THE BUILDING WAS IN SHAMBLES. It was some strange exoskeleton of what it used to be, rotted from the inside out. The beams from every room (and there were a lot, a seemingly endless maze of every size and shape of room an architect could ever draft) were juxtaposed with their ceilings and floors, smelling of deterioration, moss, and hardy earth. Maggots and larvae crawled through holes made by the bigger bugs amongst the swarms, burrowing and infesting and multiplying. Tough-stemmed vines crawled along the walls, some still holding on to the last bits of wallpaper and wallpaper glue peeling from the ceiling downwards. No light would reach this place if it weren't for Noah Frank's dancing lighter flame, pulsing in the heart of this monstrosity of a building as he flicked the lid open and closed.
Noah was bored. He wasn't just bored, he was f*****g bored. There was the small solace of having found this rotting underground place in the middle of the biggest desert in the United States, but that comfort of shelter had only let his nerves fade and adrenaline ebb away. Now, with nothing to do in the complete darkness of this place and no idea of how in the world he'd get out, Noah only had the lighter and the small amount of gas left in it to entertain him. There was always the dimebag of bud he'd managed to slip into his pocket before latching his skates and hauling a** out of Reno, but he hadn't eaten for at least a day and a half. His hunger would become unbearable if he were to smoke any of it, regardless of the availability of rolling papers he had on him at all times.
Digging in his pockets, Noah managed to pull out the smooth egg of his cellphone. He flipped it open with his thumb, the sudden electronic light hurting his eyes.
"Still no f*****g service ..." he muttered, trying to hold the phone up in the air from where he was sitting against the sturdiest wall he could find.
"What'd you think, Frankenstein, that there would be service in the middle of a f*****g desert, underneath a half mile of f*****g sand?" He sighed, irritated with himself for being in this situation.
What time is it, now? Almost seven at night. I'd be sitting around the dinner table with my parents and Eddie, about ready to dig into a huge home cooked meal. The thought made his stomach grumble sorely, as if saying 'Why did you leave, dumba**?' He tapped his belly sharply. "Stop. I'm mad enough at myself for the both of us, okay?" He put the phone back in his pocket, elbow knocking into the skates he had at his side, and returned to flicking the lighter. He stared at its flame, running two fingers over its tip quickly.
"Still ... this is better than going to college." He looked at his stomach, poking it.
"Isn't it?" His organ remained stoic.
Noah let his head fall back into the wall in a shallow frustration. Somewhere, he knew that his boys would be looking for him. There was the hope that they still found his jokes entertaining enough. That, plus the fact they were moving.
And Lost Cell was always hurting for a fast pack mule.
