Chapter 14: All His (Part 1)

Now, he didn’t look like a zombie.

Milo pushed the leftover accessories aside and tilted the makeup mirror up to his face, gazing into his own icy-blue eyes. The violet bruising had shrunk a little and the blood had clotted, no longer leaking from his lip.

He even risked a smile, and found nothing tore open.

With that appearance, he might not be screamed at anymore.

More importantly, the journey from the dining hall and past the doors of the ground floor was over. Two cardboard bags filled with meal boxes were a hassle the whole way, but he’d done it with his arms still attached.

Under the same dim lights and footstep echoes he came back to the isolation room. He dropped onto the bed, stomach growling in earnest, and sighed.

There was no time to waste, so he unpacked the main dish and, upon seeing it was a fish with some baked potatoes, set it aside and unpacked the second course. He used to like fish. Tastebud preferences change.

Ginger and curry came up out of the box before he had the second course all the way open: cream of carrot. His spoon dove through the thin layer of freshly ground white pepper, and he took a whole spoonful, including the piece of cilantro.

"Mmm!"

Pepper stung his split lip. He wiped it on his sleeve and went back for more.

The first bowl disappeared in half a minute. The second one took maybe a little over minute, and the growling quieted to a warm weight behind his ribs.

Just in case, he set the third one on the table to take with him to the relic room. He’d eat it on the way.

After tossing the empty bowls and the uneaten fish back into the bags, he started shoving them under the bed. Each time he let go, they sprang back out.

Hmm.

One more attempt, and he pulled a corner of the nearer bag back out. A hand’s width of cardboard, in plain sight. Come back to find it tucked away, and somebody had been in his room.

Milo bounced out of the isolation with a full bowl in hand and shut the door with his heel. This time, he swung right and onto the staircase. Since he was not in the mood for crawling on the floor, he would take a way around with no glass panes.

At the same time as he entered the first floor, the baton began moving, its black outline gliding just behind the plaster.

Finally! What was it doing so long in that one spot?

Whatever Seb was doing in that nest, it was now a given: Milo would pay it a visit.

Of course, he couldn’t forget the nature of this building. Emergency sealed, yes, but if Layla and Grace had gotten in and the principal could, with sufficient cooperation, open and lock the doors from a digital panel, Milo might just make a new friend.

At each corner, he stopped and listened carefully while delighting his mouth with the cream carrot soup. Rows of lockers slid by, his shape a gray smudge on their doors.

Good things never last forever, however, and by the time he arrived at the room labeled INSPECTION COLLECTION — STAFF ACCESS, the bowl was empty. Aside from the emergency seals over its top edge, it was a door like any other in the building.

Understandably, it was also locked.

Huh. Who has a key?

Milo looked up to trace the baton again. It was gone.

When he looked back, it was moving along the same floor he was on.

It was moving toward him.

He slipped into the narrow recess behind the end locker, clipping its door with his shoulder.

Thump!

His gaze, darting left and right, confirmed his worst worries: the baton’s speed left no chance of getting out of sight now. Either it turned another way, or...

Keeping his body behind the locker, Milo raised the bowl and spoon onto its top.

...he would be forced to run. On a bruised ankle, with ribs that hurt when he breathed hard? Excellent plan.

Unless Plague made Seb blind, he would be made or beaten up again. Both, probably. And after that, an isolation room with a lock somebody had actually used.

The footsteps came quiet, heel first and slow. Maybe the boy was also trying to stay hidden?

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

His own pulse hammered in his ears, twice the tempo.

Only a few more steps, and...

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap! Tap!

A tall figure emerged, covering what was left of the distance to the collection room in two quick leaps.

Tall figure.

Milo’s mouth hung open as he watched the man take a set of keys out of his pocket.

The baton was strapped to his waist with a leather belt. The head above it was shaved, and the corridor’s dim made a wet shine of the scalp.

At the door, he paused for one sweep of the surroundings. The look skimmed the lockers without stopping, and Milo’s lungs started up again.

The man slowly inserted a key into the lock and whipped a ragged stick the length of a forearm from his other pocket. As he rotated the key, he pressed the tip of the stick to the emergency seals at the top of the door.

Whirr!

A flash blazed. Milo had to cover his eyes. A tang of burnt air drifted down the corridor a breath later.

The soft noise cut off and the light faded. The door opened with a click, and the man hurried in, leaving it open.

That was why the baton had been moving as if the seals did not exist for it.

It was Mr. Cald.

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "All His (Part 2: Finale)" ... ⤵︎ [!]