Heller's Regret

by JD Nixon

  When the last straggler made it back to their feet, some of them puffing so hard I hoped the Director kept a defibrillator handy, he eyed us off, one by one.

  “Anyone else have a question?”

  Unbelievably, a woman tentatively raised her hand. Some of us groaned out loud.

  The Director smiled, and it wasn’t one of those smiles that gave you any comfort when you needed it. He pointed at her. “You stay standing. The rest of you give me ten.”

  Wearily, we dropped to our knees again. By the end of the last pushup, my arms were shaking.

  “Any more questions?” asked the Director in an almost kindly voice, which just made it even scarier.

  A deadly silence emanated from the group, the only sound a couple of crows gloating about our servitude from the freedom of a nearby tree.

  “Excellent. Let’s move on. Ladies to the right, men to the left. Move it!” We shuffled around until we were in our designated groups. “Ladies, you’re in Group A; men in Group B. Group A, your living quarters are the bunkers you see in front of you and you’ll be supervised by Assistants One and Two. Group B, you’ll live on the other side of the enclosure and will be supervised by Assistant Three and me.”

  A quiver of gratitude spread through me that I wouldn’t have to deal with the Director, but when I looked at the uncompromising faces of the two female Assistants, it quickly withered.

  I never found out where Group B lived and didn’t set eyes on any of them again after that first muster.

  I only hoped they were all still alive.

  Chapter 2

  Group A was divided into two and allocated to either Bunker One or Bunker Two. The bunkers were so devoid of any creature comfort that accommodation in an army survival combat course in the middle of the jungle with no supplies would have seemed luxurious by comparison. Unpainted concrete walls and bare timber floors were illuminated with harsh fluorescent lights that flickered and buzzed annoyingly. Tiny louvred windows, unadorned with coverings of any kind, didn’t provide enough brightness to negate the need for the annoying fluorescents, even in the middle of the day. It was grim and cheerless – pretty much how I felt on seeing it.

  We weren’t afforded the indulgence of choosing our own sleeping arrangements. The bunks were pre-allocated, our last names written on a small board mounted on the wall of our individual ‘personal space’. A basic bedside table and cupboard stood neatly to the right of our beds. Inside each cupboard were four sets of the grey tracksuit, correctly sized for us all. There were no mirrors, rugs or pot plants – absolutely nothing to soften some of the bunker’s austerity.

  The two Assistants were each in charge of a bunker. We were allocated the delightful and ever-so entertaining Assistant One. She addressed us as we huddled together in the middle of the bunker.

  “You may keep a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush, one pair of pyjamas and any female sanitary requirements. You may also remove from your suitcases your runners and four days’ supply of underwear and gym socks. In the bathroom, which is located in the centre block, you will find an adequate supply of soap, shampoo and towels. If you’ve brought any medication, let me know and I’ll consult the Director. He’ll allow all doctor-prescribed medication, but we’ll dole out the correct doses as prescribed.”

  “Excuse me,” said one well-spoken, well-groomed woman. “I really must have my moisturiser, otherwise my skin will –”

  “You stay standing. The rest of you drop and give me ten.”

  There was no hiding our disgusted outburst of groans this time.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

  “Now it’s twenty.”

  I wasn’t sure I could manage twenty more pushups, but then I remembered Clive’s face and my determination grew to mountainous proportions. He didn’t think I could do this, but I would show him. Those dark thoughts of vengeance kept me going through the set and I was the first one back up on my feet.

  The woman who’d caused the punishment looked over at me beseechingly, but I stared ahead stonily, not willing to acknowledge her.

  The last woman, probably the oldest in our group, struggled to reach her feet when she’d finished. I leant over to help her, letting her use my shoulder for support – she might have been my mother’s age. Even I could hear her knees cricking as she rose.

  The Assistant came over to me and stood in front. Oh no, I thought.

  “Good teamwork. We like to see that here.” I breathed out in relief. “And you are?”

  “Tilly Chalmers,” I told her unwillingly.

  She ran her finger down a piece of paper on a clipboard. “Ah, here we are. Matilda Chalmers, aged twenty-six.” She inclined her head to one side. “Hmm, I would have said you were ten years older.”

  Bitch, I thought.

  She poked me in the stomach, making me reflex backwards. “Too much soft living. We’ll call you Chunky Chalmers.”

  “You don’t have to be so rude. I’m not chunky and I don’t look ten years older,” I said without thinking.

  Her thick eyebrows shot up in delighted surprise. “You can stay here. The rest of you can do five laps of the Field.”

  I glanced around at the mutinous faces of my roommates. “I’m going to join them.”

  “Ooh, I do like your team spirit, Chunky. But that’s not how we do things here. Now it’s ten laps for everyone.” She pretended to think. “Tell you what, though. As a special treat, I’ll let you do twenty laps by yourself after everyone else is done.” She shook her head deprecatingly. “I’m such a pushover for cute, chunky faces.”

  She forced me to stand in the increasingly hot sun and watch while my roommates staggered their way around ten laps of the dry, dusty Field. I was mortified that I’d caused these poor women to have to do this. And at that point, I didn’t know if I was angrier with Clive or with Assistant One. I had to admit, though, it was a clever ruse to not punish the person committing the infraction, but everyone else in their stead. It was surely going to foster discontent in the group and the ganging-up on people who didn’t quickly learn to obey the rules. I didn’t want to be the one they ganged-up on.

  When the last straggler made her weary way back after her laps, shooting me looks of hatred, the Assistant smiled benevolently.

  “Nice work so far, ladies.” She pointed to the middle amenity block. “As I told you earlier, half of that is your bathroom. The other half is the kitchen and dining room. There you’ll find ample supplies of cold water and some energy bars to share between you.” She looked at me with a fake sad expression. “Sorry, Chunky. By the time you’re finished with your ‘honour’ laps, I suspect all the food will be gone. It’s rationed here.”

  I set off jogging with the determination a lot of long-distance runners have. Break through it, break through it, I told myself with every step. I thought about how I could kill Clive, or how I could kill Assistant One. Or better yet, how I could convince Clive to kill Assistant One and then kill him, but make it look like Assistant One’s family had committed a revenge crime. Of course I wouldn’t really hurt Clive – he was too scary to tangle with and part of Heller’s family – but fantasies can provide relief in times of great stress or pain.

  And you better believe I was feeling pain. By lap seven, I had shin splints that made every step a horror. That pain was overridden in lap thirteen by the side stitch that had me lurching with every step.

  “Do you want to give up, Chunky?” called the Assistant, in what any casual observer would take as a caring question.

  Fuck you, I said to myself, floundering onwards to the end. Barely able to hold myself upright, by the time I limped, drenched in my dusty jeans and formerly nice, but now disgusting, buttoned shirt, to the kitchen, all the bars had been eaten. It didn’t appear as if many had been offered in the first place, judging by the few wrappers in the bin. Instead, I gulped down so much cold water that I immediately threw most of it up in the sink, leaning against it, shaking and sweating, on the verg
e of tears.

  “Drink it slower this time, darling,” said the well-spoken voice of moisturiser woman who’d started the whole problem from behind me.

  “But I’m so thirsty,” I panted.

  “You can’t drink water too fast when you’re dehydrated,” she assured, pouring me a miniscule amount in a glass that I scoffed in a second.

  “I need more.”

  “Give it a minute.”

  “I told you, I’m thirsty now!”

  “Wait for a minute. Then I’ll give you more. You really need an electrolyte supplement, not just water.” She led me to a hard chair. “Come and sit for a while.” She peered around her surroundings cautiously. “They seem to have left us to have a break for now.”

  “I hate this place,” I whispered, staring down at my fingers twisting together.

  “So do I,” she whispered back, her hand over her mouth and looking away as though she wasn’t talking to me.

  That made me look at her, really look at her. “Why are you even here? You don’t need it.”

  “You don’t either.” She heaved a sigh and leaned her chin on her palm. “I was married twenty-seven years to a doctor. I was a nurse for a long time. We met at the hospital we both worked at.” She looked away, but I could see the moisture in her eyes as she blinked repeatedly. “One day he moved out, telling me it was over. Just like that. He was ‘in love’ with his twenty-year-old receptionist, and he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s crazy. You’re beautiful.”

  She smiled at me and touched my cheek gently. “You’re very sweet, but that’s life, I guess.”

  “Did you enrol yourself in this hellhole?”

  “Money’s a bit tight for me at the moment until the settlement is finalised. This was the cheapest place I could find. I can see why now.” She shrugged with appealing self-deprecation. “I thought that maybe it might help me find a new partner.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, boy. I don’t think that was a good decision.”

  She sighed. “Neither do I. They seem too disciplinarian in here for me.”

  “Me too. I’m not just going to be biting my tongue, I’m going to be chewing it off.”

  She laughed and looked at her expensive watch. “I’m dead on my feet and it’s barely eleven o’clock in the morning. It’s only a matter of time before they make us change into those horrible tracksuits and give up all our worldly possessions.”

  “I’m not too sorry about changing. I’m a bit rank in these sweaty clothes.”

  Her nose crinkled. “I didn’t want to say anything, but that is true.” She sighed again. “I’m going to miss my phone. And my moisturiser.”

  “What is this, ladies? High tea at The Ritz?” shouted the Assistant at us from the doorway. Despite being exhausted, we both jumped to our feet. “Everyone else is out on the Field waiting for you. Five laps each for letting down your bunker-mates, then change into your sweats. And if it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you might deign to join the rest of your group for some exercise to make some vain attempt to turn you heifers into sleek mares.”

  “I hate that woman so much,” I murmured as we made our tired way to the Field for more punishment laps.

  “Surely not more than I do,” she responded in an equally muted tone.

  We stumbled back to the Bunker afterwards to change into the much-despised tracksuits, noting that our suitcases had been whisked away, leaving us with no other clothing options.

  After a day filled with more wretchedness than could ever be described, and a lunch and dinner that were minimal to say the least, we were allowed to retire. I sleep-showered, changed into my pyjamas, sleep-brushed my teeth and fell onto the stone-like bunk and pillow as though they were a present from the gods. I didn’t think I even moved one iota until a horn blasted us awake at five-thirty in the morning.

  We all sprang up, alarmed and disoriented, our pulses racing.

  The Assistant stood at the doorway, holding an enormous book up in her hand. She dumped it on the nearest woman’s bed. It thudded, making a huge indent.

  “These are the Rules for this Camp. I recommend you read up on them in the fifteen minutes you have before you must be ready for pre-breakfast exercise.” She lingered at the door. “I suggest you particularly look up Consequences and Punishments. See you soon.”

  “Can anyone even focus enough right now to read?” asked a very groggy lady, sprawling against her pillow once the Assistant left.

  “I couldn’t give a shit about their rules,” said another in a weary voice, and there were enough echoes of that sentiment to satisfy us all.

  I sat on my bed, yawning hugely. “We need to stick together. Don’t let these arseholes separate and divide us with their stupid rules.”

  “I’m with you,” smiled the doctor’s ex-wife from across the room. “What’s your name? I don’t want to call you Chunky, because you’re nowhere even close.”

  I smiled at her tiredly. “I think I might adopt you as a second mum soon if you keep being so nice to me. My name’s Tilly, and I’m not fucking chunky.”

  A couple of the ladies applauded me, and then the others joined in. I was comforted by their reassurance.

  The older lady I’d helped yesterday smiled at me. “Apart from that young lady,” she said, nodding to a very plain, shy teenager at the far end of the room, who hadn’t said one word so far and blushed even at the mention of herself, “you’re the youngest person here. And I think you’re gorgeous. Oh, for your figure again! And for your self-confidence.”

  “Aw, thank you so much. That’s very kind of you.” I slumped on my bed, staring up at the water-stained, fire-retardant tiled ceiling. “You know, that’s what we need to do. We need to support each other to get through this. Let’s not ask questions or complain to those ‘assistants’. It just leads to more punishments for all of us. We don’t need that. I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m supposed to be stuck here for a month. Fuck that!”

  “Dearie,” said the older lady. “I think you’re gorgeous, but I don’t like your sweary mouth.”

  “I’m sorry. My mother wouldn’t either. But I’m so angry at the moment.”

  “So am I,” spoke up the teenager in a soft voice. We all turned to her in surprise. She blushed more furiously. “My stepfather hates me. He sent me here. He told me the sight of me made him sick.” She sat, head down, nervously plucking at her fingernails.

  There was a huge murmuring of support for the young lady. Mr Doctor’s ex-wife (Ariadne, I learned later) quickly crossed the room to hug her.

  “Don’t listen to him. You are beautiful just the way you are, darling. Some people are so cruel and judgmental of others that it virtually robs them of their humanity.”

  The young girl, Jessie, looked up at her in wonder as if that might be the very first time in her life that anyone had ever given her some encouragement.

  “Thank you,” she said so softly, I’m not sure all heard her.

  I jumped to my feet, though I was exhausted. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. No matter how much it kills us, we will be subservient to these fu. . .” I looked over and saw the disapproving glance of the older lady. I smiled at her. “We will be subservient to these not-nice people and we will support each other. They said we could, so let’s do it. If you see someone in Bunker One struggling during a physical exercise, and you have the capability to help them, then help them to the end.” I looked around at the other women. “No woman left behind, right?”

  I received another nine “rights!” before I was satisfied and the Assistant barged her way back into the room. We’d carefully arranged ourselves around the Rules before the fifteen minutes expired, pretending to absorb even a part of the thousand pages in it in the allocated fifteen minutes. We presented like the Von Trapp family having a musical gather-round. I would have burst into song if I had any talent or energy and if I thought the Assistant would tolerate it for a second.

&n
bsp; “Oh nice, ladies,” she nodded approvingly at our close studiousness. Her voice switched to harsh. “Now out to the Field. Let’s shift some blubber.”

  I spoke up very hesitantly. “Excuse me, ma’am. May we please be allowed to use the bathroom first?” I kept my eyes lowered to the unread rules the whole time.

  She looked at me indulgently, as though I was her favourite annoyance. “Chunky, you know you’re supposed to call me Assistant. I don’t know about this ‘ma’am’ business, but I don’t want you peeing yourself while you’re working out.” Her glance would have shattered ice. “You have five minutes.”

  We sprinted to the bathroom and fought over the stalls, though at the end of five minutes we were all relieved.

  “I need food,” despaired Jill, the older lady, looking at herself in the mirror. Tears misted her eyes. “I don’t think I can do any more exercise without it. It’s inhumane to expect it.”

  “I agree, but it’s best for us not to think about food right now,” I recommended indistinctly, patting her on the shoulder while brushing my teeth, one of the few hygiene tasks I could manage in the time we’d been given. I didn’t want to admit to anyone I’d not only been thinking about food since the previous night, I’d also dreamt about it. “Let’s all just concentrate on getting through this session. We’ll help each other where we can.”

  “I hope breakfast is more substantial than any other meal we’ve had here so far,” said the young girl, Jessie, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.

  “My muscles are killing me,” complained Ariadne, rubbing her left calf.

  Nobody had a chance to respond because the Assistant poked her head into the bathroom. “Come on, ladies, I’m waiting for you. This isn’t a nightclub where you can stand around for hours gossiping in the bathroom. Get your ugly, flabby lardarses out to the Field now.”