by Martha Adele
My eyes roll as I take the clothes and exit the curtained room. Immediately, I head to the restroom to change followed by the gun range.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Logan
My wrists burn as the straps they used to keep me in the wheelchair dig into my skin. I’m sure they are barely touching me, but it still burns like fire. As the man who put me to sleep days ago rolls me through the empty hallways, the wind blows on my skin, causing even more pain to flare up. I try to move my fingers toward one another to rub my fingernails but find the squishy skin and exposed nerves still healing. I end up causing myself even more pain.
The gas-and-liquid mixture burned off most of the hair on my head, leaving the few strands I have left to fall out one by one. This, along with the fact that I am sitting up as straight as I can as he rolls me through the hallways, causes me to picture horrendous images.
Images of me.
I haven’t gotten the chance to look in a mirror since the chamber. All I can picture is what my arms look like but all over my body. Welts and disfigured, shriveled skin covering my face and scalp as the last few strands of ugly singed hair falls out. I imagine my eyebrows are gone; my face most likely no longer looks like me. If someone came walking down this hallway and saw me sitting in this chair, they would think I was a monster. People would think I am a horrible experiment gone wrong.
People would think so many horrendous thoughts at first sight without ever giving me a second glance.
I wouldn’t be surprised if my next torture session would be wheeling me out into a crowd to have them stare at me or to have them comment on my skin and appearance.
I wouldn’t be surprised at all.
The man, who still hasn’t introduced himself to me, loads us onto an elevator and takes us up to the fourth floor. When the elevator dings open, he then takes me through another empty hallway, this one seeming much more familiar than the others.
Through the hallway, into a room, down another hallway, and in front of another large mirror. The man stands beside me as I stare at myself.
My face is so much worse than I imagined.
The skin is even more shriveled and blistered than my arms and legs, and all my hair has fallen out. Before I can fully look over my body, the mirror shifts into a window. The two of us now look into a room that appears eerily similar to the chamber I was held in yesterday.
Though one thing is different about this chamber.
It has two chairs.
The man leans forward and presses a button on the wall beside the window. Just as he presses it, a door on the right side of the room opens; and two men come into the room, forcing Derek Page into one of the chairs as he thrashes around, trying to get out.
“Stop!” he shouts as they strap him into the chair. “What are you doing? Stop! I didn’t do anything!”
The men leave as Derek continues to thrash about. For a moment, I think he is going to break the chair.
“Let me out!” he shouts, shakes, twists, and pulls. Nothing works.
After minutes of listening to him scream, I manage to turn my head to the man beside me. He looks to me with a small smile as I wheeze, forcing the words out, “What … are you … doing?”
His smile grows a small amount. “Mr. Forge, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d be able to say anything for much longer than this.” He turns back to the window. “That’s why we weren’t going to start yet. But now that I know you can tell us what we need, we can begin.”
Derek bangs his head against the headrest of the chair, squeezing his eyes closed and whimpering, “I need to make sure my mom is okay.”
I continue staring at the man, trying to block out Derek’s shouting. “Who are—” I wheeze one large wheeze to continue my question. It takes almost all of my effort to force out the last word, “You?”
“Tony Leishman.”
Leishman? As in Maynard Leishman? Is he punishing me because of what happened to his relative? I didn’t do that. I had no part in that. It wasn’t my fault.
He looks back through the window and presses another button on the wall. “It wasn’t very easy for us to find someone you care about, Logan. All of your family is dead. Your best friends are gone, and your roommate works for us. Mr. Page was the closest friend we could find.” The man presses a few buttons on the wall, and another buzzer sounds. “The plan today is to torture your friend Derek Page until death.”
My eyes fall upon a door across from Derek as it slides open. One man walks in, gripping Derek’s mother’s arm tightly, and forces her down into the chair adjacent to Derek. The entire time, Derek is staring at his mother with a horrified expression.
“Hey, Mom”—he tries to get out of the chair but fails—“it’s going to be okay.”
“Derek, what’s going on?” She wiggles, trying to get away from the man, but he straps her in too quickly and forcefully. “What are you doing?”
The man presses a button on his belt, and an IV system that looks exactly like the machine that was in my room yesterday rolls out of the wall. He pulls it over and forces it into her arm.
“Hey,” Derek calls out to the man, “what are you doing?”
His mom begins questioning him at the same time, “What is this? Ouch! What are you doing?”
The two of them shout at the man in unison as he turns on the machine and leaves the room.
Tony looks to me and folds his hands behind his back. “Here is your chance to explain. How did you get involved with the rebels?”
I turn back to the Pages as they shout at each other. Derek continues to tell his mother that everything will be okay while she panics in the chair and begs to be let go.
“I”—I wheeze—“don’t know anything.” The more I listen to my voice, the more it just sounds like me pushing air out of my body.
Tony turns back to the wall and presses another button.
I turn to watch the two panic as a green liquid drains into Ms. Page. She looks down to the IV line as it enters into her and relaxes.
Derek looks to the window, seemingly looking through it to me and Tony. “What are you doing? Stop it!”
A minute or two pass where Tony, Ms. Page, and I watch Derek struggle to free himself.
“What,” Ms. Page breaks the silence after a few minutes and looks around the room, “what’s going on? Where are we?”
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Derek tells her, still trying to get out of the chair. “We’re going to be fine.”
“Who”—Ms. Page’s eyes fall back onto her son—“who are you again?”
He leans back into his chair and closes his eyes. I can see the pain strewn across his face. “Mom, it’s Derek.”
“Where’s Derek?” She looks around the room not frantically but more curiously. “I want to see him.”
“Mom.” He clears his throat and continues pulling hard on his wrist bondages, seemingly to the point of breaking his hands. “We’re going to be okay.”
Tony continues staring at the two. “The serum I administered to her hastens the dementia process. Every time you refuse to answer a question, I will administer another dose of the serum, causing her to forget more and more until she enters a vegetable state.”
I turn to look to him as he stares, ever so pleased with himself, and realize what he meant. This serum doesn’t hurt Ms. Page. It hurts Derek.
Tony said to me, “The plan today is to torture your friend Derek Page until death.”
Not his death.
His mother’s death.
Derek looks to the window and shouts, “What are you doing?” My eyes fall back upon the machine to see more of the serum being administered to Ms. Page.
I take another deep breath and force out, “I don’t know anything.”
Tony rolls his eyes at me. “The more you say that, the worse this will get.
”
We watch Ms. Page look at her arm as more of the liquid drains into her. She looks back to Derek and stares, not saying or doing anything. Minutes pass, and Derek continues to try to keep her calm.
He yanks his arms, trying to free himself once more. Derek clears his throat. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What is?” she asks him. “Who are you?” Ms. Page looks around the room as Derek squeezes his eyes closed again. “Where are we?”
Derek whimpers out, “Please stop.”
She slowly begins to try to free herself from the restraints, grumbling something under her breath, while Derek frantically attempts to do the same.
Tony turns back to me. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“I don’t know anything,” I tell him. “I don’t know the people who—” I wheeze from the overexertion and am unable to finish my statement before Tony presses the button again. My heart races as I watch more serum drain into Ms. Page.
She looks to Derek as he tells her, “Everything will be fine.”
He tries to keep her calm for the next few minutes, but her eyes well up with tears. She mutters something I can’t understand and closes her eyes.
“Hey, hey”—Derek leans forward to get his mom to calm down—“it’s going to be okay.”
Ms. Page looks at Derek angrily as he tries to calm her. Tony takes his hand off the button and steps forward to get a better look.
“Why did you?” she mumbles something as the tears fall.
Derek whimpers out to her, “What?”
“Why did you leave me?” She sniffles as bits of her hair falls into her face. Her cheeks have scrunched up, and her lips have begun to quiver uncontrollably.
“What are you talking about?” Derek shakes his head at her with a smile. “I never left you. I’m right here.”
“No,” she whimpers at him, “you left me the week he was born.”
“What?”
“The … the … the last thing you did was leave me a note, Randy. A note!” She falls back into her chair and whines, “I had a baby to take care of!”
“Mom, I—”
“You left Derek and I, Randy! With nothing!” she sobs, trying to say things to him but is unsuccessful.
Tony looks to me as Derek begs her to stop crying and tries to convince her that he is Derek. “Do you have anything to say?”
I slowly move my arms and turn to him. I cough a tad bit to try to clear my throat but end up hurting myself worse. “I don’t know anything.”
Tony turns to the wall and presses the button again. We continue this process for hours, watching Ms. Page wither away and Derek panicking, shouting, and, overall, suffering more than I did in the gas chamber.
“I don’t know anything,” I tell Tony again as we watch Derek beg his mother to answer. “I’ve already told you.”
Ms. Page just lies there in the chair with her mouth open, looking around the room. She looks to Derek as he begs her to answer, but she remains quiet.
“Those people”—I take a deep breath—“those people who saved me. I didn’t—” I cough as my lungs cease to work for a few moments. A small amount of blood and mucus comes up, and I spit it on the floor beside me. My gravelly and hoarse voice shouts out, “I don’t know them!”
“You know, Logan, you have done a very good job of not telling me anything.” I watch the two in horror as Tony presses the button once more. “But now, Derek will be forced to watch his mother die in this state. After she passes, it’s his turn.”
“I don’t know anything!” I growl at him, trying to pull myself out of my bondage, ignoring the burning pain of my skin and throat. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!” I pull my wrists as hard as I can, almost freeing them from the chair, when Tony leans over and tightens the bondage.
“Now, now, Logan”—he adds another strap to my waist and looks me in the eyes—“you aren’t done yet.”
I stare into his eyes and growl into his face, “I don’t know anything!”
“I’m sure something will come to mind.” He stands back up straight and heads toward the door. “I will be back in a few hours.”
“No!” I shout at him before he closes the door. “I don’t know anything! Just—” I cough up more mucus and blood and choke on it, causing more and more to come up. I lean over the side of the chair and spit it all out, trying to catch my breath as Tony locks me in.
My voice shakes as I struggle to breathe, “Just kill me now.”
Werner
As I flip to one of the final pages of the book that I was reading from the Marvelous Cafe, I hear the hatch slide open.
I set the book down beside me on the bed and watch Van climb down the ladder with a new backpack. She turns around to me and gives me a smile. “I’m happy to see you reading. I went through a lot of trouble to get you that book.” She tosses the backpack onto the table and begins rummaging through it.
“I thought you said it was no trouble at all?” I head over to her and set all our supplies on the table, lining them up and seeing what we have to work with.
“Well, I mean, I had to take out the scanner. That was pretty much it.” She chuckles and hands me a box of hair dye. “All it really was, was a sticker I had to peel off so that the alarm wouldn’t sound when I took it. No big deal.”
I smile back at her and look at the box of dye. “Midnight black?”
She flips her dark hair over her shoulder and looks to me. “What? You don’t like it?”
“No, no, I mean, it’ll be a new experience for me.” I set the box down and pick up the colored contact case. “What color were you thinking I needed?”
Van shrugs. “Any color but your natural brown color.” She sets down a small circular silver gun with a needle on the table. “After your hair and eyes, I will need to change your code.”
“My code?” I look down to my wrist at the mixture of dots. “To what?”
“I have an alias lined up for you.” She pulls the chair out from the table and pats it’s back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Zane West.”
I take a seat as she presses a button on the table, revealing a vanity station behind the wall.
She looks at me through the lit up mirror and runs her hands through my hair. “I’m kind of going to miss this color.”
“Yeah?” I ask her, handing her the box of hair dye.
She opens it up and pulls out a spray can. Van gives it a few good shakes and shrugs. “Yeah, but not enough not to change it.” She runs one of her hands through my hair as she sprays the black over it, seemingly covering it fully without hitting her or my skin. After about five to ten minutes, she finishes and takes the scissors to the sides of my head.
“Whoa!” I move slightly before she gets the chance to make the first cut. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, come on, we don’t want the change to be too subtle. We have to give you a little trim too.” She pulls my head back and begins cutting. My hair falls to the floor as she completely changes my hairstyle. After finishing with the scissors, she moves onto contacts.
Van holds up each color to my face and, after a minute, settles on a deep blue. Once I have the contacts in, she grabs my wrist and takes a seat beside me.
“This may hurt just a little bit. No more than the first time you got it, though.” Van flicks a switch, and the small handheld tattoo gun hums to life. She places an outline over my original code and digs into my skin to create the new one. This process takes what feels like hours; but by the time she is done, I look like a completely different person.
Van has me stand up against the wall so she can scan my face into the system and then shows me my new identification tag beside my old one. Many of the traits are different, one of which is that Zane West is a year and a few months older than Werner Rhodes.
“You see these traits? You see
these dates?” She points to the new ID. “Learn them. Study them. Know them. Be them. You are no longer Werner Rhodes. Werner Rhodes is gone. You are Zane West, previous inhabitant of Bouw, who has never even heard of Werner Rhodes.”
I nod and look back into the mirror to see two people. One, someone new whom I will be getting to know a lot better soon, and the other, I still don’t know the real name.
Mavis
Aim.
Pull the trigger.
Shoot.
Hit what I’m aiming for.
Aim.
Pull the trigger.
Shoot.
Hit what I’m aiming for.
Aim.
Hours pass; and I follow the same routine, hitting everything I aim for. Every now and then, a few of the other shooters will gather behind me and watch.
But I don’t care about them.
If I get good enough, if I surpass all the other shooters down here, Janice will have to let me leave. She will have to give me an assignment or a mission.
One of the target bodies sprint across the room. Everybody takes their shot at it, with only me and one other person hitting it in the head. After the bot continues to run, I aim down to one of its knees and cause it to face plant.
Everyone in the room continues shooting at the bots and the non-moving targets as I set my pistol down and take a few deep breaths. A stomach cramp slowly begins to form and grows stronger within seconds.
I force myself to bring my gun back up and take down the next running target by hitting it in the knee once more but am forced to take another break. My stomach quickly begins to twist once again. I hold one hand on my stomach, and I make my way out of the room without clearing off my station. Grayson gives me one odd look, but I wave him off as I rush out past him.
The room becomes heavy as a sudden burst of nausea hits me. I make it out of the room and immediately gag, throwing up a small amount onto the floor in the hallway. Not wanting to get caught out here, I wipe my mouth and try to head farther down, looking for someone to help me to the restroom.