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The doors swing open as we touch them, as if they are automatic. There is another set of stairs going up, and then another set of doors leading into another hall. I really want to go up and out, but the light through the other door calls us. With a deep breath, I push them open and walk into a large kitchen.
On either side of the kitchen, cabinets line the walls. An old stove is on one end, the kind that is painted cast iron and has two doors on one side for the oven and a shelf at the top. Running the length of the room, there is a long table-type countertop.
A teenage boy pops up from behind the table, a long leg slung over his shoulder. His apron has blood spatters and dirt smeared all over it. His face is pocked from acne scars. He throws the leg onto the table, and I shiver looking at it. It must be for show, to freak us out. Behind me, I hear Jaxon scream as he runs down the hall we had just come from. His fists pounding on the door, mimic the pounding of my heart.
The cook looks up, a cleaver in his hand. He swings it down, chopping the leg in half. “I,” whack. “just,” whack, “wanted,” whack, “real”, whack, “food.” He picks up the pieces of the leg and carries them to the pot on the stove. He looks at us and asks,“Why couldn’t they give me real food?” I shiver as he tosses the meat into the pot.
Amy and Danny pull me down the aisle of the kitchen to the other door, “Let’s get away from him.”
“What about Jaxon and Chris?” I ask, looking behind me. Sometime while we have been watching the chef, the noise of Jaxon’s screams and the pounding on the door have stopped.
“I don’t know, but Jaxon ran, and I don’t know what happened to Chris. We can’t go back. Whatever is going on here, we need to keep going,” Danny says, pulling me along. Amy is on the other side of him, softly crying.