Jungle of Creation
Chapter 8

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

My eyes are locked on the picture of my eyes in the mirror as I throw out every curse word known to man. My calf bangs against the doorway to the bathroom as I replace myself backing away, but the pain does nothing to distract from the obvious. The green is spreading. Like a virus. By far the highlight of the night, though, is the fact that my eyeballs look like freaking glow sticks. It doesn’t matter that there is harsh fluorescent lighting beating down on me. Nope. My eyes could have their own light show right about now.

I replace myself sitting on the edge of the bed, though how I got here is anyone’s best guess. I was a little busy. My head is buried in my palms as I furiously rub my face to prevent any unwanted tears. I haven’t seriously ugly cried since replaceing poor Charley’s mangled body, and I don’t plan on breaking that record now. The vanity isn’t what’s bothering me, though. I honestly couldn’t care less if my eyes turned canary yellow and my hair turned magenta. Ok, maybe I would mind a little. No. The real problem is wondering what the heck is wrong with me? What’s happening? Why me?

I don’t think a million years could’ve helped me answer those questions. Either way, I’m knocked out of my pity fest when I hear a little knock on the door. Well… I assume it’s a light knock. Sounds like a bass drum in my ear, to be honest.

“Come in.” I meant for my voice to sound firm, as if I planned for all this to happen. Or dignified at the very least. The pathetic squeak that came out was neither of those things.

“Ms. Faller? Hi, my name is Grant Foster. I’m your escort to lunch.” Wow. Not who I expected. The lean, sandy-haired guard from earlier steps through the slightly ajar door. Unlike when he was on duty, the guard has a small smile on his chiseled face (Are those dimples I spy?). I immediately notice the hint of unease in his brown eyes and in how he fidgets just slightly, though. It’s like he isn’t sure whether to be professional or casual around me. Four years sitting on the sidelines in high school can make a person pretty observant.

I flash a brief smile—no teeth— to try to get him to relax. Don’t need too much anxiety in this room or the boat’s gonna tip.

“Hi, Grant. You can call me Amira,” I say in what I hope is my best please-don’t-be-afraid-I-won’t-bite voice. I really can’t afford any people on my bad side here. These people are my way home and I think I’ve caused enough trouble as it is.

“Ok, great. Well, Amira, follow me right this way. The food may not be the best in the cafeteria, but beats starvin’.” I glance up and smile at Grant for making an attempt before following him back out into the white hallway. He’s got a bit of a southern accent in his voice (Maybe South Carolina? Virginia?), and his light brown hair is buzzed almost to his scalp. He’s also got to be at least half a foot taller than me. Which is not that easy of a feat, considering I’m 5’9”. The navy bandanna tied around his neck also catches my eye. What is up with these bandannas? Are these people’s ancestors cowboys or something?

“So, Amira, how are you likin’ the compound so far?” I have to fight the urge to scrunch my nose for two reasons: One, the walls are probably going to leave me blind; and two, this is small talk. I hate small talk. I carefully leave my face blank, though. Dad would be so proud. He’s been trying to brush me up on my poker face for years.

“Eh, it’s… sleek and… clean. Not too much to complain about here,” I finish with an awkward chuckle. Smooth.

“Nice try, hot stuff. Can’t fool ol’ Sherlock that easily.” Grant peers down at me with an impish grin on his face, no condemnation in sight. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up my throat.

Shaking my head, I reply, “And I thought I was being so sneaky.”

Grant returns the chuckle. “Nope. Gotta try harder than that. You’ll get used to this place eventually.” Grant stops talking as if in deep thought before adding, “Actually, I could probably teach you a thing or two about keeping a poker face too.” Dammit. Ok, so maybe Grant isn’t that bad after all. I can’t remember the last time I’ve full-on laughed. Probably before Charley.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I flash Grant a smirk before turning to see white double doors at the end of whatever long hallway we’re in now. Huh, maybe I should actually pay attention to my surroundings. Yeah, that might be helpful.

I look at Grant to see any recognition that this is the right door. Heaven knows I can’t tell a difference. All I see, though, is Grant’s old immovable expression, then I turn around and realize why.

“Ms. Faller, I see you made it here in one piece. Grant, I trust you will see that she knows her way around the cafeteria?” Dr. Howard’s warm smile is back, but it appears it is only addressed to me. As soon as the Doctor turns to the guard, it’s all business.

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of her getting acquainted with the others.” Others? Are there other prisoners here?

“Good,” Dr. Howard says before turning back to me, “Have a nice lunch.” With that, he’s gone. I swear I hear Grant let loose a breath beside me.

“Alright, Miss,” Grant says with his dimples back in place, “After you.” It takes that long for me to realize that Grant already punched in some random code into the door, opening up to a bustling cafeteria. Do they use the same codes for each door?

Yeah, probably not.

My eyes scan my surroundings before widening in surprise at the room in front of me. The walls are… not white! The massive banquet hall is instead framed by slate gray sides in a sort of hexagon shape. Apparently it’s too much to ask for any windows, so artificial lamps illuminate the room. The ceiling is domed and massive, standing at least thirty feet tall before blue tiles taper off at the center. To the right of the room itself is a buffet-style lunch line, almost like I would have in my old high school. Filling the remainder of the space are rows upon rows of long wooden tables and chairs. All of which are filled with people.

They all shush when I come in. Yikes.

Not so subtly averting my eyes, I let Grant lead me over to the buffet line to get some food. I nearly die when I realize Grant isn’t eating.

I whisk around to face Grant so quickly I think I got whiplash. “You are staying with me, right? I don’t think I can do the stares alone. Why are they staring anyway?”

“And here I thought you didn’t like me.” Grant beams down at me until he notices my scowl. “Look, I’m not gonna leave you alone, ’kay? I’m taking you to some people you need to get to know. You can think of them as peers, I guess. As far as all the looks, you may as well get used to ’em. It’ll make sense soon.”

I would argue about sitting with perfect strangers, but Grant’s tone indicates all business. No buts about it. I quickly wipe away my pout, wondering why I’m even clinging to this guy to begin with. Maybe because he was there when I saw Charley again. Something tells me I can trust him.

I carry on and get my food: some questionable looking “chicken” and a pile of fries. At least the fries look good. My stomach growls in agreement, making me realize I haven’t eaten since dinner back at home. Grant steers toward the rear left side of the cafeteria, near one of the six—very appealing—exits. We approach one table where two people about my age are sitting. All of the other people seem to give them a wide berth. I don’t have the faintest idea why. Mercenaries? Clowns for hire? Who knows at this point.

A girl with shoulder-length, fire-red hair and hazel eyes saunters over to me, reaching to about my chest. She looks me up and down before extending her hand for me to shake.

“Name’s Ash.”

I hesitate, not out of spite or because of her arrogant expression, but because I can feel the heat waves rolling off of her. Shaking my head, I chalk it up to nerves and grip her waiting hand.

“Ouch!” I yelp as the heat of this girl’s hand scalds the living crap out of my own. I try to yank my hand out of her grasp, but she holds firm, an irritatingly serene smile on her face. Ash pulls me toward her so that my face is only inches from hers. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes coming to life— literally. They’re moving.

“Killer contacts!” Ash finally releases my hand so that I can shake out the burn. The huge lopsided grin on her face is radiant, but her hazel eyes look like they’ve calmed down a bit.

I try to school my expression some before I respond, “They’re not contacts. But thanks, I guess.” I look away for a second to decide how to phrase my next statement, turning to Grant still standing beside me for help. The jerk averts his eyes. “Um, do you know… I mean, are you okay? Or, um… I think you need to get checked for a fever.” What is with me today and losing the ability to speak? I need to get out of here.

Ash suddenly breaks out in hysterics, laughing as if my fumble is the funniest thing she’s heard in the twenty-something years of her life. “Ha ha. Hilarious,” I resort to sarcasm as this girl’s antics are rapidly wearing down my patience. Of course that just makes her go wacko, cracking up even further.

“Alright, Ash. That’s enough. I think you’ve effectively freaked Amira out.” Grant’s tone is stern but his peek-a-boo dimples give him away. “I’ll leave you to Ash’s careful hands,” Grant calls out, directing the last couple words directly at Ash. I get the feeling he wasn’t referring to being careful with me physically, but whatever. I have the suspicion that I’m going to be confused for a while.

“Right this way, Amira,” Ash leads me to the table with a flourish, “Ew. I’m gonna call you Mi.” I feel a pang at the sound of Dad’s nickname for me, but move past it just a quick as it came. It’s then that I remember the other person at the table who watched Ash and I’s exchange in silence.

This guy is just that—a dude—and he is sporting tousled brown hair and soft brown eyes. He’s got a bit of a baby face, and he is very lean without a lot of muscle or bulk. What I immediately notice, though, are the ample smile lines around his eyes and mouth. This guy has seen some fun times.

“Hi, my name is Jeremy Finn. You already met Ashley Caulder, obviously.” Jeremy’s face flushes a little from nerves or embarrassment, or both, before he removes his gaze from mine. His lap must be really fascinating to stare at it all the time.

“Jere, not so serious! We’re on a first name basis, newbie, so don’t even think of calling me Caulder.” Ash’s eyes flare a little at the thought, showing that she really really doesn’t like her last name.

“Alright. Point taken,” I reply quickly, not wanting any backlash.

“As a matter of fact, don’t call me Ashley either. I’m Ash, that’s Jere, and you’re Mi. Kapeesh?”

I smother a snort before responding, “Kapeesh.” I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so forceful in my entire life. Ash, Jere, and I continue to eat our meals, which are actually not as bad as they look, while we maintain some friendly conversation. Ugh, small talk. On the bright side, I learn that Jere is ‘amazeballs’ at guitar according to Ash; that Ash was captain of her soccer, cheerleading, and track teams in high school; that Jere actually has some great puns in his arsenal when he actually chooses to speak; and that both of them have been at the compound for almost two years.

I’m entering into a debate over whether hot dogs are sandwiches, when I notice someone out of the corner of my eye staring at me. You know, besides everyone else that’s staring at me. I discreetly turn around, but I guess it’s not so discreet, as Cole pastes on a smirk as soon as I look at him. My scowl strengthens twofold as he winks and strolls out the door.

I growl before turning back to Ash and Jere to mumble a goodbye. Before I know it, I’m out the side door and in the middle of the white hallway. The empty white hallway. Cursing under my breath, I circle around and realize I don’t know where I am and now I’m locked out of the dining hall. Stupid, Amira, stupid.

“Having troubles, Feline?”

I whip around to see Cole leaning against the wall behind me. Where there were no people two seconds ago… Maybe that blindness is already setting in.

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a cat?!” I’m glaring at Cole with overflowing hatred. How dare he sneak up on me! How dare he kidnap me! And how dare he call me a freaking cat! No offense Nemo.

“No sweetheart,” Cole talks to me in a sickly condescending voice, “I called you a feline. Much more classy.” He flashes me a toothy grin before letting his eyes glaze over me. Don’t know why he would even bother in these atrocious scrubs.

I cross my arms over my chest to appear as intimidating as possible to the six foot man, and I return the once over just to be fair. I’d be an idiot if I didn’t admit Cole was handsome. Of course, no one I’ve met so far has been hard on the eyes. His dirty blond hair is cropped, but just long enough to run your fingers through, and his pale blue eyes are striking against his tan skin and slight stubble. He’s also decked out in jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his muscles, and a pair of Nike shoes. His navy bandanna has moved from his hand to his neck.

He notices me gawking at his lime green and orange shoes and, unfortunately, chooses to comment. “Like them? I always say, if you’re gonna wear shoes, might as well wear shoes that actually serve a purpose.”

“Fascinating,” My sarcastic wall of defense is up and at the ready, “I was always a flip flop girl myself. The color palette on those shoes could use a little work.” I don’t even bother to hide the disgust that wells up on my face.

“Hey, don’t hate on the sneakers, Kitty. Or any sneakers for that matter. It’s a crime against humanity.”

I scoff before deftly changing the subject from this pointless topic. I don’t even bother commenting on the horrid nickname, however the heck he thought of it. “How’re your hands doin’?” I ask with a twist of my lips.

Ha. That brings out a scowl on his face before he smothers it in a split second. “Perfectly healed. I was even able to ditch my fashion accessories,” Cole remarks, referring to his bandages and the bandanna that was tied across his palm.

“Great,” adding a sardonic smirk to my reply. The silence stretches in a standoff, but it is neither awkward nor pleasant. Instead the air is thriving with sour tension, mainly on my end at least.

“Look, Amira. As much as it pains me to say it, I’m—” Cole cuts off as he seems to get a message through some sort of earpiece. His expression is distant but diligent, and then he gives a stiff nod before voicing his recognition. Turning to me he says, “Ah, the heart to heart will have to wait for later. I promise I’ll let you cry it all out then. Right now, though, I need you to come with me to meet the boss lady.” Psh, as if.

“I’m not going with you.” I stubbornly raise my chin and place my hand on my hips. I vaguely realize how Lyla would react just like this. Stubborn as a mule.

“Well, Sweetheart, I don’t see anyone else around to take you, and—let me just say—no one messes with Kline’s schedule. No one.” Cole gives me an eerie wiggle of his eyebrows before smirking and moseying down the hallway.

I’m just contemplating the nerve of this guy when he calls over his shoulder. “You comin’, Kitty? Party’s not gonna wait for ya!” Arrgh! With a stomp of my foot and a massive shake of my head, I hurry to catch up to him.