Innocence Lost

by O. J. Lowe

  “Trying to get a view of my surroundings,” Pete said. “Remember what they said on the first day? Always check your environment.” Dan added the last four words in unison with him and Pete grinned. “There’s got to be something here that we can use. There always is.”

  “No matter how small, there’ll always be an opportunity,” Dan added, echoing the words they’d heard. That first full day had been one hells of a memory to look back on. Whatever else could be said about it, the lessons had stuck. They’d been driven home under the reminder that if they didn’t follow them, then there was a good chance that they’d wind up dead once they were in the field. Then the instructor had thrown a stun grenade at them to push the point home. “You just need to know when to take it.”

  “Think it might be one of those things that comes in with experience,” Pete said. He couldn’t see anything leaning over his other side either, just more stone floor and people struggling to get free. He couldn’t tell if anyone was succeeding. If he closed his eyes, he could hear muttered voices and sounds of disgruntlement. He’d learned his fellow cadet’s names, unlike Theo and he could tell them apart, hearing what they were saying nearby.

  He couldn’t move his arms, wouldn’t resort to breaking his own thumb like Theo had, not least because of the consequences that had been outlined to him. If he couldn’t move his arms, what could he do? He tested his legs, stretching them out and spreading them to their full width. He could move them. They hadn’t restrained his feet. That felt like it meant something. Could he get to his feet without using his arms? Wouldn’t be impossible, would be very difficult. He gritted his teeth together, tried sliding into so his body was in a better position for it. Rolling onto his back, he at least managed to get up into a sitting position with his arms behind him. Now he was perched upright, he could see the room a little better.

  The lights had all been switched off, barring one above Hill’s bed that had never quite switched off properly, the faintest glow of light stubbornly clinging to the glass. There’d been a big fight to decide who didn’t get it and Hill had drawn the short straw. Hill was a tall youth from Canterage with dark hair and a thick beard that must have taken some impressive maintenance. Pete found it an effort to get the time together to comb his hair since he’d gotten here.

  In that flickering light, he glanced about the room, cast his eyes across the bound wrists of anyone he could see. By the looks of it, the cuffs were all the same model. That was good. The same set of cuffs would have the same sets of weaknesses. If they had the same weaknesses, they could be manipulated in the same way. They looked to be made of steel, a thin chain connecting them. It looked like silver string, it gave him something to think about as he wondered how strong they really were.

  He’d always fancied himself to be strong, certainly a bit more well-defined than the average man. He liked his muscles, he’d encountered plenty of women who liked them as well. He’d not touched meat in recent years, but he’d ingested a lot of artificial protein powders over the same time to make up the substitutes he needed to build them up. He was pleased with the effect. Up in the north of Serran, he’d heard stories about men who injected a designer drug into their arms, filling them with fluid to make the muscles swell and look larger. He’d always thought it looked unnatural, the inflammation reminding him of disease and sickness.

  Seeing that thin chain, he considered it for a moment. Tensed his muscles, counted backwards from five and then gave them a hard yank in hope that it’d give. He quickly realised it hadn’t done even the slightest bit of good. That chain might be thin, but it was strong and durable. Exactly what you wanted if you ever bought a pair of restraints.

  They weren’t going to make it that easy for them, were they? If they broke under the slightest of pressure, then they weren’t much good for anything outside of the bedroom.

  Still, he’d tried it. He’d considered it as an option and he’d decided not to. It wasn’t viable. When you went through everything, you had the chance to eliminate the stuff that wouldn’t work and hopefully you’d be left with the options that might. Process of elimination. His mind went back to the cuffs. How much pressure before they did break apart? He didn’t know. Maybe this was the sort of stuff a seasoned agent of Unisco might know, but he didn’t. He’d not studied up on it. There’d never been any sort of hint that he’d need to. Not that it was possible to plan for everything. That’d just be a fool’s errand. Try to plan for everything and you’d get stuck in a quagmire of details.

  There was an excited squeak and Tamale stood up, a length of wire clutched between her fingers in triumph. Pete studied the look on her face, giddy glee at her own success. And she hadn’t had to brutalise herself to do it.

  “Excellent work, Cadet Tamale,” the same voice called into the room. “Come out now and bring your makeshift lockpick with you. Always this should be your first thought when you find yourself cuffed and restrained. What is the easiest way to escape? Can I do this with tools to hand? She could. She did. Most cuff locks are easy to tinker with if you know how and you have the tools.”

  Pete watched Tamale leave, had to admit to himself that she looked adorable in her sleepwear and with her hair all mussed from the nights rest. Cute girl. Very cute. He liked the pink streak in her hair, though it had almost grown out in recent months.

  They’d insisted that men and women share a dormitory in recent weeks as their numbers had thinned, although there were at least separations via a wall that gave the same impression as a mirror on both sides. Any sort of sexual liaisons between cadets, they’d warned them in their first days, would be severely punished. It was highly prohibited. He’d have risked it for Tamale, he got the impression that she was the sort of girl who craved the approval of older men. He’d seen it in the way she was around the instructors, always going out of her way to get the best possible praise she could from them. It was a little annoying, but he’d forgive her on the grounds of how her ass looked in her trousers when they were training.

  To each their own. What Theo called shameless bloody cock-sucking her way to graduation, Pete called something else. Maybe she was just trying to get the best possible feedback she could on where she was. A little desperate in the way she went about it perhaps, but who was he to judge? If it got results for her, maybe it was the right thing to do. She had to have something going for her. They wouldn’t just hire sycophants for this or because she looked pretty. There had to be hidden depths to her.

  Dominic Hill got out next. Pete heard the clank, saw the chain fall away from one of his cuffs and the tall youth stretched his arms out, flexing the muscles with relief. He didn’t know how Hill had done it, at least not until the voice filled the room upon his exit.

  “Congratulations, Cadet Hill. You were aware of your surroundings and that metal degrades faster in some environments, particularly if it’s old and worn. Using the spillage of water, you managed to wear them away enough to break free. Less perhaps of an obvious method but clever thinking regardless.”

  Some of these were getting tenuous, Pete thought as he took another glance around. He had to find his way out and quick. Already three out of ten were free and he didn’t want to get a low score here. It’d reflect badly on him. There was a bit of an age divide between the people who’d been selected for this class, from kids just about legal to start spirit calling like Hill to him and Theo who roughly had to be about the same age, to Lamine Lavern who was a couple of years older than either of them. He’d heard it said that the best cadets were those at the younger age, he’d aimed to prove them wrong.

  Finally, his gaze settled on the bed he’d just been dragged out of, he studied it for a few long moments, specifically the legs planted hard into the stone floor. They were thick and sturdy, and the bed was heavy. In an environment like this, it was important that the furniture couldn’t be moved around easily. Not impossible but difficult. He wondered how tough the chain truly was if it took some weight to it.

  It was an
effort jerking himself over there on his knees, he had to take it slow, small efforts at a time or risk toppling over, especially without his hands to balance him. He tried to shut out every other sound, especially as someone else got free of their restraints, tried to block out hearing how they’d done it. It wasn’t important. There’d probably be a recap session at the end of it, going over how each of them had done it. He’d just pay attention then. For now, he wanted to focus on one step at a time, not get distracted and make it into a position where he could do what he needed.

  Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he considered his position. Lifting the bed would be awkward, lifting it and manoeuvring himself under one of the feet so it came down on the cuffs would be tricky on his own. If he’d been able to, he’d have stroked his chin in contemplation before realising how ridiculous the notion was. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference to his progress.

  Instead he turned so his back was to the bed and scrunched down, trying to get his shoulders underneath the frame. His breath caught in his chest as he got an up-close look at his own knee, almost folded in on himself as he tried to give himself that little bit more room. His abdomen started to complain at the efforts. He’d taken a punch there a few days earlier, this was only aggravating it.

  You might not be one hundred percent when you do this, the words flashed through his mind. If you were fully fit and fighting able, chances are you might well have avoided capture in the first place. Since you didn’t, you probably aren’t.

  He’d thought little soundbites like that weren’t helpful at first. He’d later come to the opinion upon suffering through similar experiences, albeit at a much lower level, that they’d been borne out of years of experience and should therefore be listened to. That last one was a little twee for him. You could be at your best and still be outnumbered, still captured. If half of the lesson had a point, was it still valid? In this circumstance, given the ache in his stomach, he thought it might be.

  In as best position as he was going to manage, he took a deep breath and tried to push up with his shoulders. He felt the bed give a few inches before clattering back down on him. He felt the pain scrape through him, the weight horrific across his back. His vision flashed, he was sure he saw stars, before he shook his head to try and clear it of thoughts. If the weight was like that, chances were that he might yet be able to scrape through this given the chance.

  He permitted himself a quick glance around the room. He was still one of six. He hadn’t seen or heard who’d gotten out fourth. Pete didn’t want to think about what might happen if he was the last out of here. Especially if this didn’t work. He tried to mentally push the pain away. Fixating on it wasn’t going to do him any good. You suffered pain because your body was telling you that you were engaged in a practice that wasn’t good for it. Being secured in here for as long as it took to break out wasn’t going to be good for his health either.

  Around him, the other five were already engaged in frenzied activity, they were desperate to escape their shackles and he couldn’t blame them. Nobody liked being restrained. He wasn’t sure how successful their efforts were, he just didn’t want to take the chance that they’d beat him

  Dan Roberts had already gotten into a standing position, towering above the rest of them and engaged in as wide a search as Pete was. Their eyes caught each other’s, and they shrugged in unison. This felt futile. That settled it for him. He turned his attention back to the bed, moved a little closer to the leg, scrabbling sideways across the floor like some sort of misshapen crap and eventually he felt it with his outstretched fingers behind him. The post was thick, he couldn’t even get his hands around it, no matter how much he tried. Pete grimaced, tried to lift it, but with the restraints on, he realised that getting the leverage to do so would be nigh on impossible. It was a case of he’d need to time it right and try not to think about what would happen if he got it wrong.

  This time he tried not to think of the pain as he shoved the bed onto his shoulders, let out a curt wheeze of pain, tried to throw his restraints under the foot. He didn’t quite manage it, felt one of the bed posts catch the edge of the chain with a clang, sent it skittering back into the small of his butt. Didn’t hurt, the only blow was to his pride. He tested his strength against them again, curious if that bang on the chain had weakened them, yet he was sorely disappointed. Once more?

  He had to try. He felt like he was onto something here and he wasn’t willing to give up unless he’d been absolutely proved wrong beyond doubt. He’d come this far, he might as well go a little further. Deep breath. Come on, third time he needed to do this. He wet his lips with his tongue, tried to flex his shoulders best he could. Get the circulation flowing. The sensations running through his back weren’t so much painful as uncomfortable. Stabbing aggravations burned through his shoulder blades as he scrabbled the chain back as close as he could towards the post. Come on. Come on!

  He didn’t realise he’d been muttering it to himself under his breath until someone yelled at him to shut up. Pete managed a wry smile, heaved once more and with the grateful imaginings that it was coming down on the shouters head, heard it come down on the chain with a clang. Okay so it hadn’t broken but that sound was reassuring. Very reassuring. It sounded heavy. Blunt force smashing down onto potentially aged metal links. He drew several shallow breaths, went again, heard it come down once more. His shoulders were on fire, he could feel the pain burning down the length of his spine. Much more and he’d risk fucking himself up.

  He didn’t want to wind up in the infirmary either. That place depressed the crap out of him, he’d been in there for some mandatory shots a couple of months back and hated every second of it. For a Unisco facility that was supposed to have the best of everything, it had fallen a little short in that respect for him. He’d found himself surrounded by the gloom, wishing that there were more windows. It made things more cheerless than they really needed to be. A paint job and some natural light would have made a world of difference. He’d suggested as much to the doctor who’d smiled good-naturedly. Still remembered what she’d said in reply, hadn’t been entirely sure if it had been a joke or not.

  “Son, we’re all aware it needs a paint. You know what we’re waiting on? One of you cadets to screw up something fierce, then it’s your punishment detail.”

  Doctor Stenner had been nice at least, friendly smile and more cheerful than most of the staff at the academy. He’d been more than a little taken by the trio of moles lined up under her left eye, a visual identifying marker you didn’t see every day. He remembered these terms. VIM. He liked that one. Always remembered it with vigour. She’d had him rolling his sleeve up, had shaken her head as she’d administered the shot. Maybe she did it with everyone and his feeling special was unwarranted.

  “You’re going to need this,” she said. “Where you’re going next few days, you might pick something up without them. Just to be on the safe side. Son, I hope I don’t see you again for a while.”

  She’d meant it in a nice way, he hoped. Not seeing a doctor again for a while was usually a good thing. It meant that your health was good, therefore they weren’t needed. It was something he’d reflected on in the next few days when they’d gone training in the marshes to the east of the academy. He’d seen her in the halls but never really had the chance to stop and talk to her. She wasn’t the only medical professional on site, but she was the most senior. Hence, she always looked like she had her hands full. Tough job, by the looks of it, but she always gave the impression that nothing fazed her.

  Fresh pain shot through him as he lifted the bed once more. Dear Divines, was it getting heavier? This time, he only felt it give a fraction of the way it had earlier, before having to let it go again. Still nothing. He jiggled about a little, tried to see if he could get the cuffs loose without pulling them free from where they’d wedged the bed post up. He tried pulling upwards, using the weight of the bed as a pivot point to pin them down. His shoulders screamed with the strain, he
heard a series of grunts break from him that didn’t even sound human. If he rattled the cuffs, he could hear the chain shaking. They sounded like they were loosening, maybe he was imagining it.

  He didn’t think he could bear it if everything was in his imagination. To have gone through all this for nothing would break him. Already the dark thoughts were sweeping through his mind about failure, he’d put the effort in and it could come to nothing.

  At least he’d been doing something. Some hadn’t moved. Dan Roberts was back on the ground, the front of his body pointing up as he arched himself, his hands fiddling about behind his back with something too small to see entirely. Maybe he’d found another lock pick like Tamale. The idea that there were these things laid about on the floor just in case, was something he found fanciful. What sort of lesson was this teaching?

  Of course, he had to remind himself, they were still technically training. So maybe restraining them and the offering of an option was the best of a bad bunch of selections. He didn’t know the thinking behind their actions, but he had to trust they knew what they were doing.

  Once more. If he didn’t do it this time, he’d have to consider another tactic. Dropping the bed post on the handcuff chain was proving to be a lot more ineffective than he’d thought it might. He didn’t want to think about what his shoulders looked like. There was a great chance that he’d be sleeping on his stomach when eventually he got back to bed. His back would probably wind up a canvas of bruising. That wasn’t a pleasant thought, an even worse mental image flashing into his head, of skin mottled purple and black. Pete shook himself, tried to displace them. They weren’t helping.

  For the final time, he heaved, drove his complaining shoulders up into the bottom of the bed with unrelenting force. He didn’t dare let out any sort of sound. He reached the biting point where he’d let it go before, felt the growl break from him as he held it there for a long moment. He twitched, felt the weight give slightly. He couldn’t hold it up forever.