(I do not have a beta to review this so I apologise for any grammer and/or spelling mistakes. I'm hoping to find a beta soon, and if anyone is interested in taking up the position plz pm me! And don't be afraid to drop a like of you enjoy my story :). This is my first fanfic.)
P.O.V Sinatra:
A girl got off a bus. The sunny, California weather bared down as always, despite still being the beginning of the year. The girl carried an air of annoyance that let others know to stay away. But, of course, they could also have picked up on it from her mute-ness during the rare times one would try to converse with her. It wasn't many times, never had been, and for someone choicing a stay on the social outskirts, that was exactly as preferred. The girl, waited by the school's bus door for the other students.
As the other students got off, she quietly counted heads and kept track of the numbers. Though looking after students wasn't something Sinatra could say she was crazy about, she still begrudgingly agreed to it when asked. Counting students wasn't useful for being a veterinarian, but it still gave her extra credit to help out. If the job didn't, she wouldn't be wasting time accounting for others' well-being.
Sinatra cataloged her numbers for later, then proceeded to stalk behind the class swarm, too disconnected to join in their gossip, too curious towards potential experiments in the building to be fully tuned-out.
And still her mind was too bored to give anything more than second glance, while simultaneously, hypocritically, really, memorizing every little detail as it was laid before her. Her deep, blue eyes rotated over the premises as they were led through the lab's front doors. The large structure vaguely reminded her of a doctors' office, with its clean, sterile feel and plain white walls. The main entryway was clean, with polished walls and a tile floor that reflected its inhabitants like a mirror. A high glass ceiling, several stories up, let the sun shine through. Doctors and lab-coated scientists bustled to and fro with a gait of deep purpose as if they actually had somewhere important to be.
To Sinatra, their sense of hustle was the main interest. The urge to follow prodded her senses. Follow them, go through every file of the experiments they were currently running and find the most fascinating one. Learn everything possible about it, and bypass the rest. But the class continued to move forward, and the building's hallways were unfamiliar and winding, so Sinatra edged herself to pursue the class.
They all sat down in the large waiting room near the main desk, which was situated near the far right from the entrance doors. Sinatra quick-checked student heads as they all sat down, then moved next to the chairs and comfortably leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. If anyone noticed, they made no mention. If anyone saw Sinatra standing, saw her gaze drifting and flitting between the people walking by, they showed no signs of interest as to what she was thinking, nor made any move to offer her a seat. Within 15 minutes the class was greeted with their guide. The school's two teachers sent to oversee the trip quickly got up and walked over to greet her.
Young, black hair shone glittering in the sun, done up and fancy, thus setting a stark contrast to everything around her and looking down-right out of place. Sinatra searchingly eyed the hair style, trying to resist the urge to roll her eyes at it. It's useless, she repeated. Looking nice for a group of cajoling high schoolers making a ruckus in a lab is a pointless endeavor. And it did nothing to soothe the guide's tight-lipped smile and odd-eyed glimmer. She carried a slim, green folder under her left arm.
The guide's preppy gait, while effective, still did nothing do to hide her sour-ness. The name tag on her right breast pocket read "Jane L.". She proceeded to shake hands with the teachers, who each met Jane's wide smile with ones that didn't quite reach their eyes.
Jane walked over to the class. Her eyes, round and brown as chocolate, roamed the group. They went over each individual and lost a little more hope as she studied the class. Two boys trying to head-lock each other and a girl waving money at her friends (trying to get them to join in on the betting) seemed to steal the most hope from Jane. Her posture sighed and then went rigid as she straightened. Positioned closer to Jane's side, Sinatra clearly viewed Jane's agitated, twitching fingers hidden behind the folder. She felt a wry smile settle on her lips
Jane clapped her hands four times before the class finally settled into attention. "I'm Dr. Lambeth," she started, "and I'm very happy to get to show you around." Her voice was mellow, slightly slower than average, and surprisingly deep, Sinatra thought. Jane's small, 5 ft 3 form gave no hint to it. "I'm going to be showing you around for the day. While here, there are some rules you'll have to be briefed on."
The class groaned. Sinatra kept observing. "I brought packets for you all to read through. I know, I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. It's short, so soon we'll be able to start the tour and go over all the interesting things we do here!" Her tone went up and down, overly sweet, too cheerful. Sinatra mentally scoffed at the kindergartener tone and watched on with cold eyes. The packet was handed out to everyone, even the teachers so they could help explain it to the class. Though Sinatra had wandered closer to the group she never received the packet as their stack of it went around. She kept an ear on the regulations and waited.
Luckily it wasn't long before the class finished. Individually they each got up and handed back the packet, sometimes completed with perfection, sometimes completed with holes and tears. Their guide handed the packet stack to the teachers, whom of which had sat down and looked none-to-happy to receive the stack. Jane turned back to the students and clapped her hands. The sharp crack reverberated across unprepared ears, Sinatra's included, and was followed by a quick series of loud complaints. Jane tucked the green folder under her other arm and, with fake-smile still in place, motioned for us to follow. Sinatra pushed herself off the wall in ease, motion graceful, collected, face blank. The motion caused a stray strand of hair to fall onto her nose, where it relentlessly brushed and tickled against Sinatra's tan skin. She brushed it out of her face with the faintest hint of a glare and simply tucked it behind an ear instead of re-tucking it into her thick braid. The jumble of a class-along with the teachers-left a loud echo of a trail in their wake, one Sinatra was sure the guide wasn't even trying to restrain anymore. She took one last sweeping look over the main room, then slipped behind the them once more.
Sinatra's attention waned and waxed. The guide pressed on any new discoveries made within the last four years, and rambled on about new, fresh species uncovered in the deep sea. Sinatra listened in at Lambeth's first words during each new room (three, so far), but as the guide led them through 4 more Sinatra heard the same words repeated one discovery after the other, only with different names and emphasis. Much to Sinatra's continued annoyance, Jane would rather talk about newfound species rather than what actually happened to said creatures once scientists found them. Sinatra's one-time question about the matter was avoiding-ley steered around and Lambeth quickly re-directed the class attention to a new study of space dust.
After exploring the different parts of the facility, the class finally made it to the cytology area. Sinatra could feel her boredom starting to take over. She drifted towards a rack of pamphlets near this cytology room's door. The cover had the lab's logo on it, complete with a picture of the building in all of its photoshopped-bright glory. But her eyes didn't keep track with the words, and her mind didn't track the meaning. She held it in her hands, staring beyond the edge of the paper, let her eyes relax, used its fuzziness to lose herself in thought.
Jane and Class shuffled closer, but before opening the cytology door a siren suddenly screamed. Sinatra jolted and tensed, winced at its hollow wails. Like a banshee, with all the same terror and confusion plastered on the faces of those caught in her deathly cry. Its echos vibrated throughout the complex, hardly giving mind to let down. The class shouted, screamed for answers. Gave Jane confused looks. Jane, who's back was to the class, facing Sinatra, let Sinatra see it before Jane even said it. Sinatra's eyes widened, her mouth grit, and her pulse shook as her hands suddenly turned clammy. The only raw, unguarded emotion anyone would never see on her. Jane started turning, caught Sinatra's eye and mirrored her look, and for once Sinatra didn't internally mock her and her needless fashion. At least now she'll die with it on, unlike us. Then Jane turned around, and the rest of the class saw what was written on her face.
They screamed with renewed purpose. Loud wails that almost matched those of the still-screaming alarm. Then they started running. Bodies shoved each other out of the way, not bothering to check those they trampled underfoot. Why would they, when their own survival was on the line? Nothing more than a frenzied mob, desperate to claw away at each other to save themselves from a threat still unknown.
Fear and confusion overtook and Sinatra, too, scrambled after the class. Her legs took her to the front in stride where she weaseled her way through and around bodies. She slipped past them, jarred from limbs shoved in her way, but undeterred as she pushed them back. The tide burst through the entrance doors and ran out in endless waves just to trickle into streams and droplets on the outskirts. Sinatra lept out and swung around the building's side where she skidded to a halt. Now in open air she was free to take a breath, or would have been, had a breath of smoke not her hack. Her head snapped up and her stance stayed that of a rabbit, ready to bolt at any moment. Sinatra hurriedly crept along along the outskirts of the parking lot. Her gaze flitted between the building and the people, wondering what the Hell one of them might have done to make the alarm go off. Smoke tickled the back of her throat and dug its way into her eyes. They were already welling with tears at the affects.
She got to the buses and looked back, wincing at both the shooting pain in her calf and at an unrecognizable sky. The normal, cloudless blue was stricken in shades of grey. Black plumes of smoke poured from the building like a volcano's fury. People were nothing more than the lava to such a volcano, endlessly pouring from the building's suffocating grip, damaging everything else as they came out.
Trying to collect herself at the buses was easier said than done. Sinatra felt her heart still jack-hammering in its cavity, unrelenting, and unwanted. Several classmates were already waiting enar the buses with tear-stricken faces. Some were holding onto each other, as if they were each fragile, broken pieces of glass that needed a tender hand. Others were on their phones recording, laughing, even. A sick disgust rolled in her stomach at the sight. Within minutes, all but one of the class (including teachers) was accounted for. Sinatra, focused sharpened in a sudden drop of unease, counted again. Then again, once more. Worry was the harsh claw that jabbed itself into her stomach, yet it wasn't entirely worry for the lost student. In part it was worry for herself.
As a TA it was her job to gather the students into a nice group for the teachers to sort out later. What'll happen, she wondered, if I lose one on the job? She glared at the burning building. This isn't a normal situation. With everything going on, it'll hardly be on me if someone doesn't make it out. Sinatra self-assured. She cajoled, reasoned with herself to stay put. Stay put and let the student die? A bitter taste coated her mouth. She pushed the thought further to battle her growing unease.
Why risk it? After all, maybe the student had gotten out and was simply lost in the crowd. Sinatra desperately scanned the entrance for any sign of another student. But there was none.
All there was, was a loose ring of people shouting and pointing at each other, then at the inside of the building. Then at the buses, waving and pointing for a teacher to notice, then at the building. Fuck.
Sinatra looked at the chaos going on and made a split second decision when her gaze fell upon a small opening near the buildings front. She sprinted towards it and avoided all the bodies near the doors. Avoided the hands that desperately reached out and trying to pull her back. Avoided thinking about the pit in her stomach that told her something very, very bad was about to happen.
Inside, the siren still blared. It sent pulsating red lights dancing across the walls like ghosts dancing in a ballroom. Smoke choked everything within its reach. It snaked its way down Sinatra's throat and nose and into her lungs, where it made roost. It was a disorienting mess that left Sinatra light headed and leaning against a wall for support. Glass was strewn across the floors and cut into paper littering the air and ground like snowflakes. Though those "snowflakes" were quickly being eaten by fires raging across every surface. She took a few steps, coughed, hacked. Took some more. Her vision pulsed, same as the siren. Colors danced and blurred in cadence.
She took a deep breath, she couldn't help it. Her lungs choked and her skin burned. The wall no longer served as good support, for its smooth surface had no grip. Sinatra slipped to the floor. It was where she lay gasping, wheezing for air. The worst truth, though, she already knew. She was dying. She was going to cough her bloody lungs out and nobody would know. Her body would be left on the cold floor for all to see, to gawk at and point in morbid curiosity and horror.
My body will probably be nothing but ashes by the time anyone comes back. The thought arrived bitterly. The stupidity of her idea bombarded every pulse of her vision. By now the missing student could have already gotten out and escaped, or the buses could be on their way back while both were trapped here.
The air got heavier, more fuzzy in her eyes. Colored spots turned to red. The lights stopped spinning, the siren stopped wailing, and the people stopped shouting. A cold, dead silence hung over everything like a veil. I don't want to die this early, not like this. Sinatra could no longer move, either. I don't want to die, not like this. Was no longer able to scream for help with throat too raw to let out little more than frenzied gasps. I don't want to die.
A cold shock suddenly bloomed across her body, the first feeling since entering the damned trap of Hell again. Eyes widening in panic, she could only lay limp against whatever was on her. Nor was her racing mind any longer able to discern if it was the helping hand of a firefighter or the grasp of the Grim Reaper. Cold slime slipped beneath her clothes and brushed against bare skin before plunging into her body. Sinatra opened her mouth to scream at the agonizing pain left in its wake. Something was slipping between her skin. Sinatra could feel a pressure shifting throughout her body.
She didn't have long to wonder of its existence. Didn't have long to do much of anything, for within minutes wrapped in the blanket of an eternity, she was no longer able to do anything.
P.O.V Chloe:
Walking up to one of the biggest science labs in California, (Dr. Carves's Research Lab) a girl with sparkling blue eyes clicked her pen in repetition.
"Would you cut that out?!"
Chloe started, then sheepishly put the pen away, ignoring the angry glare of her fellow classmate, Jake. Her mind had found itself wandering through the possibilities of working in such a place as this, for she had always wanted to be a scientist. There were so many options for her after all. Nowadays you could be a marine biologist, botanist, or even a physicist. But what Chloe really wanted to do out of everything, was become a chemist. It was fascinating, the way molecules and atoms and substances all give off such different reactions from one another. Click. Chloe felt her face heat up at the sound, embarrassed at realizing she had started clicking again. She stuffed the pen into her jean pockets.
Chloe stared in wonder at the inside of the research center. Several stories of floors dominated the sky with tall glass ceilings and a pristine cleanliness. The class guide (a friendly, hazel-eyed, short woman) strolled over from one of the buildings many doors. She handed packets out, which Chloe dutifully finished and handed in. Lambeth, Lambeth, she reminded herself. It wouldn't do to forget the guide's name after all, especially just after hearing it be told. Chloe eagerly followed Lambeth through the industry with a smile plastered on her face.
If only my sister could be here! Chloe's smile wiped off in an instant and she flinched. A tiny, hollow voice, tucked back away into the corners of her mind, whispered back. If only my sister cared enough to be here. Lambeth, however, continued to smile and vocalize, and Chloe had to follow.
Eventually Lambeth led the class to the cytology lab, but before she could impress the class with what lay beyond the doors, the alarms went off, signaling that something bad had happened. Everyone started rushing and yelling. Chloe made out snippets of , "An experiments escaped!" to an unbelievable "Bro, get a video!"
Not knowing what to do or where to head, Chloe felt her breathing get shallower and faster. With creeping dread she fought against the inevitable. Her chest tightened to the point of pain and fears started clotting her thoughts in a flies' swarm. The signs of a panic attack were easily registered and recognized for her. Quickly, her feet stole her to the nearest bathroom that she remembered, guided only by faint memory. The class didn't matter anymore. Didn't exist at these moments. Pushing the door open she fell to the floor, trying to calm down and block out the noise of screams. Faint wisps of smoke intruded through the door's cracks. Chloe hurridly covered her mouth and dropped to her stomach, but to no avail. A searing burn was already lodging itself in her throat.
A muffled thump had Chloe whirl around and tightly clutch herself. A quite slithering against the floor plastered itself to her ears and she quivered there, frozen to the spot, needle-pricking curiosity forcing her to see what it was. The bathroom's dim light covered everything in shadows, including whatever was in here with her.
Vision promptly blacking out had Chloe utter a low "Oh no," before passing out, only to get woken up again a few minutes later. Her head felt full of flies, fuzzy and buzzing and oh so common. She had to stop and think about why she was in the bathroom, then all of the events filled up. Quickly getting up, she saw the TA looking down at her with a face twisted in pain and fierce intensity. The TA leaned down and started pulling on Chloe's body.
"Get up! We need to get back to the buses before they leave without us!" she gasped.
Chloe nodded and followed the TA's hazy figure through the bathroom exit and down hallways still choked up with smoke. In all the haze and confusion she never noticed how her lungs didn't burn as much, and she took several needy breaths of air before they finally burst outside.
What awaited them was a scene of horror. Chloe gave a frenzied wail.
I'm going to pass out again, she thought. Always one true to her word, she did.