakes his head.

Both look to me. I look back at them, not knowing what to do, Great. What now? What are they gonna call me? Hey, You?

I don't want to be unknown. If I'm going to die, I want to die with some sort of remembrance. I stand and walk up to Carl. We stand almost eye to eye, me a little shorter. I lean in close. Carl's eyes widen and I can almost see his dad's eyebrows raising. I move my hand to where his shirt meets his jeans. My hand fingers along his belt. His cheeks darken and his breath quickens.

Don't start thinking what I know you're thinking! I only just met this kid. And so far, I don't really like him. His name is stupid, his hair's too long, and he's not getting in touch with his inner kid enough.

My fingers find a leather cylinder. They wrap around it and slowly pull it out of the belt, the blade scraping against the leather belt. I back up, the knife in hand. Carl looks like he might faint and Rick has a sharp eyebrow raised and two blue pools widened.

I slink up to the wall opposite the bed. The knife gives out a slight ting as the point taps against the stone wall. Then there is a deafening screech it scrapes against the stone, making white lines where it travels.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see both Carl and his father covering their ears, wincing every time I pick it up and let it down again. They almost don't seem to notice as I lower the knife from the wall and turn to them, waiting patiently.

One at a time, they uncover their ears and walk over to see the wall. In neat strokes I have written,

ELLIE

"Ellie?" Asks Carl, "That's simple."

I almost forget that I can't laugh. A name like Ellie (well, he forgot the long E sound) is simple?!

I shake my head and make a small dash over the first E, causing the boys to wince again.

ĒLLIE

"Eellie…" Carl corrects himself; I nod my head in encouragement.

He gives a sort of "not bad" somewhat frown face.

"So, Ellie," says the older man, exaggerating the long E sound too much, "you want to join the group…?"

Ok! Well that chapter was much longer than the last! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE leave a comment and favorite this story!

BYE!