I am yanked to my feet by my arms and all of us are led to the box. Once we’ve been corralled, the doors shut and we begin falling.
My stomach crashes to my feet, a wave of nausea accompanying it. June doesn’t look to be faring much better. I wish I could hold her hand, comfort her in some way, but it’s impossible. Lights that resemble the ones in Sully’s lair flicker overhead as we continue to drop. Knowing we are surrounded by dense earth and shale and trapped in a windowless compartment makes every cell in my body yearn for the openness of the desert, the seemingly infinite expanse of pale sand and sky. With ten armed men crowding us, I wonder if I’ll ever see the light of day again. I look to June apologetically, trying to silently convey how truly sorry I am for getting her into this situation in which we exist. She tips her head to one side, the smallest of frowns twisting her lips, just as the falling ends. The doors open and we are greeted by pale, almost white walls arched to form tunnels. In front of me, Sarah, Tom, Sully, Jericho, Will, Oliver and Riley are ushered left. June is brought behind them. I am left alone with two men.
When we reach the door of the compartment, I start follow where my sister and friends have gone. But as soon as I veer in their direction, I am halted.
“Nope, we’re not going with them.” Firm fingers grip my upper arm and drag me to the right, away from the others.
Panic glazes my flesh like ice. My mind swirls dizzyingly. June is being led away from me, taken by these rubber-suited men. I don’t know where she is or what will happen to her. I can’t protect her.
A fine sheen of cold sweat breaks out of my pores. This can’t happen. I need to know what’s going on, why we’re being separated.
“Where are you taking me? Where’s my sister? What’s going on?” My questions fire like bullets. Only no one absorbs the impact. No one answers me. Their faces remain stoic. My insides tremble, my skin grows colder, and my fear for June mounts. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” I shout. “Where are we going?”
When they ignore me a second time, I decide to resist. Sinking suddenly, I bend my knees and drop my shoulder, ramming it where I think the stomach of the man nearest to me would be.
A muffled grunt echoes from the man I’ve struck. He doubles over and I try to run. As soon as I take my first step, I’m caught. An arm hooks under my chin and jerks me back. I land on my backside, trembling veins of pain snaking up my body. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you,” a voice says close to my ear before I’m hoisted up. They half-drag me the rest of the way and stop when they reach a metal door. One of the men unlocks it and the door swings inward. I hesitate. An unfamiliar scent hangs in the air, one that is indefinable and has an acrid, chemical odor.
“Let’s go,” the man behind me says. Shoving me with his elbow while still clutching his weapon, I am thrust inside. Small cream-colored squares cover the walls and floor. All that interrupts the grid of hard slates are circular protrusions on the walls, a grate at the center of the floor, and a large rectangular pane of thick glass.
“What is this?” I ask as I look around. No one answers me. I don’t know why I bothered asking in the first place.
Another man enters the room, bringing the count up to three. “Need any help?” he asks.
The men look to me then to him. “You might as well stay. She likes to fight.”
The man nearest the door closes and locks it, and the three men circle me.
“All right, let’s do this,” one says. He produces a pair of shears, and my blood runs cold.
“Wh-what’re you doing?” I step sideways, away from him.
“Unlock her handcuffs,” the man with the scissors says.
I am grabbed and held still while my shackles are removed. As soon as they’re off, I attack. Like a feral beast, I charge, flailing and kicking at the closest man to me.
“See, I knew you’d need help,” a voice says over the rush of blood behind my ears.
“Let me out of here!” I scream as I pound my fists against a rubbery section I assume is a torso.
“Hit her with the stun gun,” one of them says, and before I can twist or duck, a pair of stinging metal disks bite the nape of my neck, sticking there and sending a burst of energy firing through my body that feels like lightning.
My insides feel scrambled. My muscles weaken and I collapse to the floor. Cold tiles rush upward and smack against my cheek.
I am turned over and the three men hover over me. The scissors loom close to my navel. I want to writhe, to squirm away from them, but can’t. My body is immobilized. My shirt is cut away first, leaving my bare breasts exposed. Terror rockets through my core. What are they doing to me? Why are they stripping me? Endless scenarios play out in my head, the frightening possibilities abound.
“Please, don’t,” I beg and try to cover my chest. I will my arms to move, to cross over my nude flesh, but they don’t budge.
The man moves to my hips and begins unfastening my pants. Another unlaces and removes my boots. My pants and underwear are pulled off my body then placed wherever my ruined shirt, socks and boots have been put. The door opens, and buckets and poles with sponge-like material attached at the ends are brought into the room. The men step away from me, but not before taking a long lingering look at me.
I am naked, alone and terrified. Tears well and cascade down my cheeks. I am utterly defenseless, humiliated as I’ve never been before. And all that keeps running through my mind is one question: Is this being done to June?
My worry is interrupted by the sudden spray of warm water from overhead. “What the heck?” I shout. Forceful jets emerge from the walls and launch at me, pelting my skin so hard it stings.
The water continues for several moments before the men approach me with their buckets and devices. They dip the soft-looking tips of their poles into the buckets, and when they retrieve them, they are coated in bubbles.
“She’s not bad,” one of the men comments as he scrubs my skin with the bubbly brush.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind having to do this every day,” another comments, joining in the cleaning.
I want to scream at them, use the swearwords I’ve heard Sully use, to kick and punch and bite, but I can’t. My muscles have been drained of their power, my limbs are like boulders. My clothes, and every ounce of dignity I possess, have been stripped from me. The men, they talk about me as if I am a slab of meat without feelings or worth. The bristles of the brushes linger in some areas more than others. Hot tears scald the backs of my eyelids when I am rolled to my stomach then back again, no part of me left private or unexplored by their cleaning tools.
“I like everything I see,” one of the men comments, and I vow to kill him if ever I get the chance. But first I need to survive this. Darkness teases at the edges of my vision. My body feels as though it’s shutting down.
Overwhelmed by a tide of shock too great to overcome, I look up a final time and notice that a figure crowds the window on the wall. A man stands there.
Dressed in fancy garments I’ve only seen in pictures, his presence commands authority. The men look up and see him too. Their chatter stops immediately. The energy in the room shifts.
The man behind the glass leans forward. His features become clearer. The determination in his face is intimidating—the tilt of his chin, the glacial gleam in his gaze—all combine and send a shiver of unease up my spine.
My consciousness flickers, oblivion seeking to claim me, to free me from the humiliation I’m enduring.
The last thing I see before succumbing to the darkened void is the man in the window’s expression. A thin and brittle smile that doesn’t reach his cold eyes carves his features.
Chapter 12
I’m uncertain of how much time has passed, how long I’ve been held captive in the room with tiny tiles and the shower jets. Has it been hours, days? I have no way of knowing. Food and water has been delivered to me a few times. I don’t remember how long ago the last meal was. It’s hard to gauge the passage of time withou
t the sun overhead to help. All I recall is that the door to the room was unlocked each time.
The first time it opened, I twitched and flinched, worrying another round of scrubbing would ensue, when I saw the handle turn. That worry multiplied tenfold when a man wearing a rubber suit opened it and stepped inside. Fortunately, he didn’t stay. He simply placed a tray on the floor and promptly left. Eyeing it suspiciously, I watched it for several moments. I don’t know what I’d expected it to do—jump, aim a weapon at me, grow arms and try to clean me—all I knew was that I didn’t trust it.
Hunkered in the corner and covering intimate parts of me as best I could, I’d strained my eyes to see what was on the tray. A warm aroma wafted from it. Little by little, I inched toward it and found that it was a plate laden with cooked carrots, field greens, a white mashed substance, and meat. A full plastic container of water sat beside the food. My mouth watered immediately. The sight of food and drink, necessities I’d been deprived of for so long, tempting me.
My eyes flickered from the pane of glass to the food. The people who wore white coats and carried their clipboards weren’t there. They showed up often, watching me with keen eyes before using slender instruments to scrawl upon the clipboard with. I didn’t want them to see me while I ate. They’d already seen me naked. The least they could do was let me eat in private.
Scooting on my backside and careful to keep myself covered, I made my way to the tray. I picked a piece of meat from it and slipped it between my lips. Tender and juicy, it tantalized my taste buds as never before. An explosion of flavor burst on my tongue. Seasoned with herbs and exotic spices I’d never had, the meat was the best I’d ever tasted. I devoured it, abandoning my modesty and eating with two hands. Once the meat was gone, I ate the carrots and greens. Both are rare. To find either is unusual as edible vegetation is scarce. As I ate the last of the vegetables, my pinky dipped in the pale mushy stuff beside it. I raised it to my lips and sniffed it. It smelled unfamiliar, but pleasant. I touched my tongue to it and immediately discovered that it was magical. Creamy and velvety smooth, the blend was unique and exquisite. I dipped my finger in again and scooped a larger heap. I wrapped my lips around my finger and allowed the rich, silky, flavor-filled texture to roll around my tongue before I swallowed.
Crouched in the corner once again and with the people with the white coats back and observing me, I remember the first meal I was given. I hate myself for enjoying it. Naked and cold on the hard floor, I contemplate screaming at the people behind the glass. I’ve done it numerous times already. They never respond, never even flinch. All that ends up happening is I yell until my throat feels raw.
I feel broken in many ways. Not knowing whether June is all right is what wounds me deepest. Is she going through what I’m going through at this moment? Has she been stripped of defenses as I have? The thought of sweet, innocent June enduring the humiliation I have endured is more that I can bear.
My insides begin to quake. The need to escape howls through the hollows of my being like a shrill whistle. Taking my head in both hands, I drag my fingertips down my scalp, and sobs rack my body.
The clink of keys on the other side of the door causes me to lift my head. I swipe the tears from beneath my eyes and shield my chest with my arms. Fury replaces the aching despair I felt seconds ago. I expect another man in ridiculous gear to enter, but am surprised when I see a female.
Soft gray curls curve around plump pink cheeks, short and neat. Her skin is heavily creased, aged but still vibrant. She wears a white jumpsuit that zips up the front. She carries fabric that matches her garb and a pair of dark boots as she approaches me. “Hello, dear, my name is Opal. Here, take these. You may get dressed now.” She extends the clothes to me.
My eyes lower from her to what she’s offering.
“They’re clothes. Please, put them on.” A small frown deepens the lines around her mouth. “I’m sorry you had to go through all this.” Her eyes, crinkled at the corners, are a lively blue that contradict her advanced age. “I’ll give you some privacy.” She turns her back to me.
I take the clothes and quickly slip the undergarments on first before dressing in the jumpsuit and sliding my feet into the boots. I snort derisively. “Huh, privacy, there’s a word you people know nothing about,” I mumble.
Opal turns. Her expression is tight. “Again, I’m sorry.” Her apology is terse, and definitely not contrite enough to match what I’ve experienced. “You must be relieved—”
“Relieved? Relieved! Relieved about what? About being stripped and leered at?” I fume. “Why would you do this to a fellow human?”
Thin lips part. Opal is clearly flabbergasted. “I, well,” she stammers before collecting herself. Inhaling, she runs her hands down the front of her jumpsuit, smoothing it. “You need to understand that we had to make sure you were free of disease, of viruses. The people of New Washington can’t risk coming in contact with new strains. Foreign illnesses could become deadly and destroy our entire civilization.” She lifts her chin, a self-righteous smile tipping the corners of her mouth. “We quarantined you for the good of our people.”
With my hands balled into fists at my hips, I lick my teeth and bite back a rush of angry words threatening to spew from my mouth. I look at her incredulously. She maintains her flinty gaze. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that in the first place instead of treating me like an animal?” Her eyes widen, softening a bit, as if what I’ve told her has somehow made sense. “I mean, do you know what it’s like to be stripped of your clothes by three men while they ogle you and make lewd comments? Do you have any idea how mortifying that is?”
“I-I, uh, no, I don’t,” she replies, flustered. She clears her throat. “I was unaware that you were treated that way.” She pats the sides of her fluffy hair and purses her lips. “I fully intend to have a long talk with them about how to treat guests.”
“Guests? Don’t you mean prisoners?” I arch an eyebrow at her.
“Young lady, you and your friends have been allowed access to the greatest secret this world holds. True, you had to undergo a part of our protocol that is . . . unpleasant, shall we say, but it’s a small price to pay for safety, don’t you think? The son of President Sullivan and his friends are guests. If you were our prisoners, trust me, you’d know it.”
For a moment, I’m taken aback by Opal’s unexpected fire. I need to regain my footing before I can ask about June. Within seconds, I say, “So this protocol,” I draw out the word, “it includes humiliating children, too? My sister was brought in with us. She’s only eight. Did she have to undergo the same, oh gosh, what did you call it again?” I tap my chin for a moment then snap my fingers. “Oh yes, unpleasant. That was it! Did she experience the same unpleasant treatment?”
My words stagger her. The pulse at the base her throat darts so forcefully it makes the loose skin of her neck jiggle. High color touches her cheeks. Indignant, she puffs a huffy breath at me. “All of you had to be sterilized, quarantined and observed to confirm your health before releasing you into the General Population.” Her words are clinical and she tries to sound detached, but I can see that I’ve rattled her. Good. Her annoyance is a small reparation toward the degradation June and I, as well as the others, were subjected to.
“Take me to my sister,” I demand. “Now.” My voice is low and threatening.
Matching my tone, Opal straightens her posture. “I have orders to reunite you with the rest of your group then take you President Sullivan’s office. He’d like to meet with all of you.” She turns on her heels and marches out the door. “Follow me.” Her words echo over the clack of her shoes.
Not wasting a moment, I follow her and find myself in a hallway. Arced, pale rock surrounds me on all sides. Wide and bright, I don’t feel confined as I did when traveling underground in the box. I walk behind her, my eyes sweeping from side to side, trying to count the doors that crop up suddenly. I lose count after the twentieth. Camouflaged by the surrounding walls, the lig
ht color of the doors is lost. Ahead, the passageway flares to an open area. Shapes clad in white jumpsuits linger, familiar shapes I recognize. Riley turns and sees me first.
“Avery!” she shrieks and charges toward me. She leaps into my arms and I cradle her head in my hands.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I say into her hair. “Are you okay?”
She releases me then nods and shrugs feebly.
I look over her head and see Sully. Jericho, Will, Oliver, Sarah, and Tom are there, too. I don’t see June at first, and my pulse speeds dangerously. But when a small headful of curls peeks around Jericho’s large, solid frame, it slows to a normal rate. I close my eyes for a split-second and thank whatever force in this universe that decided to grant me a sister. “June,” I say and my voice catches. I jog toward her, shouldering past Opal.
June’s hair is sunshine, and her eyes are the silver blue water of a rushing river. My heart stutters as soon as I embrace her. I lower my cheek to her head and inhale. “My sweet June,” I say. Warmth fills my chest. She’s in one piece. She’s okay and in my arms. But suddenly, that warmth cools. I feel her body shake and tears dampen my jumpsuit.
“They took my clothes, Avery,” she gasps and begins crying. “People in those rubber suits, big scary people, took my clothes and washed me. They left me naked then looked at me through a window.”
Gritting my teeth so hard the enamel threatens to splinter, I absorb her pain. I wish I could relieve it, alleviate it entirely, but I can’t. It is a fact that festers like a wound. My sister is hurting and there isn’t a thing I can do to fix it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Sully and the others gather around us.
“They did the same thing to Riley and Oliver. And to me,” Will says. Anger shimmers in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. He works to harness it, but I can still see it, waiting just below the surface. He hates what was done to his sister and brother, that they were treated like lesser beings, that all of us were treated like lesser beings.
The Underground City (Book 3): Planet Urth, no. 3 Page 12