Ollie

• Meg Arnold, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

My breath sounded exaggerated against the tunnel walls. My footsteps echoed through the underground passage. I slipped on the sewage, shrieking in disgust on the way down. Quickly I stood up, determined to get away. I would not be caught by it. I had to get out of the shaft. Suddenly, something grabbed my shoulders from behind. Something…unpleasant. The feeling of indescribable terror filled my body, rattling it to the bone. It kicked my back, hard. I heard a crack. It was probably a rib. An ear-splitting scream resounded against the dripping walls, and it took me a second to figure out whose voice it was. Mine. Kneeling down on the ground in pain, I saw a dark shadow falling over my face. Then, blackness overcame my shock-ridden body and there was nothing.
*
I felt a hot wisp of air floating across my face, bringing with it the scent of decay. As I cracked my eyes open, I didn’t know where I was. Then the memories came back to be. I let them flow through my mind, an unstoppable torrent of emotions.
*
“Come on, Ollie, hurry up!” I shouted at my best friend.
“Oh, because you’re so great at this yourself, I presume?” Ollie replied. He lugged his own pack along the ground, though I didn’t know why it was so hard for him. He was certainly not weak, and he had less then half the amount of stuff that I did. Personally, I thought that it was all because he just loved putting on a show. Thankfully, the clearing was up ahead, so his theatrics wouldn’t go on for much longer.

Ollie repositioned himself on his mattress, so his head was touching his pillow. I turned my head, and Ollie grinned lopsidedly at me. “Are you wishing that it could always be like this?” he inquired. I nodded, gazing up at the stars. There were no deadlines, no expectations. Just me, Ollie and the rest of the world. I whispered, “Goodnight, Ollie,” hoping he would hear me. Soon I was drifting down the river of dreams.

Wetness touched my hand, oddly warm. I dragged myself out of my sleeping stupor. It was still dark, so I could see Ollie still in his sleeping bag. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I erected myself into a standing position and gently kicked Ollie in the ribs to wake him up. He rolled over and I had to turn away. Tears streamed down my face as my stomach palpitated. Ollie’s arms were twisted at frightening angles. Gashes were torn on his side, back and legs. But his face was a twisted mass of flesh, blistered with wounds. Looking at my hands, I realised that the moisture on them was his blood. Shock wracked my body, shaking it with heart wrenching sobs. I screamed a blood-curdling scream, and collapsed, beside his body.

As I curled up beside Ollie, his eyes fluttered, if only for the slightest moment. I shook him, shouted his name. His mouth opened, his voice strained and hoarse.
"Run, Gemma." I stayed put, refusing to move. If he was alive, I wasn't moving. He pushed me, making him cry out in pain, but he was determined to get me away. His voice was more insisting this time. "Go,Gemma. Run! You... must.. leave... It might come back. Go!" A hair raising howl spread through the air. I couldn't bear to leave Ollie, but he wasn't letting me stay put. I stood up, with tears making my vison blurry. I stepped away from him and ran. "I love you."