Outside the van, it was still very dark. They were farther from the center of the city than Derek's old meat-packing warehouse in the outskirts. Nell looked around out of habit and tried to figure out where, exactly, she was. The new guys pulled her along at a pace that was just a little too fast, and she didn't have time to take it all in before they pulled open a metal door that had been painted white with house paint.
Inside was almost as dark as outside. It was like a basement for storage; there was only one lightbulb and it hung from a ceiling just above some stairs that were tucked away in a corner. The ceiling was low, and the taller of the men leaned over slightly. Nell thought Derek might have had to crawl, but this was at least part hyperbole.
In the middle of the room was a round poker table covered in green fabric. There were two chairs. "Sit down," a man articulated in one word so it sounded like he said siddown. Nell obeyed, and picked the chair closer to the stairs, just in case.
It was a metal folding chair. Nothing special, no armrests or anything. When she sat, she didn't scoot the chair toward or away from the table. She thought about how small the chair and table felt after living in Derek's giant house for days.
A smile must have quirked her face, because the siddown man asked, "Whatso funny?" Again, his words were a mess of poor annunciation.
"Nothing," Nell assured. She looked around more. Rust-colored bricks composed the walls, and there were no decorations anywhere. Nell looked behind her only once, not wanting to appear as if she were scoping the area for escape. All was well, because there was nothing to look at back there but the stairs, and she wasn't going to run.
She watched the men and scratched her itchy scalp. They shifted their weight frequently and murmured to one another. They held their weapons high and tight and close to their bodies.
They were waiting for something.
Inside was almost as dark as outside. It was like a basement for storage; there was only one lightbulb and it hung from a ceiling just above some stairs that were tucked away in a corner. The ceiling was low, and the taller of the men leaned over slightly. Nell thought Derek might have had to crawl, but this was at least part hyperbole.
In the middle of the room was a round poker table covered in green fabric. There were two chairs. "Sit down," a man articulated in one word so it sounded like he said siddown. Nell obeyed, and picked the chair closer to the stairs, just in case.
It was a metal folding chair. Nothing special, no armrests or anything. When she sat, she didn't scoot the chair toward or away from the table. She thought about how small the chair and table felt after living in Derek's giant house for days.
A smile must have quirked her face, because the siddown man asked, "Whatso funny?" Again, his words were a mess of poor annunciation.
"Nothing," Nell assured. She looked around more. Rust-colored bricks composed the walls, and there were no decorations anywhere. Nell looked behind her only once, not wanting to appear as if she were scoping the area for escape. All was well, because there was nothing to look at back there but the stairs, and she wasn't going to run.
She watched the men and scratched her itchy scalp. They shifted their weight frequently and murmured to one another. They held their weapons high and tight and close to their bodies.
They were waiting for something.
