The Ending - Chapter 3
"Oh, Crap." I muttered as I walked into the convenience store. Quickly diving behind some racks, I grabbed some sunglasses and bit off the tag. Then I ran to another rack, grabbed a baseball hat, then tucked my hair up like a ponytail. I rolled up my jeans and tied my shirt up like a modern French streetwalker checking out the local grub.
"Bonjour Jacques. Qu'est-ce que vous avez à vendre aujourd'hui?" I sauntered up to the counter and leaned on it with my arm, then gave a cute look to the cashier.
"Euh, nous avons quelques tartes aux fruits directement à partir de l'Amérique, mais c'est un-tout ce qui est nouveau." He stuttered, blushing. Geez, nobody in France was used to a little flirting. It's a valuable skill I picked up from some of the older girls at Camp. I shudder at the thought of that despicable place.
"Mmm, des sons délicieux. Puis-je l'obtenir?" I eased my French accent up a little, leaning forward and fiddling with his name tag. Oh. His name was Pete, not Jacques. That's not good.
"Euh ... sûr." He replied bending below the counter,
"Je vais aller vous rafraîchir un peu. Soyez tout de suite." I glanced at the burly men, then calmly walked through a random door to the side of the counter. It took me right where I wanted to go... exactly where those muscle freaks wouldn't want me. Walking down a long, black hallway, I stopped at an intersection with two doors. Picking a random one, I tried the doorknob.
"Dang it..." I muttered, checking the lock. Pass codes. Ugh. So not my forte. So I did the next best thing- I raised my foot and kicked the door. Any wall or door's weak spot is right by a frame or a doorknob, so I had some luck as it bounced against the inside wall. Oh, good. A supply room. Every convenience store should sell alcohol. Not that I approve of drunks, but it can really help a girl out. I smash the top of a crate with my hand, wincing as the wood dug into my hand. Quickly, I grabbed a bottle and opened it. Then I shut off the lights, letting the morning sun beam through the tiny window.
So I need a ladder. Improvising full wooden crates for the normal metal steps, I climbed up to the light and unscrewed it.
"Please don't make me barf, okay?" I look at the bottle. At least it's not some crappy American vodka. "Bottoms up." I put some of the disgusting liquid into my mouth. Then I siphoned the alcohol through my mouth and into the light bulb. You have to do this just right or else it will not work. I resisted the urge to smash the bottle and shake the glass light, but I resisted. Save the fun for another time.
Carefully and quickly, I screwed the light bulb back in and walked over to the light switch. I put on my most girly girl accent and called out the door.
"Aide! Oh, s'il vous plaît, aidez-moi!" I heard footsteps coming down the hallway with a passion. Perfect. I flipped the lightswitch on and walked/dove behind some crates.
"What's going on?!" I hear the muscle men call from the beginning of the hallway as they drew their guns.
"Come and help me! I don't speak English!" I called, then they came down the hallway and burst into the room.
"Goodbye, my freaks." I ducked as the light bulb caught fire and exploded into a million painful shards. The muscle men screamed like girls and fell like rocks, catching fire. I dashed down the hallway and jumped behind Pete's desk.
"Do you speak English?" I pulled on his tie and he came crouching to the floor.
"Y-yes. I do." I studied him closer.
"Your name is not Pete. What is it, really?"
"I am Project 11." I gasp.
"And you've just been here all this time! Why on Eart-" I'm stopped short as I hear a loud BANG and see a red flower blossom across his chest. "No!" I whisper-scream to myself as he falls into my arms. I set him down and crawl into one of the tiny cabinets below the desk. I curled up tightly and shut the doors with barely a thump. I peer out of a tiny hole in the old doors and see black boots approaching it, big black ones. Size-13, extra wide, super shiny. I can barely see the barrel of an M-16 hanging from the thing's waist.
"He's dead." I hear its' big burly voice. I shudder a tiny bit, but stop abruptly as not to shake the cabinet and alert him to my presence. I cock my head and listen in to what sounds like an earpiece.
"Good. Now what about the girl?"
"Unidentified. I will continue my search." There's some loud screeching, and I imagine the person with the boots wincing at the sound.
"Do not fail me." Shuddering, I retreat into the cabinet even farther. I know that voice.
"I will not."
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