The Institute

by Kayla Howarth

  ***

  I’ve had three more days’ rest before Mr. Brookfield finally sent for me this morning. My ankle’s healed, and now that I’m better, I’m being taken for these new tests he was talking about. Again, I’m being led down halls, through buzzing doors, and down steps. The nerves are building up inside of me, festering in the pit of my stomach. What if I fail this test and go back to The Crypt. What if I pass?

  We finally reach our destination after a long and confusing walk through the labyrinth this place is. If anyone was to escape their cell, I don’t know how they’d manage to get out of the building. We enter a long, dark room with a domed roof.

  “Right, send her in,” one of my guards says into his two-way radio.

  “Send who in?” I ask, more panicked than I intended. I get the sudden fear that my torture may not be over. After all, they did say this was going to be another test, didn’t they?

  I turn to see another girl being brought in. She’s young, I’d say only four or five years old. It sickens me that there are children this young living here. She should be with her mother, with her family, not here. She should be anywhere but here. She’s got blonde hair that sits in ringlets just above her shoulders. She’s wearing a pale pink top and jeans, no blue pyjamas for her.

  Walking over to us quietly, I can feel her staring into me, trying to figure me out, trying to figure out why she’s down here with me. Behind her is a man, a well-dressed man with light brown hair and soft features. I’d say he’d be in his early thirties … maybe late twenties. He looks professional and trustworthy, so immediately I don’t trust him. Mr. Brookfield looks just as charming, and I know what he’s really like.

  “Hello, Miss Daniels. Is it okay if I call you Allira?” he asks.

  “Umm, sure.” Why do they bother asking things that I’d have no say in anyway? I know they’re going to do whatever they want. Why waste their breath?

  “Pleased to meet you, Allira. My name’s Paxton. I hear you have quite the show for us, so let’s get started, shall we?”

  Show?

  Paxton leads us to the middle of the room where three guards stand before a folding table with a bowl on it—an empty bowl. Before I think this can’t get any weirder, one of them cracks an egg into the bowl.

  Really? An egg?

  Paxton walks over to the girl and bends down so he’s at her level. “Nuka, sweetheart, what we need you to do is show Allira here how you can cook this egg as fast as you can—try really, really hard to make it cook really, really quickly. Do you understand?”

  Nuka nods and faces the bowl, squinting in concentration. The look on her face lets me know she won’t be distracted from the task at hand. I watch as the egg begins to change from a clear runny liquid to a firmer white ring around a bright yellow yolk.

  One of the staff members has a stopwatch and says aloud, “Twenty-nine point four seconds.”

  Nuka looks for approval and Paxton acknowledges it with a smile and a nod of his head. The look of joy on her face is heart-warming. She’s happy that she’s done a good job. Maybe she’s been here a long time so she sees her captors as friends. I still think this is no place for her.

  “Do you think you can do that again?” Paxton asks. “But this time, can you hold Allira’s hand? Allira’s really nice, I promise she won’t hurt you.” He shoots me a look that says I better not do anything to hurt her or there’ll be consequences.

  I really want to say that, unlike them, I have no interest in hurting anyone, particularly a child because I’m not a monster, but I know I have to pick my battles.

  Little Nuka nods again and walks the few steps over to me. She holds my hand and looks to the bowl where another fresh egg has replaced the old cooked one. Immediately the egg explodes into tiny pieces and scatters all over the place. I think every single one of us jumps out of their skin. We’re all covered in egg pieces.

  Nuka lets out a big giggle and squeals. “I want to do that again!” Everyone laughs at her excitement, and even I find myself smiling.

  They throw in a few eggs this time, and I take a step back as I pull a big chunk of egg out of my hair. Little Nuka grabs my hand and pulls me forward again. She concentrates again, and the same result occurs: more egg is thrown around the room in scattered, cooked pieces.

  Nuka’s giggles and squeals are contagious, and I can’t help but giggle right along with her.

  “What else can we make go boom?” she asks with anticipation in her eye.

  Paxton responds, “I’m not too sure, actually we weren’t expecting this to work so well. Give us a minute to figure it out?” He pats Nuka on the head, and then he and the other egg-covered men walk over to the other side of the room, chattering in hushed tones.

  They’re too quiet. I’m only catching every other word as I strain to hear them. One of them is looking at me, smiling, nodding his head to whatever’s being said in the group. His smile’s almost triumphant looking, and I can see his brain conspiring away with what they can do with me now I’m useful to them.

  Nuka tugs at my hand. “Is it you making the eggs go boom?”

  I kneel down to her. “I think it’s both of us. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you, and you couldn’t do it when I wasn’t holding your hand. How long have you lived at the Institute?”

  “The what? I live here, this is my home.”

  “Oh, okay. Have you lived at your home for a long time?”

  “Forever.”

  I know she’s only five-ish, but to have no memory of living outside of these walls makes me really sad. No, it makes me angry. How can they cage an innocent five-year-old girl?

  I notice that along the top of her shirt, running from her collarbone to her shoulder, is a single white stripe. It’s only about five centimetres long, but it seems important. Like it has a purpose.

  “What does this mean?” I ask her, pointing to her shoulder.

  Before she can answer, a voice interrupts us. “Okay, girls, we want to see exactly how powerful you can be,” Paxton says.

  “We need all the eggs!” exclaims Nuka, and we all chuckle again.

  One of the guards leaves as Paxton comes over to us. “We may need to step back for this one.”

  He escorts Nuka and me to a safe distance. The other guards stay closer to the table but arm themselves with a fire blanket and extinguisher that hang on the wall. I can’t help but wonder what they’ve sent the other guard off to collect.

  It’s quite a long time before he comes back in. He’s carrying a battery, not double-A battery, but a big one, like the batteries cars run on. He places it on the table and then joins the others a safe distance away.

  “We do it now?” Nuka asks.

  “Yes, do it now,” Paxton replies with a smile.

  Closing my eyes tight as we go to hold hands, I don’t want to look. The need for an extinguisher can’t be good.

  Crackling noises along with gasps from the people around the table fill the space. I open my eyes just in time to see the explosion.

  Paxton grabs Nuka and hits the floor, covering her body with his own. Reacting immediately, I throw myself on the floor next to them. The flames reach the roof in a matter of seconds, the heat hitting us like a wave. The guards are quick and douse the inferno with the extinguisher and fire blanket.

  It takes a few minutes, but once the flame is out, the three of us get up off the ground and walk over to the table. There’s a pile of burnt and melted plastic under the thick blanket of white foam. That’s it, that’s all that’s left.

  “Okay, Allira, you’ve proved your point. I’ll set a meeting up with the director tomorrow,” Paxton says.

  The guards take Nuka out but not before she gives me a hug goodbye.

  Paxton leads me back into the maze of hallways, and I assume he’s taking me back to my cell, but it doesn’t take long for me to realise he’s not. He’s brought me into a hallway with unfamiliar numbered doors. I’m led to room ninety-three. When
Paxton opens the door, I’m met with a familiar scene, a replica apartment of those on our yearly tours. The furniture’s a bit more outdated than those of the tour apartments, and it smells kind of stale, probably because there’s no air flow—unsurprisingly, there’s no windows again.

  “This will be your apartment now.” He smiles as if I should be grateful, as if I should thank him for being so generous to me.

  I’m shocked, well, not really shocked—it’s not like I didn’t have warning about this. Tate did tell me something like this would happen. Drew too, actually.

  “Okay, so breakfast is delivered to the rooms daily, if you’re not here they’ll just leave it outside. Lunch is served in the cafeteria, which you’ll be shown to tomorrow, and I’ll schedule your meeting for the morning. Someone will be by to take you. Oh, and your new uniforms are in the drawers and closet. Sleep well, Allira, you deserve it.”

  I deserve it but others who are in The Crypt don’t? People like Tate? Shaking the thought from my mind, I walk over to my small dining table in the corner and sit on one of the chairs. My eyes search the room for anything that would make me feel more comfortable. Paxton leaves, and it feels really weird being in here by myself, as if I’m in a stranger’s house and I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit.

  The room is quite simple: there’s a double bed centred against the wall on the right and this table in the corner. The bathroom door is on the left of the bed, and the closet is on the right. Even though the furniture seems outdated, everything still matches. The black cushions on the chairs match the black bedspread, and the wicker dining table and chairs match the bed’s headboard. Weird. It’s like it has been a priority to them to make sure everything looks the same. I’d think there’d be more important things than that to worry about … at least I hope there would be.

  Getting up, I go look in my bathroom, my very own en suite with my very own shower and private toilet. I almost jump for joy when I first see it. It must have only been a few days I was down in The Crypt, but I felt weird going to the bathroom while I knew people could possibly see me. I cling to the thought that I never noticed anyone going, so I’m hoping no one ever noticed me.

  I go to my closet next, which is on the other side of the bed. It’s one of those walk-in closets that’s about as big as my bathroom back home. The amount of clothes I find overwhelms me. There’s everything in here from sweat shirts to jumpers, pants, jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and singlets. Boots and sandals line the closet floor, and I’m suddenly confused for a moment—everything’s in my size. Did they know I was coming here? How long have they had my room prepared for? I suppose they could’ve set it up while I was still in the hospital, in the hope that their amplification theory was correct.

  Pulling out one of the T-shirts, I notice that just like Nuka’s shirt, I have white stripes on my clothes too, but instead of one single stripe, I have three. Checking over all of the shirts, I notice it’s the same for all of them. Even the ones without sleeves have the stripes running along the hemline instead. I can’t think of what it could mean.

  I find a singlet top and loose-fitting shorts before climbing into my new bed. The mattress is so soft, my body almost completely relaxes as soon as it hits the bed, but my mind refuses. I’m too worried about what’s going to happen tomorrow, about what Mr. Brookfield will want to do with me now he knows what I can do.

  What will his plan be? What if I refuse to do as he asks? Will I be put back down in the cells with the rest of the uncooperative people? Will I be made to work elsewhere, like Ty and Deke? I know I should be happy that I have decent living quarters now, but all it’s doing is making me contemplate the possible strings that are attached to living here.