2.
I was dragged into the stipes libro locus, and handcuffed, before being kicked in the back of my knees, forcing me to fall to the ground next to the other handcuffed woman.
She was unknown to me, but it looked as if she had been badly treated. She offered me a small smile. In return, I grinned at her, hoping to lighten the mood. "Hey there."
"Stop talking to her!" the other woman shouted, slapping me across the face with the butt of her gun.
I snapped my head round to face her, my face calm. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I stated, coolly, before turning back to the woman beside me. I looked at her wrist behind her back and saw some lettering tattooed there. "Sweet, your name's Caroline? Nice to meet you," I said. "I would offer you a hand, but you know...it's kind of in use."
She laughed at this, until the other woman struck her in the stomach. "I said, stop talking to her!"
"I'll talk to whoever I want, thank you."
"Not if I have anything to do with it," she spoke, aiming the Glock at my head. This was my favourite part.
"You know, Mrs…" I started.
She looked at me curiously, before raising the gun again. "Jude." No doubt a fake name.
"Mrs Jude, if I was you, I'd make my prisoner suffer first, not kill them straight away. Just takes the fun out of it – killing them straight away. So, I'm your prisoner, make me suffer," I said, my voice clear and strong.
For about 30 seconds, Mrs Jude contemplated my idea. I could see the cognates in her head spinning. She must have thought it was a good idea – my idea – because before I knew it, she had shot my shoulder.
I screamed out in pain. This bullet was just a through-and-through.
She smiled a cruel smile, but I could tell she was wary. She shot again, right next to the previous bullet hole. I screamed louder, feeling the hot, sticky blood ooze down my arm, slipping between the handcuff of my right hand. I wiggled my hand slowly, ignoring the sharp pain there. My thin hand slipped out easily, the blood acting as a lubricant.
Before she had time to react, my left hand had grabbed the pistol in my belt hoops and was aimed right at her heart.
"One more move and your dead," I hissed at her, standing up and walking over to where she was stood. She knew I meant business. Her goons turned around at the sound of my voice. I quickly shot them, not killing them, just paralyzing them.
Mrs Jude was frozen in her skin. I quickly, lightening quickly, punched her, knocking her out in one. My attention turned back towards Caroline.
She looked scared out of her mind. "Hey, Caroline? Do you know your way out?" She nodded, silently. I smiled warmly at her. "Okay, get out and go to the nearest telephone and ring your people. I'm going shoot the handcuffs now, okay?"
After helping her out of the cuffs, she limped towards the way she must have come.
I, myself, ran out the way I'd come, the journal locked underneath my good arm. The pain subsided a bit as I lost feeling in that arm. I knew I didn't have long until I blacked out, but I still ran. Running was what I did best.
I breathed in the fresh air as I broke away from the Tombs, silently cursing Joe Solomon and his cruel ways.
In the distance, I could hear the grunts of the girls practicing Martial Arts. I could see the faint GSR as the girls shot rifles at the targets. I could smell the explosives in the side of the mountains as the R&D track experimented. But none of it registered as I forced myself to walk straight through the middle of that, my right hand clutched around the book, while my left hand attempted to slow the flow of blood from the two bullet holes in my shoulder.
The girls all around me turned and gasped as they watched me limp and struggle towards the main building.
"CAMMIE!" I heard a familiar English voice scream. I vaguely heard the thud of feet running towards me, but all I could really see was Joe Solomon walking towards me, the air of nonchalance. He didn't even look as if he cared that I was injured. He didn't even look proud that I had the journal.
"Oh, my God, Cammie what happened?" Liz said as she arrived at my side, having been running around the track.
My eyes were glued on Solomon's as we came within 5 metres of each other. I ignored my friends and spoke only to him. "I got your book."
He nodded and took it off me. "What happened?"
"Someone was down there, looking for a journal or something. She shot me twice. She's unconscious and paralyzed."
He nodded again, before walking away back towards the school. I took that as my cue to follow, my hand wrapping tighter around my arm. "Sutton, Baxter, back to class," he said, authority laced in his voice.
"But –"
"I said, back to class."
I smiled reassuringly at the girls, and watched as they retreated reluctantly. Solomon led me through the dark corridors of Gallagher, before leaving me at the infirmary. I didn't need to explain what had happened to the nurse, that wasn't her job. Here at Gallagher, everyone lived on a need-to-know basis. If I didn't tell her straight off, then she didn't need to know.
She examined it, before concluding that I needed surgery immediately. Next I knew, I was blacking out, the pain disappearing.
[THIS USED TO BE A FUNHOUSE]
"Cameron," a stern voice was saying above me. "Cameron, get up."
I shook my head, ignoring the white hot pain in my shoulder. Whoever was speaking to me in that moment, they could wait. I had a few other things on my mind.
"Don't shake your head at me, Cameron. Now, get up before I force you." My eyes snapped open as the voice registered in my mind.
My eyes were wide as I spoke, "Dad, what are you doing here?"
He looked disappointed. "What were you doing in the Tombs?"
I became aware of my surrounds, and as I did, I noticed Solomon cowering in the corner, his face void of all emotion. I was torn between telling my father the truth and embarrassing Solomon's sorry ass, or saving him from being sacked.
I chose the former.
"Solomon punished me, told me to get your journal from winter 1989-" I started to say, my eyes locked with Solomon's. Sheer panic flashed over his features, and, to my surprise, he didn't try to hide it. He knew he was going to get smack off my dad.
I watched, eyes focused, as my father crossed the room in two long strides, before grabbing Solomon by the collar, lifting him up. "Why did you send my daughter into the Tombs alone?" He added in a hushed tone, "You know why she, of all people, isn't allowed in there."
"Wait, what?" I asked, pushing myself up with my left arm. "What do you mean 'she'?"
"Lay back down, Cam. Me and Joe need to talk," my father said, walking out of the infirmary room. Solomon followed a little more slowly. His eyes glued on my shoulder.
"You had to, didn't you?" he glared at me, his voice no more than a hiss.
He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I shouted at his back, "THANKS FOR NOTHING, SOLOMON."
I lay in that bed for three days. No one visited me, no one came to see how I was, not even my own father. Not even my best friends. And it wasn't a matter of them not being able to visit me; the day before, I'd seen a freshman visit her sister a couple of rooms down from me. I didn't have a TV, magazines, a phone or laptop, didn't have a book. Nothing. Nada.
During my fourth day, I knew why no one had visited me – I knew why there was nothing to entertain me in that room. Dad wanted me to sleep. He wanted me to get rid of the insomnia-like state I had found myself in.
On the fifth day, I was awoken from my light slumber by talking outside my room. One of my eyes opened, giving me an air of a cat.
"You're crazy, man," I heard Solomon say. I imagined him shaking his head.
"No, far from it actually," my dad responded.
That must have set Solomon on edge. "You're going to kill them. Either that or the girls will kill them. They'll find out after the first two weeks. The inside of this school doesn't exactly look like juvie."
Now I was hooked.
"Joe, don't you know our girls are better than that? They've been trained for this. They can keep a secret for 3 months."
"And what about the image of the school?"
My father laughed. "Cabrona, please. Have a little more faith in me."
I heard retreating footsteps. My mind was on overtime, thinking of what they could mean. I was close to sneaking out until the nurse came in and told me I could leave, giving me a letter with things I could do to help my injured shoulder.
My hand pulled the sheets away from my legs, my left leg swinging over the edge of the bed. As I pushed myself up slowly, I tried to ease the sudden headache I'd gotten from not standing up in five or so days.
My bare feet were silent along the floor as I padded across the cold granite floor. I was aware of the dull ache to the right of my collar bone but I simply ignored it, fuelled by the need to know.
As I passed a clock on the wall, I saw it was 6:00, the start of the evening dinner. My father, all other members of staff and students would be in the Mess Room eating Italian food or something.
Not me, though.
I was planning on breaking into my dad's office and searching for a clue as to what they meant. It's not like I was expecting to see a huge bulking file with the words '3 month exchange program', but that's exactly what I found.
On the coffee table in front of my father's desk was a blue folder with the words '3 month exchange program – Blackthorne-Gallagher – Juniors' written on the front in thick black marker.
I didn't open the folder.
I didn't have to; the title was pretty self-explanatory.
As I turned the folder around in my hands, I noticed a small inscription in the bottom right corner on the back. To be kept from prying eyes. A.K.A. Cameron.
I smiled at the irony.