Chase

by Kate Breuer

“Would you like to revise your story?”

  I don’t say a word. I don’t move. I sit in my armchair, bracing myself for the shock of pain that is sure to come. It doesn’t. Instead, the man remains as silent as I am.

  The sun set behind the buildings in the distance a while ago, and I’m stuck looking at my reflection in the dark windows, lost in thought. I could get up and press my head against the glass to see outside, but I don’t feel like moving. I’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, only moving as much as necessary to keep comfortable.

  My mouth is parched, my stomach is grumbling, and my head is aching. I glance at the water jug again. I don’t want to drink, though, in case I continue to drug myself.

  I’ve been tricked into taking this drug my whole life. It makes me sick to my stomach. I feel cheated and used. I wonder why I haven’t been given any medication for the Disease. Why have I been drugged instead?

  “There is really no point ignoring your water, Chase.”

  I jump at the sudden noise but am happy to hear Susan’s soft voice echo through the room. It seems even friendlier in contrast to Mr. Drake’s.

  “I don’t want to drug myself,” I explain.

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option. If you don’t drink the water, someone will come in and deliver the drug by force. I’m sure drinking and eating of your own free will is the more pleasant alternative.”

  I believe her, and a part of me thinks Susan might not want me hurt. Reluctantly, I reach over to the jug and pour myself a glass of water. As I drink, I imagine a slight taste of something herbal. I gulp it down regardless.

  “Good,” Susan says. “Are you hungry? I can bring some food down for you. Your lunch can’t have been satisfying.”

  My stomach growls, giving me away.

  I hear Susan chuckle. “I’ll be right there.”

  I wait in silence, pondering my situation and everything that went wrong. I blame myself for putting my friends in danger.

  Did they get out? Are they safe? Is Willow?

  “Please sit with your back against the wall farthest from the door.” Susan’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Spread your arms out to your sides where I can see them.”

  Slowly, I get up, walk toward the windows, and lean against them. My arms feel heavy when I lift them up to my sides. A clicking sound tells me the door is now unlocked. I suppress the sudden urge to run for my life. There is no way I could get out of here. It would only make things worse.

  A pretty blonde woman, early to midtwenties, enters the room. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail that sits high on her head. She wears a lab coat and is balancing a tray in one hand, a screen in the other.

  “Hello, Chase. Nice to meet you.” The voice comes from the speaker above and from the woman at the other end of the room. She jumps and fumbles with a glittering, black earpiece. “Test . . . test,” she says tentatively. She looks relieved her own voice is no longer booming around the room. “Much better.”

  “Hello, Susan,” I say. I know she will expect a response, and it’s the easiest way to get what I want—at least for now. I also find that after Mr. Drake, I am much less resentful toward her.

  Susan walks to the armchair slowly. It’s closer to me than the door. The closer she gets to me, the more tentatively she walks.

  It gives me a weird pleasure to see the woman is afraid to get too close to me. I have to force myself not to run or attack her. As small as she is, she would be an easy target. I’ve never been especially strong. I’m sure I could easily take her.

  But I also know the building must be crawling with other people. Getting past Susan wouldn’t get me out of the building—let alone the city.

  I watch Susan replace the empty plate with a small tray. Another slice of bread lies on it next to a steaming bowl of soup. She has also brought a new jug of water, though the one I have isn’t completely empty.

  “I hope you like it. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do for you at the moment.”

  I hear regret in her soft voice, which makes me wonder again if Susan has been supervised during our interrogations. Maybe I can use this to my advantage. Maybe I can convince Susan I’m harmless and worthy of mercy.

  “Thank you, Susan. Are there more drugs in the soup? I don’t want to overdose on whatever you are giving me.”

  Susan looks at me with pity. “No, you got your dose from the water. I’m monitoring your levels, and I’ll make sure you only take as much as you need—no more, no less.”

  I feel like Susan is looking out for me, and it’s making me grateful against my will. I remind myself she is helping them drug me, and I shouldn’t be thankful to anyone who would be a part of that.

  “Can you tell me what kind of drug you are giving me?”

  Susan eyes me and hesitates before slowly shaking her head. She mutters an apology. She seems scared.

  Before I can ask anything else, Susan turns around and walks out of the room. The door clicks shut, and I feel more alone than before.

  16

  Chase

  The soup is delicious—not that it matters. I am way too hungry to ignore any food. It’s a hearty stew that fills me up and replenishes my depleted energy. I drink from the new jug, glad to think it doesn’t contain any more of the drug. I am surprised at the first sip at how sweet it is. It’s like lemonade and gives me a quick burst of energy. The calories from the stew and drink slowly make me feel like a person again. I can feel my muscles relax and some of the tiredness wearing off.

  “Chase?”

  I look up at the camera. “Hello, Susan,” I reply, genuinely happy to hear her voice. I’m starting to like the woman no matter how hard I fight it.

  “I don’t have much time. I’m not supposed to talk to you. But I need to warn you. Mr. Drake is about to visit you. You need to answer his questions.” There is panic in her voice.

  “What do you—”

  “No time to explain. I need to go. Please, Chase.”

  It’s the last thing I hear from her. I throw furtive glances at the door while I finish my food.

  A few minutes later, the door unlocks and a tall, broad-shouldered man with a very upright stance walks in. He told me he’s a unit leader, and his whole appearance reinforces a man who is used to getting exactly what he wants.

  His hair is shaved close to his head, like the soldiers in the history books about the war. He’s wearing the peacer uniform I am way too familiar with. Three golden stripes adorn his chest pocket. I can feel the fabric under my hands just looking at him.

  I stand involuntarily when he enters. My eyes flicker to the camera, and I wonder if Susan is watching.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hunter,” he says in a dry tone.

  “Hello, Mr. Drake,” I answer, Susan’s warning ringing in my ears.

  I don’t know what to expect, and it’s making me nervous. He didn’t even close the door, as if he doesn’t see me running as a viable option. He’s right, and it makes me feel more trapped than a closed door ever could.

  Drake walks toward me, and I take a step back. I bump into the armchair and fall into it, trying to pass it off as a purposeful motion. I grab the arms of the chair to prevent my hands from shaking. I have no intention of showing Drake how much he intimidates me.

  Apparently, I fail miserably.

  “No need to be afraid, Mrs. Hunter”—can people stop calling me that?—“at least, if you stop lying.” He takes another step toward me.

  I study the man’s face. It’s square with fallen cheekbones. His chin is covered with black stubble that must grow back too fast for him to keep a clean shave. There are deep lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows as if he frowns a lot. His thin lips are pursed together.

  I eye him closely as he grabs the tray from the stool and puts it on the floor. He drags the stool across the floor with a terrible screech that makes my skin prickle. He sits down across from me—perfectly upright—and stares at me.

  I wait for him to say
something, but he doesn’t move.

  It’s pitch black outside, making it impossible to guess the time. It feels like it’s moving in slow motion. I try to get a glimpse of the golden watch on his wrist, but he follows my gaze and pulls his sleeve over its face.

  The movement seems to pull him out of his trance, and his eyes refocus on mine. I stare into his unfriendly face and try my best to hide my fear.

  “Why were you at the hospital?” he asks in the same bored voice he used earlier today.

  The same question, over and over. I don’t react.

  He remains calm and repeats, “Why were you at the fucking hospital, Mrs. Hunter?” He leans forward and says in a quieter voice, “This is your last warning.”

  I sit, impassive, and stare at my opponent, trying very hard not to think about what will come next. I brace myself for another episode of pain, unsure whether it will come from him or whoever is in charge of sending the pulses.

  “Susie, can you hear me?”

  Him calling her Susie makes her seem insignificant, meaningless, as if he looks down on her. I hate it.

  “I hear you, Tobias. How can I help you?” Susan’s voice is shaking nearly as much as my hands. My panic is threatening to bubble over. If Susan is afraid of whatever Drake wants her to do, it can’t be good for me.

  “Get the impulse ready and wait for my command. Start with a small charge. I don’t want her passing out.”

  My body tenses, waiting for the pain to come.

  He returns his attention to me. “Remember those little impulses earlier? I made Susie send them. Just to see how you would react.”

  I was right. There had been someone else in the room with her. Susan was forced to do these things to me. I glower at the man in front of me.

  “You handled them better than I expected and have already started resisting them. You won’t have much time to recover now, so I wouldn’t count on your ability to endure them for long.” His voice is ominous, and it begins to work on me.

  Getting shocked once was horrible. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to get shocked multiple times in a row. I feel my face get warm, sweat building up on my forehead. I’ve never been good with pain.

  “Why were you at the hospital?” Mr. Drake asks again.

  I press my lips together and dig my fingers into the arm of the chair.

  “Susie.”

  I’m unable to prepare for the pain before it spreads like fire from the wound in my chest. I dig my fingers deep into the fabric of the chair. It’s the only thing that feels real—my lifeline. I try to ground my legs, but they twitch uncontrollably and dance through the air. I almost fall to the floor as I fight through the burning sensation.

  It stops. I slump while I wait for the pain to subside, my body throbbing.

  “Why were you at the hospital?” Drake hisses.

  I want to yell the answer at him, tell him everything. Instead, I spit in his face.

  His fist collides with my cheek, nearly knocking me out.

  Stars dance in front of my eyes. The warm trickle of blood down my chin leaves dark stains on my shirt. My whole body is heavy and weak from the impulse, but I pull in my knees and cower behind my arms.

  Drake pulls my arms away from my face. I struggle, but he is much stronger than me, and I don’t stand a chance.

  “Look at me, you silly girl,” he sneers.

  His tight grip hurts my wrists. Without any effort, he pins my hands to one arm of the chair, making my body twist uncomfortably. With his free hand, he reaches inside one of his pockets and pulls out a thin, black wire. He binds my wrists together until it digs into my skin. It leaves burning red lines as I struggle against it.

  He pushes my secured hands up above my right shoulder and ties them to the corner of the chair. He pulls out another wire and secures each of my ankles to a leg of the chair. I can barely move. I turn into my right side, as far away from my captor as I can. With one strong arm, he pushes my left shoulder into the chair, forcing me to face him.

  “Why were you at the hospital?”

  I whimper and shake my head.

  Another punch hits the same spot, adding more blood to the stains on my shirt. I nearly scream but manage to muffle the sound behind my clenched teeth.

  “Why were you at the hospital?” Without waiting for my answer, he raises his voice and yells, “Susie! One more! Stronger.”

  One second . . . two seconds . . . agony. It is impossible to bear. As I twitch and writhe around, the wires dig into my skin. When it stops, a moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.

  A smile curls Mr. Drake’s lips. Seeing me suffer gives him pleasure. “We can keep going like this all night long. Or you can tell me what I want to hear.”

  Hate beyond anything I’ve ever felt threatens to overcome me. I want to hurt him. I want to tear him into tiny pieces.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss, unsure where the energy is coming from.

  “Susie, would you send Mr. Lompoc in?”

  I don’t know what he would need a second person for, but I refuse to imagine how things could get worse.

  Another man enters the room. He’s about my age, maybe a year or two older. His thick yellow-blond eyebrows and short hair clash horribly with his dark skin and black eyes. He smirks when he sees me tied to the chair.

  “You asked for me, sir?”

  Drake nods and waves him closer. The young man steps behind Drake’s stool, waiting for instructions.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Hunter here is really an inspector. Do you?” He grins and looks up at the blond man, who shakes his head. “Well, since we agree this is fact, she shouldn’t be wearing an inspector’s uniform then, should she now?”

  The other man shakes his head again, his smirk turning into a grin. He enjoys the idea of me suffering at least as much as Drake.

  “No, sir.”

  Mr. Lompoc steps closer. He pulls a knife from his pocket and leans in close.

  “Let’s see what’s underneath this costume of yours,” he whispers into my ear, and his warm breath makes me recoil.

  Inch by inch, he cuts open the sleeves of my jacket. It would be much faster to undress me without the ties, but they seem to enjoy the slow progression. I’m wearing a light top underneath and am thankful for the little coverage it offers—even if it feels much too thin and low-cut. Lompoc slowly pulls my jacket out from behind me, scraping it over my skin, which is sensitive from the impulses. He throws it into a corner.

  With another nod, Drake encourages the younger man to continue. Lompoc kneels down in front of me and slowly slices my pant leg, starting at my ankle. I wait for his face to get close to my knee and pivot it sideways to hit his chin.

  Lompoc swears, and Drake snaps his fingers. Another impulse hits me.

  When it finally stops, I try to move out of Lompoc’s reach, but I can’t control my limbs through the twitching.

  “Sit still!” he yells and slaps a rough-skinned hand over my already-throbbing cheek.

  I whimper, unable to keep the sound in. But I don’t stop my attempts to evade his touch. Another slap—harder than the first—makes me stop moving.

  He slices the other pant leg open and yanks the fabric out from underneath me, leaving me with nothing but my light shirt and underwear. Goosebumps erupt over my legs, and the hair on my arms stands upright. I have never felt so exposed in my whole life.

  Drake leers at me as Mr. Lompoc returns to his place behind the stool. I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out the situation and my captors’ faces to no avail. It doesn’t help, so I glower at the men instead.

  “Now that you look like the useless worm you are, let’s try this again. Why were you at the hospital?”

  I press my eyes firmly shut and shake my head. I taste blood. I must have bitten my tongue.

  “Susie!” Drake bellows.

  Fire consumes me. The wires dig deeper into my skin and draw blood. My eyes fly open, and I see the two men smiling at me, relishing my pain. A dee
p buzzing sound fills my ears. I can see Drake’s lips moving but don’t hear a word.

  The pain starts again before I realized the first impulse was over. Spots swim before my eyes while my field of vision narrows. This time I am unable to keep my silence. I scream.

  I force myself to concentrate. I can’t black out now. Slowly, the room comes back into focus. I try moving, but my mind has lost control over my body.

  “Why were you at the hospital?” The voice is muffled, as if coming through thick cotton balls in my ears.

  I can’t shake my head. I couldn’t answer if I wanted to.

  Drake snaps, and the next wave hits.

  I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can’t escape. I am nothing. I scream again, trying to release some of the unbearable agony.

  For a short second, Drake swims into focus. I see him snap, then the pain renews—worse than before.

  The laughing faces of my captors are the last thing I see before blackness swallows me whole.

  17

  Nate

  It’s late at night. None of us had to work today—no surprise for me and Zeke. We spent the day at my place, killing time playing cards and challenging each other on video games. Liz is dreadful at most of them—she beats us at platforming games every time, though.

  Liz made another amazing dinner. The plates are still on the table. We are too lazy to bother cleaning up properly.

  A knock at the door makes us jump. If the person had rung the doorbell, I would be able to see who it is. It makes me nervous they intentionally didn’t activate the front door camera.

  “Expecting any visitors?” Liz asks and gets up to open the door.

  I shake my head. “Maybe I should go and see?”

  “Don’t be silly. No one will kill me if I open the door.” Liz laughs. She walks into the hallway and returns with an unlikely guest.

  Susan looks around the room. She seems nervous. Her fingers fumble with the buttons on her jacket. She eyes Zeke and Liz. It’s clear from her expression she was hoping to find me alone.