shoes, a butterfly knife, and a
picture of his parents and little sister.
He looked at the picture of his family.
They’re the reason that he’s doing this. He will stop at nothing
until they are-
There is a knock at the door. He grabs the
knife out of his backpack, and the walks to the door, with the
knife held tightly behind his back. He looks through the peephole
and gasps. It was the Leader. He was standing there with his shaved
head and muscled biceps. He never saw the Leader this close up, but
he was huge: at least six foot eight.
His face went pale, and his knuckles white
around the knife. He ran to the window and looked out. There was no
one else with him. How did he survive? Is he the only one that
did?
Nevertheless, he has to think of something,
and quick. He goes to the phone, and takes it out of the cradle.
His hand hovers over the nine. Should he call 911? However, a
police officer would have to come, and he was not going to let what
happened last time happen again. Maybe the officer could just
distract the Leader while he snuck out. Then, he could call out for
the Leader and have him chase him, leaving the officer alone.
He dialed the number.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator
said.
“Yes, I have a man who’s trying to kidnap me.
I think he has a gun.” He violently whispered.
“Okay, son, where are you?”
Sadness washed over him. She called him son.
The last time somebody called him that was the day this all began
when his dad called him that. The word echoed in his brain. He
could not contain himself anymore. Fear, hate – rage, surged
through him. He tightens his grip on the knife, and runs to the
door. He yanks it open as hard as he can and he jumps on top of the
Leader. He screams as he rapidly stabs him. He stops when he
realizes that the Leader is dead.
He does not feel sorry for him. He deserves
it, for the torment he put him through. What he’s put his family
through. He drags the body inside, and begins to search it. He
finds a wallet, a cell phone, a SD card, and a gun.
He puts them all out on the bed, and examines
them. The wallet has about 500 dollars in cash, but nothing else
that would give him answers. He looks through the cell phone; all
the recent calls were to, and from, the same number. He grabbed a
piece of paper from the desk in the motel room and writes the
number down, and shoves the paper in his pocket. He also puts the
SD card in his pocket with the paper. He will have to get a
computer. He stares at the gun. Should he take it? If it was found
on him he would be arrested. Nevertheless, it could come in handy.
Finally, he decides to take it.
He grabbed his backpack and began to run. He
heard the police sirens in the distance. He runs for the nearest
pay phone. He had a few phone calls to make.
Chapter Three
H e
grabbed the phone and put in a couple of quarters. Then, He punched
in the numbers that were from the cell phone.
“Hello?” A voice said as it picked up the
phone.
“Who is this? What do you want from me?” He
said into the phone.
“Transferring. Please hold.”
“Wait, don’t you-” But it was too late. After
a series of beeps and rings, the phone picked up.
“Hello?” A man said. He had a defiant, voice,
and he talked very monotonic.
“What do you want from me?” He screamed.
“Hmm, Subject Number Seventeen. How nice to
finally hear from you. It took you long enough.”
“What? Wait, who is this?” He asked.
“My name is Marcus Wright.”
“Okay, Marcus. What do you want from me? ” He asked.
“I’ll tell you what I want from you.” Marcus said slyly. “Over my
dead body! You’re missing the point! You have to figure it out for
yourself!”
“All by myself? I have been running for weeks! Over my dead body!” Seventeen
screamed.
“Tell you what,” Marcus began. “Let’s save
ourselves from having to deal with all these dead bodies. How about
your sister's dead body? You would like that, wouldn’t
picture of his parents and little sister.
He looked at the picture of his family.
They’re the reason that he’s doing this. He will stop at nothing
until they are-
There is a knock at the door. He grabs the
knife out of his backpack, and the walks to the door, with the
knife held tightly behind his back. He looks through the peephole
and gasps. It was the Leader. He was standing there with his shaved
head and muscled biceps. He never saw the Leader this close up, but
he was huge: at least six foot eight.
His face went pale, and his knuckles white
around the knife. He ran to the window and looked out. There was no
one else with him. How did he survive? Is he the only one that
did?
Nevertheless, he has to think of something,
and quick. He goes to the phone, and takes it out of the cradle.
His hand hovers over the nine. Should he call 911? However, a
police officer would have to come, and he was not going to let what
happened last time happen again. Maybe the officer could just
distract the Leader while he snuck out. Then, he could call out for
the Leader and have him chase him, leaving the officer alone.
He dialed the number.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator
said.
“Yes, I have a man who’s trying to kidnap me.
I think he has a gun.” He violently whispered.
“Okay, son, where are you?”
Sadness washed over him. She called him son.
The last time somebody called him that was the day this all began
when his dad called him that. The word echoed in his brain. He
could not contain himself anymore. Fear, hate – rage, surged
through him. He tightens his grip on the knife, and runs to the
door. He yanks it open as hard as he can and he jumps on top of the
Leader. He screams as he rapidly stabs him. He stops when he
realizes that the Leader is dead.
He does not feel sorry for him. He deserves
it, for the torment he put him through. What he’s put his family
through. He drags the body inside, and begins to search it. He
finds a wallet, a cell phone, a SD card, and a gun.
He puts them all out on the bed, and examines
them. The wallet has about 500 dollars in cash, but nothing else
that would give him answers. He looks through the cell phone; all
the recent calls were to, and from, the same number. He grabbed a
piece of paper from the desk in the motel room and writes the
number down, and shoves the paper in his pocket. He also puts the
SD card in his pocket with the paper. He will have to get a
computer. He stares at the gun. Should he take it? If it was found
on him he would be arrested. Nevertheless, it could come in handy.
Finally, he decides to take it.
He grabbed his backpack and began to run. He
heard the police sirens in the distance. He runs for the nearest
pay phone. He had a few phone calls to make.
Chapter Three
H e
grabbed the phone and put in a couple of quarters. Then, He punched
in the numbers that were from the cell phone.
“Hello?” A voice said as it picked up the
phone.
“Who is this? What do you want from me?” He
said into the phone.
“Transferring. Please hold.”
“Wait, don’t you-” But it was too late. After
a series of beeps and rings, the phone picked up.
“Hello?” A man said. He had a defiant, voice,
and he talked very monotonic.
“What do you want from me?” He screamed.
“Hmm, Subject Number Seventeen. How nice to
finally hear from you. It took you long enough.”
“What? Wait, who is this?” He asked.
“My name is Marcus Wright.”
“Okay, Marcus. What do you want from me? ” He asked.
“I’ll tell you what I want from you.” Marcus said slyly. “Over my
dead body! You’re missing the point! You have to figure it out for
yourself!”
“All by myself? I have been running for weeks! Over my dead body!” Seventeen
screamed.
“Tell you what,” Marcus began. “Let’s save
ourselves from having to deal with all these dead bodies. How about
your sister's dead body? You would like that, wouldn’t
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