✧ 27 ✧
The dark room became darker. Something blocked the only dim light coming from the hallway. Something or someone Ilya was dreadfully waiting for.
The big bad wolf stood silently at the door.
The silence was ever so frightening to Ilya since he stepped foot in Beast's lair. The silence sent an overwhelming sense of fear through his veins. The silence itself was worse than any creature he encountered in this cursed place.
To twist a word that was once calming into something dreadful could only be achieved after going through a trauma. And that was what Ilya experienced in a few hours, nerve-wracking traumatic events all caused by a single cruel creature—Beast.
Ilya closed his eyes and clasped his head.
Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
No sound. No breeze. Nothing.
Then suddenly, a poke at his side startled him.
"Tag!" Beast chirped. "You're it."
When Ilya opened his eyes, all he saw was the hairy back of Beast as he ran away, giggling. Ilya swiped the sweat off his face and let out a breath of relief.
I'm alive. The boy raised an eyebrow as he remembered that he was tagged. Ain't no way I'm looking for that psycho.
Beast was getting weirder and weirder.
Moments earlier, Ilya gave up on trying to survive. However, now that Beast was the one running away, expected to be found, Ilya grabbed his flashlight and stood up, ready to explore that new area.
His big innocent eyes twinkled with determination.
"Here we go."
Then Ilya almost fell back down. His head felt heavy. Everything around him spun. His forehead throbbed with a menacing headache.
He quickly leaned on the edge of the flipped bed for support. Rubbing his temples, he shook his head to stay focused. It was getting harder to breathe. He fanned himself with the ripped fabric of his hoodie. His hairless chest glistened with sweat.
Was he finally too tired to function after all the running? No. Something bad was happening to his body.
Ilya snapped himself out of it, remembering his wrist device. He pulled his arm up and checked the numbers on the screen. The number was low, but not too low to stop him from entering that new hall, with his new-found flashlight.
I'm getting out of here, Ilya told himself. I can feel it.
Ilya's movements were slow and wobbly, yet he fought against his illness and took his first step into the darkness, guided by the light in his hand.
This hallway was different. The wind traveling through it was cold and screaming. Even the rooms were different. They were all sealed with metal doors that had a hardened glass window.
Ilya was tempted to look through one of the windows, but he immediately backed down when he saw the blood. He steered his flashlight away from the doors and marched forward, looking for that probably non-existent exit.
When he felt dizzy again, Ilya leaned on one of the doors. He rubbed his head and pressed the spot that was throbbing. He did that as he waited for this painful episodic headache to quiet down.
Suddenly, the door shook with a clank, as if something just hit it from the other side.
Ilya flinched and looked up. Through the small window, he was met with glassy dead eyes staring at him. Ilya gasped and tumbled backward. Then he curiously aimed his flashlight with a shaky grip at the door's window again.
The source of the stench was revealed.
The man, or woman, was still staring. Bold head. Skeletal frame. Eyes bulged out of their thin sockets. Mouth opened. They were screaming, but Ilya couldn't hear a sound.
Ilya figured that these metal doors were sealed shut for a good reason, because of that dreadful feeling that sunk into his stomach the moment he witnessed this new creature. Ilya wanted to look away, but those milky eyes were pulling him in.
Then the other rooms banged.
Ilya snapped his head towards the rattling doors. All these rooms had people in there, trapped since 1992. Their skin was rotting, teeth falling, and hair missing, but how were they still alive?
Ilya got up and continued walking between these clanking doors.
It was hard to ignore the noise and the silent screams. The windows splashed with more blood as the banging intensified.
These weren't people, not anymore. They were zombies.
They didn't feel pain. They wouldn't stop hurting themselves until they were free of their cells and chew on human meat—Ilya's meat.
Ilya prayed that these metal doors were strong enough to hold them in, at least until he gets the fuck out.
In the middle of the banging noises, a playful voice broke through.
"Marco!"
Ilya instantly replied, "Po—"
He quickly covered his mouth with both hands and gasped.
What was he thinking? He felt stupid for giving up his location to Beast.
Beast laughed then said again, "Marco!"
When Ilya didn't answer this time, Beast whined, "Ah, come on, kid. That's not fair. You gotta play the game."
Ilya's eyes were as wide as saucers. His hands didn't leave his mouth, pressing hard to shut himself up. He scanned his surroundings without moving his head. Green pupils moved left and right, panic draining the life out of them.
When Beast was silent again, Ilya slowly removed his hands from his mouth. Silence was never a good thing here. Beast might be right behind him.
Ilya jerked his head over his shoulder, looking behind him. He flashed his light everywhere. His heart was racing. Fear swelled in his stomach, twisting and turning it into knots.
Luckily, he didn't find anyone stalking him.
Ilya didn't wait around. One minute, Beast might not be there, but he might appear any second now.
Struggling to breathe as the numbers on his wrist device kept going down, Ilya forced himself through the dark hallways. He tip-toed as fast as his weak body could take him, passing a broken window with a severed arm stuck in it, bloodied floors, and banging doors.
His human body was exhausted. Honestly, Ilya was surprised that he still managed to walk after all this time he spent running from Beast, getting thirstier and hungrier, weaker and weaker.
Then, in the middle of an empty hall, Ilya spotted something. Something that sparked a little sense of happiness inside him. Something that made tears of joy swell up in his eyes. Something he had been looking for since he got here.
He found the other exit—an open elevator.