The campfire hadn't been there when he went back. In spite of himself, Micah had gone over to the spot where it had been; nothing was there, no ashes, no marks, nothing to show that anything or anyone had been present. Maybe it hadn't been. He looked past the cleared space and the walkway to the building behind it, and realized that the door that led out to the courtyard stood open.
He hesitated. He'd gotten trapped last time he went into a building. But there weren't any lights in this building, and he couldn't see any sign that anyone else was here. And it was clearly not safer outside. Almost reluctantly, he walked up the path and ducked through the door.
It was darker inside, though a pale and foggy light fell through the windows. Plaster and wallpaper lay scattered on the floor, having fallen off the walls and ceiling. Unidentifiable trash lay among it. Micah's foot hit something, and he jumped as an empty can went skittering and clanging away down the hall. He stood there, listening, but nothing stirred in response to the noise. After a few minutes of nervous, paranoid listening he went on.
He couldn't be entirely quiet. Broken glass crunched under his feet, and the dimness made it hard to see. He kicked bits of debris by accident, stumbled several times. When he came to a double door on the inner side of the hallway, he looked at it for a while, squinting ineffectively through the safety glass. Then he pushed it open and went in. Maybe one of the inner rooms would be more intact.
When a phone began to ring from one of the darkened rooms he passed, he jumped violently and flung himself back against the opposite wall, his heart pounding. Bits of plaster rained down on him. Nothing came to investigate the sound, but the phone kept ringing, on and on, monotonously insistent. Micah's breath hissed out between his teeth in irritated distrust, and he separated himself from the wall and kept going. The ringing receded behind him, and finally stopped.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 45 /100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2015 6:42 pm
When it began again, it was coming from in front of him, from behind a nurse's station. His steps quickened as he passed the station and its ringing phone, looking straight ahead, ignoring it. It fell silent behind him, and began a moment later in an office down the hall. He turned suddenly, taking an intersecting corridor instead of continuing toward the ringing, and heard it stop, and wasn't surprised to hear it begin again from somewhere in front of him. The phones all sounded the same, that old-fashioned jangling ring, the same kind of dusty heavy black handsets hanging from blocky plastic cradles.
This time, he turned into the little room where the phone was ringing, barely noticing the file cabinets lining the walls. He snatched the phone from its hook on the small, peeling desk. "What do you want?" he snapped into the phone, not caring that he sounded halfway hysterical.
"Micah," cried a tinny, familiar voice. His girlfriend from school, he realized with a start. "Micah, help me! Help me, oh god, please ... " Her voice trailed off into hiccuping sobs.
"Where are you?" he demanded. "I'll help you, where are you?" But the sobs cut off in a click and the high-pitched beeping of a disconnected line. He dropped the phone on the cradle and dashed out into the hallway. "Rebecca?" he shouted wildly. "Rebecca?"
Down the hall, another phone began to ring, muffled by the walls and the distance.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 45 /100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
Micah ran, not caring how much noise he made, and came skidding to a stop in front of the desk where the phone was ringing, in the back of a dilapidated room with sagging, moldy boxes. He snatched the handset up and shouted into it, "Rebecca? Rebecca?"
"Help me, you gotta help me," a man's voice pleaded from the earpiece.
"Jason? Jason, is that you?"
"Micah, help me, help me man," and then the line went dead again. Micah dropped the phone onto its cradle, breathing hard and jittery with tension, angry at everything and itching to hit something. The voices on the phone couldn't be here. Could they? Not both of them.
Down the hall, another phone began to ring, the dull jangling setting Micah's teeth on edge. He walked this time, not panicked, not calling out. The phone that was ringing sat behind a desk in what looked like a reception area, the benches broken, the paint peeling. He pushed the swinging gate open and went behind the desk, picked up the phone.
"Help me," pleaded his father's voice. "Micah, I need your help. Please, help me --"
Gently, Micah set the handset down, cutting off the voice that couldn't possibly be real. It was all in his head. It had to be. It had to be.
He stood there for a while. He didn't know how long it was. Eventually, he started walking again. The phones rang as he passed, fell silent behind him, began again as he approached, but he ignored them.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 45 + 10 = 55/100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
