“Have you seen Dr Simmons?” I ask.
“Why? Are you feeling guilty?” says a voice from behind the cage. Leon walks over with a towel around his waist and a bulging gut hanging out over the top. He stops at the cage, lacing his fingers through the gaps. “I heard that Dr Simmons was in an accident last night involving a new EVO. She’s fine, thankfully, but she’s pretty banged up.”
Both Haydn and Golding stop dressing. I avoid their gaze in favour of boring a hole in Leon’s face with my glare.
“I heard the EVO is a grade three,” he continues, eyeing me briefly before turning to face the others. The bald spot on the top of his head is blotchy and red from the heat of the shower and he continually runs his hand over it. Yes, you’re still bald, jerk. “Pretty dangerous to be mingling grade threes with the rest of us, don’t you think? I’ve already put in a complaint with Dr Roscoe,” he continues.
Golding scoffs. “I’m sure you have Leon. Not happy unless you’re being a brown nose, are you? Your head is so far up Roscoe’s ass that he eats and you take a dump. Ever thought that it’s them we should be afraid of, not each other.”
“I forget that you’re just a bunch of kids,” says Leon, with a close lipped smile. Shaking his head, he makes his way back to Trina at the far side of the shower room.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Golding calls after him, but Haydn places a firm hand on his shoulder.
My stomach churns. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Is it bad to be a grade three?” I ask.
“Hell no,” Golding says. “Anyone who can put the wind up Leon is okay with me. Don’t worry about Roscoe and Simmons because they’re the reason we’re in here.” He chucks his towel in the white basket, allowing his TORO to lead him out of the room.
I carry on dressing in silence. There isn’t a blow dryer, so I have to ruffle a towel through my hair with my one hand. I’m jealous of Yana’s short hair now.
A heavy, but gentle hand rests on my shoulder briefly. “Leon and Trina are treated differently to us. Grades make no difference to me,” Haydn says with a kind smile. “And Golding’s right, Roscoe and Dr Simmons have made their bed, and now they have to lie in it. Just look at the TORO.”
“What are TORO anyway? I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“I feel sorry for them actually,” he says. “They were marines until Roscoe and Simmons messed with their heads. I don’t want to know what those men went through to turn them into what they are.”
“Me neither,” says Yana, suppressing a shiver. “And thank you for being honest before. There are not a lot of honest people around here. I’m sorry about your Dad.” She hugs me, but TORO 61 pulls us apart, shoving her back against the bench.
“No touching,” he says. “Get dressed.”
***
It is just me and TORO 61 left in the shower block. I have just one minute to finish up, and I contemplate leaving my dirty scrubs and towel on the floor to see how far I can push the limits, but think better of it. Golding, Haydn, and Yana didn’t cause a fuss and maybe that is because they know something I don’t.
TORO 61 thrusts the toiletry bag into my hand and grabs under my arm once more, leading me out of the shower room. He slips on the wet tiles, falling backwards almost taking me with him. He goes down like a sack of potatoes, knocking his helmet off in the process. Anyone else would have groaned in pain, laughed, or blushed- something, but not a TORO. They are a different breed of soldier; a machine of sorts.
He is back on his feet in the blink of the eye and retrieves the helmet. His head, although shaved, has the fresh re-growth of jet black hair, and his skin is flawless. Without his helmet he looks younger, less menacing. His eyes, that I had noticed when I first awoke in Facility One, are even greener than I first thought and have an eerie lightness to them against his darker skin tone. He puts his helmet back on and TORO 61 is back again.
As we walk through the corridors it dawns on me that there are no windows in the whole building. The lighting is bright, but a poor imitation of sunlight, and huge vents that are secured with their own keypads hum nonstop.
We walk past one of the vents and a gust of air ripples my trousers. It is the air supply; we are below ground. Slight claustrophobia squeezes at my chest. Roscoe really does have control. He can turn off the air supply and kill us all if he wished, but I doubt he would go to so much trouble to get us here, to then go and kill us.
Below ground makes sense. A top secret, government prison slash research facility for ‘EVO’, as the TORO call us, would be hidden and hidden well. No one will find us here, not that there is anyone looking. Or is there- Isaac Woodman?
***
Dr Simmons is sitting on the bed waiting for us to return. She stands quickly when the door opens, straightening her skirt. One arm is in a brace and she has a dressing on her cheek. “I need to take bloods,” she says, opening a silver case.
I watch her with a fixed stare as she removes a needle and some vials, placing them neatly on the bed. Her eyes don’t meet mine. I think about refusing, but I doubt TORO 61 will give me much choice in the matter, so I sit down and hold out my arm. I will need to pick my battles and a blood test won’t be one of them.
Her hand trembles as she takes my arm and tightens the tourniquet. She kneels on the floor, and although the limited use in her bad arm makes it difficult for her, she quickly starts filling the vials.
“I never meant to hurt you or TORO 61 and I’m sorry for that. Roscoe knows that I can’t control my ability and things just happen when I’m angry or scared,” I say, willing her to meet my eye. “I get that you’re scared of me, and I don’t know what you’ve been told, but judging by the TORO it’s me who should be more scared of you.”
She snaps her head up and follows my eye line to TORO 61.
“I think we know who the real monsters are at Facility One. It’s not the EVO and it’s definitely not him,” I say, nodding to TORO 61. I hold her gaze, staring her out. I feel brave. Perhaps, having nothing left to lose has given me an honest tongue.
The vial over-fills. Blood trickles down my arm and over her hand, snapping her attention back to her task.
Cleaning the blood with an antiseptic wipe, she places a small plaster on the pin prick wound, and then folds my arm up to stop the bleeding. “I’m as much a prisoner here as you,” she whispers, continuing to fiddle with her medical kit.
I stare at the top of her head in disbelief. “What do you mean you’re a prisoner here?”
Giving me a sharp shush, she retrieves a file from the case and starts filling it in. “Do you think I can leave this place knowing what I know?” she says, quietly.
TORO 61, not hearing a word, continues to stare straight ahead, and I notice the black discs attached to the ceiling. There are four cameras for every corner and every angle of the room. That must be why Dr Simmons is speaking to the floor. She can’t be seen talking to me.
“Can they hear us?” I whisper, pretending to cough into my hand.
She continues packing her equipment away. “Not in the cells. The cameras are monitored though. You are monitored in the bathroom too.” I look to the small door in the corner of the cell and feel sick at the thought. “You’ll have to be careful what you say in the canteen. The shower room is okay, but only talk if the showers are on, and only talk quietly. The water tends to drown out voices. And always be aware of the TORO. You’ll never be without one,” she says, softly. “The TORO wear VIDI helmets, so if the control room want to alert them to something it’ll flash on their screens.”
I carry on looking around the room nonchalantly, pretending to be focussed on anything other than Dr Simmons. “Okay,” I whisper in reply.
She finishes up and gets to her feet. “The bleeding should have stopped now. If you experience any problems, please alert your TORO. Thank you for your cooperation.” She says it clearly, and TORO 61 opens the door for her.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. My mind is a whirl
with questions.
Walking back to me, she takes a small torch out of her pocket and shines it in my eyes, getting up close to my face. “I don’t want you to think I’m a monster. I’m sorry for what is happening to the EVO here, and I’m sorry for what we did to the TORO, but I had no choice.” She stands a little straighter. “And Teddie, look after your TORO,” she whispers, before turning to leave.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dinner is a salad sandwich and tea is a watery, meat broth. I’m left alone all day apart from when TORO 61 brings or collects the meal trays. I don’t mind the isolation so much as knowing that I’m not really alone. Using the bathroom knowing there are eyes on me is just perverted.
TORO 61 returns and his helmet screen flashes with information. He lowers the tray back on to the bed, grabbing me under the arm. “I shall escort you to the therapy suite,” he says, gripping his fingers tight into my flesh.
Why would Dr Simmons ask me to look after my TORO? He is more than capable of looking after himself. Perhaps, it’s guilt at what she has helped Roscoe do to them.
He escorts me down a lift and even further into the ground. At the bottom we approach a massive round door made of thick metal that has the appearance of a bank vault. The screen on his helmet flashes with lights. It is writing, but I can’t make it out back to front. He places his hand against a flat panel beside the door and types in a sequence of numbers. A loud clunk resounds from the door and a small light changes from orange to green. He pulls it open, shoving me inside.
The room is large and has an ethereal brightness to it. White, padded walls and floor give the impression of a mental institute cell, only on a larger scale. It is empty apart from three metal plinths in the very centre.
The door shuts behind me. TORO 61 is nowhere to be seen, and I am alone in the white room.
The plinths are waist height and as I make my way closer to them, I can see that each holds a smooth, round stone of varying sizes. The third stone, the largest, is the size of a watermelon.
A whirring sound catches my attention and a camera swivels around to focus on me. More cameras whir into life, all turning to point in my direction. I’m in one of the ability tests Yana had said about, but how plinths and stones come into it, I don’t know.
“Your collar will be de-activated in thirty seconds,” says Roscoe’s god like voice, rolling through the air. “Although de-activated, any attempt to remove the collar will result in sedation. You will levitate each stone above the plinth using only your telekinetic ability. Once you have completed the task your collar will be re-activated and the TORO will escort you back to your cell.”
I wait, and after thirty seconds the collar makes a little beep. It is deactivated, but I don’t feel any different. I look from the objects and back up to the camera. “I don’t have control over this tele...whatever it is,” I say, coolly.
“It’s known as telekinesis. Think of this as a training session,” says Roscoe. “You have never been able to practise honing your abilities with your mother drugging you for the past two years. Now is your chance, Teddie. Show me what you’ve got.”
Shana drugged me? A metaphorical knife pierces my heart. It explains a lot- the mind blanks, the tiredness. No wonder the episodes grew in intensity if she has been suppressing my ability. It has been fighting itself free.
“You’re not even trying,” Roscoe coaxes.
“And why would I?” I reply, flipping the bird at the camera ahead of me.
Grabbing the smallest stone, I launch it across the room, narrowly missing the door. I know I couldn’t have done what he asked even if I had wanted to, but I am letting him know that I am not his science experiment. He wants something from me and he isn’t going to get it if I can help it.
Another beep sounds from the collar, the door clunks open again, and Roscoe storms in followed by TORO 61 and Dr Simmons. She makes eye contact briefly, giving me a troubled look.
“Take her to solitary,” Roscoe snaps at TORO 61. Then, getting right up in my face, he sneers, “Bad move, EVO. You will soon learn that there are consequences to EVO defiance at Facility One. Thirty-six hours in solitary should get you re-thinking things.”
“Thirty-six hours, Alan?” Dr Simmons gasps.
He flashes her a vicious look, and she shrinks away not daring to question him again. TORO 61 steps forward, forcing both arms behind my back. I stifle a groan.
Roscoe’s lips turn up in a satisfied smile. “We’ll see you in thirty-six hours, EVO.”
CHAPTER SIX
Solitary is a six foot by six-foot square box of a padded cell. The darkness is the worst part. I can’t tell if I am awake or asleep. Thirty-six hours of my own thoughts makes it hard for me to differentiate between dreams and reality. A lot of time to mull over Dad’s death, and the fact that he isn’t my biological father, is the last thing I need.
I see no one except a random TORO about every twelve hours when they leave another beaker of water and remove the pee bucket. Undignified as it is to pee in a bucket, I’m not going to show that it bothers me.
They never leave food.
The door opens. TORO 61 stands there in a burst of light and I recoil from it like a vampire. The pee pot is empty, but the cell still stinks to high heaven. He has to hunch to fit in and helps me to my feet. Stopping for a moment, he looks at my face, a confused look is etched on his own. It is the most expressive I have seen him.
“I need to eat something,” I say, swaying on my feet.
He looks right in my eyes with a look on his face like I have just told him I’m off to North Korea on my jollies.
“I’ve not eaten in thirty-six hours and I might pass out if I don’t get some sugar in me soon,” I say, pressing my point.
He nods, hoisting me off my feet slightly and half carries half drags me to the canteen. Yana, Haydn and Golding are already eating when we enter.
“Where have you been?” asks Haydn, as I sit down to join them.
“Yeah, you look like shit,” says Golding.
He is straight to the point; I’ll give him that. My hair looks like a bird’s nest, so I tease at the tangles with my fingers. I bet I smell too, but I’m glad Golding hasn’t seen fit to mention that as well.
“I’ve been in solitary,” I reply, shovelling porridge into my mouth.
Yana gasps, her eyes wide with shock. “What did you do?”
“More a case of what I didn’t do. I wouldn’t perform in one of Roscoe’s little tests and he had me in solitary for thirty-six hours.” I remember what Dr Simmons said about talking in the canteen, but Roscoe will expect me to slag him off after that, surely?
“Jesus,” says Golding. “Thirty-six hours is extreme. I was in solitary the first night they bought me in and that was hell. They make you piss in a pot.”
I give him a knowing smile.
“I told you to keep your head down,” Yana says, sighing. “Just do what they ask and—”
“I’m not doing anything for them,” I reply, hotly.
“Don’t do it for them,” says Haydn. “Do it for you. Don’t push Roscoe, Teddie.”
I finish the last of my porridge and down a glass of orange juice. My stomach cramps against the sudden intake of food, but it is better than the pain of two days of hunger.
We sit in silence for a bit. The only time we get to interact and we can’t find anything to say. I want noise after solitary, and as if hearing my thoughts Golding pipes up.
“Hey, TORO 23, where’s Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee,” he asks, pointing at the vacant cage.
“Grade one EVO will no longer keep company with Grade two or above,” TORO 23 replies.
Leon’s complaint must have worked. He didn’t have to ‘keep company’ with me any longer. Oh well, I can’t say I mind not having to look at his hairy back in the shower room again.
Roscoe’s voice carries down the corridor. He stops outside the door with two uniformed men. They must be important judging by the way he fusses around them.
One man steps into the canteen. He is in his late thirties with dark, black skin and a thick neck. His eyes skirt over us, his expression unreadable. The four of us sit silently, waiting for him to speak, but he steps out of sight and is replaced by a white man of similar age with sharp features and a slimy grin that rivals Roscoe’s.
The TORO’s helmets flash with the usual writing; they salute the men and return to position. The men return the gesture and disappear with Roscoe.
“Are they Government?” Haydn asks the TORO, but gets no reply.
“Hey, TORO 23, he asked you a question,” Golding snaps. “Who were those two blokes?”
TORO 23 stares at Golding with vacant eyes. “The knowledge you request is not relevant to your situation at present.”
***
As we walk into the shower block, I make a joke to TORO 61 about watching his step. He eyes me suspiciously, but doesn’t respond. There is something off about him. I can’t put my finger on it- he’s just...off.
Yana gestures for me to shower in the cubicle next to her. With Haydn on the other side at least I won’t have to worry about Golding popping in.
My toiletry bag is still in the cell, so TORO 61 thrusts a bar of soap into my hand. He doesn’t say a word, and yet, he looks at me again, really looks at me. It’s only for a second, but it sets me on guard.
“You’re lucky,” Yana says, grinning. “Your TORO is dishy. My guy looks like- what is it Golding says? Like a bull dog licking piss off a nettle.”
Her accent is lovely to listen to and it is nice to talk about something other than the creek we are up without a paddle. I even surprise myself with a little laugh. My Dad told me that laughter is more than laughter; it is our natural approach for getting through the dark times. These are definitely dark times. God, I miss my Dad. I guess that’s what it means when they say ‘if I don’t laugh I will cry’.
“I’ll trade you,” she says, smiling.
“Nah, I’ll keep my dishy one,” I joke.
EVO Nation: EVO Nation Series: Book One (science fiction/ urban fantasy) Page 3