Destroyed

Chapter 8: Trapped Inside

Since rocks and sharp objects were harming twenty innocent tourists, Mrs. Triton made us stay in our 'safe circle' until the ruckus stopped. But it didn't. Just as soon as a huge rock slammed a senior citizen by his head, Mrs. Triton had had enough.

"Kids!" she screamed through the chaos. "Can you find somewhere to-" Another explosion happened, but this time it came  behind us. My class and I got down on the floor, preventing our ears from becoming deaf.

I turned to see a huge puddle of blood, covering Mrs. Triton's purple pantsuit. By the way she is trying to pull out the huge piece of glass out of her stomach, Death is already on her trail.

Ignoring my tears, the rotting stench of blood, and corpses lying motionless on the ground, I crawled over to Mrs. Triton's side and tried to call for help. Meanwhile, Jared called over the survivors of the explosion.

A family of five, a man in a wheelchair, and eight others hurried over behind the once great exhibit. After a couple of loud rumbles, the terror finally stopped. I let out a sigh of relief as a guy in the yellow shirt, brown pants, and white sneakers rushed over Mrs. Triton's aid.

"Thank goodness," I breathed. "You must be a doctor!" The man gave me a surprised gaze before taking out his suitcase and examining his instruments. "Don't worry," he said in a weak German accent. "I'll take care of her." Unsure of what he meant, I rose up from my spot and checked to make sure of the others are okay.

The father, who had a huge bloodstain on his striped shirt, clutched onto his wife and three boys. A young woman held onto her gelatinous belly and wept uncontrollably. Eight of the survivors stared hard at the exit that was once there, now covered in rubble and glass as well as the museum.

No one paid no attention to the dead bodies on the tiled floor, although I caught Jerry lurching into Abraham Lincoln's hat. Still shaken from the earlier explosion, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

I was desperate to call my parents and tell them about my suitation. Just when I was about to type Mom's cellphone number, the man in the yellow shirt snatched my phone.

"Hey!" I cried. He ignored my cry then stuffed it into his pocket. "You should know better," he scolded. "Because of the explosion, you think four bars are going to appear on your phone?"

I bit my lip hard. He's right. I thought miserably. Now that we are officially trapped, the only thing that is on our minds right now is being doomed for all eternity. The man pulled himself up to his feet and made the hostages hand over their phones and devices.

One by one, the civilians handed him their phones and watched as the man dropped them into his suitcase. Rising up from the floor, he swiped the dust off of his pants and introduced himself as Harold.

All of a sudden, we started distributing our names and jobs as if it wasn't a big deal: the pregnant woman's name is Allison, whose job is a McDonald's cashier. The other survivors are tour guides for the museum, so I didn't get their names right away, and the father works as a banker.

"My name is Clyde," he introduced. "And this is my wife, Marie." His attractive wife flashed us a kind smile. The kids' names were Hewey, Dewey, and Louie.

They named them after Donald Duck's nephews. I thought to myself. The boys grinned widely at me as each of them shook my hand. "A pleasure to meet you," I giggled.

After the introduction, none of us felt like sitting down. When I asked Harold about Mrs. Triton, he only shook his head solemnly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "She didn't make it."

My stentorian classmates whimpered, like lost puppies. Instead of joining them I wiped the anxious sweat off of my face then tried not to think about Mrs. Triton's death.

I have to get everyone out of this place, crying and thinking about death was never an option for me. I turned to the unharmed tour guides and asked them if there is another route out of here.

A woman with a unibrow above her eyes nodded. "There is another exit," she replied. "But I don't know if it might be blocked-" "Then give us another location," I interrupted. I looked to see at least thirty three people sitting on the ground, looking depressed.

"Unless you want to die here, get moving people. Eleventh grade, find some sort of flashlight to help us see in this dungeon." I instructed. Instead of moving, Jerry smirked at my instructions.

"Since when did you became the boss?" he laughed. Without a word, Paige smacked him across the face. My classmates and the survivors were amazed at her fierceness. Jerry touched his left cheek and stared at her.

"Either do what she says or get smacked," Paige threatened. "Your choice, A-Rod." Swallowing hard, Jerry rummaged into his backpack to find the flashlight. I told Harold to stay behind us, just in case something bad happen.

Harold nodded obediently as he lifted his suitcase full of electronics. I knew this is a bad idea, but I thought maybe he could give us our phones back in case if we get a signal or something.

But sensing my thoughts, Harold shook his head at me then said it was too dangerous. As much as I wanted to probe him, everyone wanted to get out of here, especially me.

Other than Paige and Jared, I grabbed my taser flashlight from out of my backpack and turned it on. Unfortunately, most people didn't bring anything useful, except granola bars and fruits.

With the help of the unibrow woman, everyone navigated around the rubble and avoided the corpses. My friends and I were both lucky to have our flashlights, because without them, we would all be hopeless in the dark.

Even though we were alive, I felt that something wasn't right. Didn't the news just said thee were no recent explosions? I then remembered Dad telling me the authorities never caught the terrorist.

However, did the terrorist planted the bomb inside the museum before people entered? If so, who or what is the terrorist after?

In order to solve this case and get us all in one piece, I need to find answers and fast.