MELT: A Psychological Thriller (2 page)

Chapter Two

 

Megan felt acid burning her face.

Oh, God — my eyes!

She came fully alert, frantically rubbing her eyes.

A shape dashed toward her.

The cleaner!

‘Get away!’ shrieked Megan, covering her face and rolling away.

‘I’m trying to help you,’ hissed
the woman. ‘You need to get up. If you lie still you’ll freeze.’

This wasn’t the cleaner. Megan uncovered her face.

Up close this new woman looked less blurry.

Less blurry and more frightened.

Large puffs of breath mingled between them as the woman helped Megan sit up.

This woman looked nothing like the demented cleaner. Maybe thirty-five, she had brown, straight hair and a face like a model.

She looked important.

Her Prada business skirt and jacket looked better suited to a boardroom meeting than crouching terrified beside Megan.

'Where am I?' Megan demanded, grabbing the woman’s arm. 'It’s freezing in here! Where are we?’

‘I’m Chrissie,’ said the woman. ‘What happened to your eyes?’

‘The cleaner sprayed me!’ cried Megan. ‘She’s crazy! Where are we? Is this the hospital?’

Megan’s eyesight was improving, but nothing looked familiar. The ceiling here had fluorescent lights like a hospital, but they were covered in security mesh like inside a prison.

This isn’t a hospital. This is bad. I’m in a bad place.

Still holding her arm, Megan felt the woman’s entire body shudder. The steam on her breath made her resemble a machine starting up.

'Just listen,’ she said. ‘We've been abducted. All of us. We're all going to die if—’

She broke off, listening. Megan heard other voices, panicking voices, close and terrified.

Abducted?
thought Megan.
The cleaner abducted me. What does she want? Where the hell am I?

'Stay here,' the woman, Chrissie, instructed. ‘I’ll come back and get you.’

‘Wait!’ Megan snatched her arm, terrified she might never come back.
They seemed to be in a room for storing something huge. Something that needed to be kept freezing cold.

'What's this thing?' Megan pointed.

'Ice,' hissed Chrissie, jerking her arm from Megan's grasp.

Megan realized she’d been gripping Chrissie with all her strength.

Chrissie tried to stand, slipped on her Gucci heels, caught her balance on the wall and then
rushed around the ‘ice’.

Ice?
thought Megan, looking up and up and up.
An iceberg?

She rose unsteadily and wiped her eyes.

The walls are steel. So is the floor. I’m inside some kind of giant freezer.

She studied the ice and shivered.

It’s a giant dome made of ice. They’re storing things in there.

Dark shapes riddled the ice.

Megan peered closer.

They’re bodies! It’s full of dead human bodies!

She spun away, horrified, imagining herself inside. After a few moments she wasn’t so sure of what she saw.

Were they really bodies? Some of them looked too small. I have to know for sure.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked from shape to shape.

She couldn’t tell.

She shuddered.
Oh please, God. Please don’t let them be storing dead people in here. Please don’t let that happen to me. Please let me get out of here alive.

Something smelled bad.

She sniffed her sleeve.

It’s me. I smell like the cleaner’s filthy bin.

'It's been a full day,' said a new voice.

Megan spun, praying it wasn’t the demented cleaner.

Instead she found a woman abducted from the cover of a gardening magazine. In her late fifties, this new woman wore a loose floral dress under a long gray cardigan. Over the cardigan she wore a green and white striped gardening apron. She shuffled from one foot to the other in a pair of white rubber gardening shoes. Her short hair was completely gray. The deeply set lines in her face were used to frowning, not smiling.

'It's been about twenty-four hours since they took us,’ the woman said, rubbing her large-knuckled hands together.

Most of her fingers didn’t look straight.

She must have arthritis
, thought Megan.

Megan stepped toward her, but grabbed the wall for balance.
My legs are numb. It’s arctic in here!

'I'm Victoria,' offered the woman, reaching out to help Megan.

‘I’m all right,’ said Megan, finding her balance.

 Victoria pulled her cardigan collar tightly around her neck. ‘You’re shivering, girl. You need to keep moving. If you don’t move you’ll freeze.’

Megan began shuffling on the spot like Victoria.

'Were you abducted too, Victoria?'

'Yes,' Victoria answered, frowning at the ice. 'Those awful men wearing those dreadful masks. Did your men wear masks?'

Megan tried to wrap her arms even more tightly around herself. 'No. I was abducted by a woman. A cleaner. She wore a mask, but I saw her face.'

Victoria nodded. ‘Mine wore those old gasmasks. It was horrible. But it's done with now. We just have to see what they want. It can’t be long now. Keep moving, Megan. Don’t stop.’

Megan started shuffling again. ‘Wait, how do you know my name?'

Victoria shot a hand out from under her armpit. 'It’s on your tag. Chrissie checked your tag.’

‘What tag?’

Victoria nodded at Megan's chest. 'They tagged us. All of us. Like cattle.'

Megan checked. Something felt hard through her pullover.

‘It’s on a chain,’ explained Victoria.

Megan checked under her collar.
She's right. And here’s the tag.

The short necklace barely allowed her to glimpse the tag. All she could read was the word
EXIT
and four numbers.

3202

It's too short. I'll have to take it off to read the rest.

Her shaking fingers searched the chain's length twice. She couldn't find the clasp. She tried pulling it over her head.

It’s too small.

'I can't take it off,' Megan said. ‘My fingers are too cold.’

Victoria displayed her own tag. 'None of us can. We're supposed to leave them on.'

'Show me.'

Victoria leaned closer.

Megan read:

 

    NAME: STANLEY, VICTORIA

    DOB:04/18/57

    EXIT:7036

 

'What does EXIT mean?'

'I don't know,' answered Victoria. 'All our numbers are different.’

‘Why are they even tagging us?’ asked Megan.

‘We don’t know,’ said Victoria.

On the tag’s flip side were three words:

 

DO NOT REMOVE

 

Megan tilted her head back. 'What’s mine say?'

Victoria squinted. ‘It says your name is Megan Somerset and you were born on the ninth of April, 1995. It says ‘do not remove’ on the back, like mine.’

Victoria tucked her own tag away. 'We can’t take them off anyway. Carl nearly scalped himself trying.'

'Who's Carl?’

'The big fellow. A postman. I’ll get him.’

Victoria pointed behind Megan. 'Is that your bag?’

Megan glanced back.
My bag! How did I miss that?

She crouched over it.
What kind of an abductor returns their victim's handbag?

She rummaged through her bag, searching, searching
...

Got it! My iPhone!

Had they overlooked her phone? Could they be that inept?

Her phone said it was Tuesday, 11:08 am.

I’ve really lost an entire day.

She frowned over the screen.

No signal.

She tried dialing anyway.

Stupid fingers. Stop shaking.

She could barely hold the phone steady. She dialed her Dad’s number first.

Nothing.

She moved the phone around, praying for even a single bar of signal.

Nothing.

She kicked the wall.
Maybe the signal can’t penetrate these walls. I’d better save the battery.

She turned off her phone and hid it under her shirt. The phone felt like ice against her skin.

Gosh — that’s cold!

She heard footsteps, two sets, and then a cough.

'We all tried our phones,' said a male voice.

The person who spoke wore pajamas.

Blue striped, flannelette pajamas. And slippers. He looked like he'd just jumped from bed and thrown on a robe to answer the door. His dark navy bathrobe matched his slippers. He looked sick. His thin frame and pale features made him look like someone who'd spent far too long eating hospital food. He looked about thirty-five.

What’s wrong with him? HIV? It looks like HIV.

The other man, the 'Postman' Victoria had mentioned, wasn't a postman at all. He wore a UPS delivery driver's uniform with the yellow shield logo on his brown shirt and peaked cap. He twisted his cap nervously. He looked about forty-five, balding, slightly overweight, but still quite strong and fit. His arms and legs were really hairy. A neatly trimmed moustache probably showed what color the hair on his head had been fifteen years ago.

He looks like Dr. Phil. He must be freezing in those shorts.

Megan spotted thermals under his shirt, but goose bumps everywhere else.