Rebels (John Bates)

by Scott Powell

  After once around the track, I just stand there, holding on to the railing, wondering when and if the nurse is ever coming back. My legs feel like lead weights, and I hope someone comes soon or I may just have to collapse to the track and lay there until help arrives. Eventually, a male attendant opens the door with a wheelchair in hand. I don’t ask if it is for me, I just assume and sit down gratefully. He takes me back to my room where he helps me out of my wheelchair into bed where I fall into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 15

  I continue to receive “vitamin” shots. My heart and my chest are healing very quickly, almost miraculously, with the black stitches dissolving and my skin returning to its original color. Though I do not have a mirror, it is almost like the actual incisions are disappearing. But I figure it’s simply due to the fact that I am unable to take a really good look and that whatever those vitamins I am taking are doing more than what has been explained. Rigorous activity starts the moment I can stand the pain in my chest. It’s like they can’t wait to try out their new toy. My favorite nurse is always waking me up at the break of dawn to let me know it is my time for therapy, but what they have us do is far from therapy. For anyone to have just gone through major surgery would make it unlikely to expect them to go through such tests unless the doctors are looking for something.

  I run on treadmills, which at first are at moderate speeds but soon increases. How fast, I cannot tell since all readings are kept out of sight. At points, they even raise the treadmill at an angle to make it feel like I am walking up a steep hill. Of course, the staff explains this is simply to see how the heart will react to different situations to ensure it is functioning properly. At one point, I am able to keep a pace without showing any true exhaustion, which makes no sense to me.

  But the staffer will only say, “That’s good, you can stop.” Nothing more, nothing less. I will then climb one rock wall after another. They even put me into a simulator that allows them to change atmospheric pressure and the amount of oxygen that would be in the air to test my endurance while climbing. Whatever they do appears to have had no affect on me, so I assume that they run basic tests and the harder ones will come in the future.

  There is a moment where I hear one of them state, “I can’t believe he is still going! Never did we ever expect such results.” I am surprised, since I don’t feel any different in this weird contraption. I am taken aback. I didn’t think they wanted me to hear anything concerning the results. At this point, I see Dr. Pruitt signal to the other staff members to be quiet, as it is evident I am hearing some of their conversation. I guess they thought I wouldn’t be able to hear them, since I was inside an environmentally controlled box with no intercom to communicate with me.

  Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, since I have been locked up in this lab like a rat for too long. They test my strength against measurements and machines with weights that are hidden on the other side of the curtains where only the doctor knows the real limit of such excursions. At first, it feels like I could hardly move the bar but now things are so easy I feel like they aren’t testing me at all. They must be trying to trick me psychologically, making me feel better about myself. Surprisingly, Dr. Pruitt is glad when I do well and concerned when I’ve done too much and am in pain. Of all the staffers I come in contact with, Dr. Pruitt is the only one who truly cares about my well-being. This is different from other State figures who care only for themselves and what the State can give them.

  When returning to my room, I notice I have been placed next to the other boys with white suits. I find it surprising how well-built they appear to be, but again I never really got a chance to see them that often. I guess I am the runt of the litter. They ask no questions, make no comments. It is as if they have not only taken out their hearts but their voices, too. I follow the example of my silent neighbors.

  After several days have passed and as soon as Dr. Pruitt is satisfied with my rehabilitation, he has me join the others for exercise routines. We run in the same white suits. I am first every time. I notice at times the others straining to keep up with me. It reminds me of my old Young Army group where I was always the one everyone wanted to beat. I am actually surprised I am able to do so well, especially when these other guys are in tip-top shape. In many ways, they remind me of the Steel team, but I can’t even imagine us being at that level, especially in such a short time period. That type of conditioning would take years of discipline as well as special training. How fast I’m going, I have no idea. Only the doctor and the nurses with their stopwatches know, and they will not tell.

  “How fast was I going?” one silly young man asks. It is the first time anyone has spoken and we all stare at him. The nurses only glare at him until he falls silent. No more questions are asked.

  During swimming time, they line us up along the pool’s edge. We are to swim freestyle all the way to one end and back. We are all dressed in the same white swimming trunks, and everyone has the same scar on their chest. When the whistle is blown, I dive into the lukewarm water where I proceed to swim as I always have. But this time I feel like I am swimming through air. It is so effortless. Generally, when in the water, you feel like you are swimming in jell-o, but this time, I feel no resistance, no fatigue, no muscle cramping.

  I am always the first in my own platoon, and now I swim as hard as I can in this pool with these new companions as my competition, pushing my heart and lungs to work together. Coming finally to the wall, I jump up and slap the edge, saying that I am finished. I look around, and I am aware that I am the only one standing, with the others coming just moments behind. I look at Dr. Pruitt and he smiles, giving me a thumbs-up. The others continue to write on their clipboards, always analyzing the results, never saying anything that either encourages or discourages our results. We push each other without a word, no greeting except an occasional smile; we are all good little soldiers.

  As we show more and more progress, the State staffers decide to put something new in our rehab workouts. I can tell Dr. Pruitt is not pleased with this but as always, the State has the final word. Either you can comply or you will be replaced, something the State has no issue in doing.

  We are all brought to gym and in the center stands a very large octagon that is covered by a large metal cage. I do not like what I am looking at. This could only mean one thing: physical combat, but why? A person that seems familiar comes forward, with clipboard in hand. As he approaches, I realize it is the same man that had come to my school to watch us compete against the Steel team. The man with the clipboard. He is a rugged man with a square jaw and cold looking brown eyes that showed no fear and no mercy.

  Chapter 16

  “Well, boys, I am glad to see you made it through your surgery, but it’s time to see how your progress has gone! Each of you will be pitted against one another and as you win, you will go to the next round! Those eliminated will stay to watch the fun unless you need to be seen for unforeseen injuries! The State has invested valuable time and resources into each of you and they expect to see the results and the results they want will be seen today! So let the fun begin!”

  Nurse Garrison walks forward and calls out two names, “Brian and Tommy.”

  Both come forward and are led to the steel cage with no hesitation and they enter. You can hear the clanging of the door as it is closed behind them.

  “The rules are simple; until one of you taps out or is incapacitated, the fight will continue and the winner will move to the next round. Is that understood!?” There is no expression on this man’s face but both young men nod their heads to indicate they understand what needs to happen. “Then let the exercise begin!” shouts our new task master, clipboard still in hand.

  It is apparent these guys were in the Young Army, as well, based on their stances and movements. Brian rushes in while Tommy braces himself, it is weird that we haven’t known each other’s names this entire time but either way, today is going to be interesting. Brian grabs Tommy by the back of his head, p
ulling him forward, letting him control Tommy’s balance and movement. Tommy drops and thrusts forward, going for Brian’s legs, hoping to take him to the ground. I am amazed by the speed these two are going at each other. It’s almost inhuman, but who knows what these vitamins shots have done.

  Brian is caught off guard by Tommy’s move and falls off balance, causing him to go to the ground. Tommy lands on top where he starts using his hand as a hammer on Brian’s head. All of a sudden, Brian is able to lean his body to the left, making Tommy place one of his hands down on the mat to try to keep his balance. Brian grabs a hold of Tommy by his shoulders and puts his right leg just underneath him, thrusting him literally off his body!

  Tommy goes flying into one of the steel cage’s walls, bouncing right off. I can tell it smarted by his facial expression, but Tommy quickly gets up and prepares for Brian’s onslaught. Before Tommy can fully become aware of where Brian is, he is met with a flying sidekick, blowing him across the floor and bouncing him off another chain link wall.

  I can see from the corner of my eye this taskmaster is no longer wearing his sunglasses and has also removed his green Army hat. He is enjoying the show of pain and suffering of these two young men. It means nothing to him as long as they are doing what they were bred to do. As Brian comes in to finish Tommy off, he is a little overly confident and tries to dive on top. Tommy rolls out of the way and grabs Brian by the back of his neck and throws him forward into the cage. Tommy proceeds to get on Brian’s back and puts him into a sleeper hold. This lasts an additional ten seconds and the show is over. Nurses checkout both Brian and Tommy, but the man with the clipboard simply yells, “Who’s next!”

  And so this continues until it is my turn.

  I see of all the young men, Dr. Pruitt is most interested in me. As to why exactly, I do not know, but I see concern on his face. I enter the ring with my now opponent; his face is without expression, but in his eyes I can see that he is determined to win. He is massive. What he doesn’t understand is while we have been competing in our races, I have been studying each of these guys and have noted what they are best at and how each reacted when they finished. Brad, in this case is always angry, which means he allows his emotions to clutter his mind. Know thy enemy, my father always had taught me, no matter how well trained and conditioned a person may be. If they allow their emotions to control them, I have a distinct advantage. That is why we go through drills and meditations so much. From outside the cage, the clipboard man’s voice shouts, “You may begin!”

  Immediately, Brad bull rushes me, using his larger body to try to overpower me. As he makes impact, I brace by grabbing his shoulders and spreading my legs outward to allow myself to not only absorb but also to redirect his momentum. As he comes in, I allow him to push me back. Then I drop, pulling his body still forward, putting my right foot into his lower torso and pushing him up and over me into the steel cage. Whack! I don’t have long before he recovers, so I spring back to my feet and turn quickly to see Brad rushing me again. This time I use a front kick to his groin area, stunning him. I go in with a flying knee, blowing Brad back against the cage wall. The expression on his face is of pain and dismay and disbelief that I am able to hit with such precision and force.

  Before he can even think, I go in with my shoulder, slamming into his torso then grabbing him. I proceed to lift him like a sack of potatoes, spinning him in midair to slam him onto the mat below. I can hear the surprise reactions of all the other onlookers as to how fast this fight is going to be over.

  “Wham!” Brad now lies sound asleep from the impact, knocked out, and I stand looking directly at the man with the clipboard, but he simply makes a mark on his paperwork.

  “Alright! That is round one. Let’s get this moving! Next!”

  As I walk out of the cage, Dr. Pruitt gives me a nod. I can see he is glad I did well while the other young men just stare in disbelief that my match lasted literally only a minute while theirs had gone on for at least five to ten minutes each. Everyone, even the winners, had sustained some sort of injury or another at this point. Now I know everyone wants to beat me, but I am accustomed to such attention.

  Chapter 17

  Each round becomes more challenging, but the results are the same. I win and go on to the next standoff. What becomes apparent is, that as well conditioned as these other young men are, they are not prepared mentally. It is evident when things are not going their way, they try to rely on their raw strength, which means they have already lost. One by one, I tactically beat them, having watched their previous fights, learning their basic strategies. When it comes time to fight them, I know their general weaknesses. My father always told me to never underestimate your opponent. There is a total of thirty-two of us, and by early afternoon we have been whittled down to two.

  I have managed to survive all of their onslaughts simply by keeping my emotions in check. But now I am in the final round between Steven and myself. We enter the steel octagon and await for the fight to begin. Both of us are a little battered but nothing that will not heal in a few days. I know this fight will be interesting, especially after having watched him in action. Of all the guys, I am not surprised to be facing him in the finals. He is always second behind me, and I know no one likes being second! We are told to begin, and so we both start, but Steven doesn’t rush me. He evidently has been watching as well. This fight should be good. As I watched him, I realize one thing: Steven tries to hurt each of his opponents. Not only does he like to win, but he likes to leave a message as well. Once we are done analyzing each other, we engage with a flurry of kicks and punches, some connecting and others missing their mark. Steven does a front thrust kick to my chest, blowing me back. I worry momentarily about the condition of my heart.

  Before I can fully recover, he runs up the chain-linked wall and does a flying roundhouse kick to my head. I have never had that move used on me, and the pain is excruciating. He obviously has saved the move for me, and it has worked. I slam into the mat and am fighting to get back to my feet, but Steven lands on top of me while I am still on my back. He proceeds to punch me multiple times, trying to incapacitate me before I can recover. I manage to block most of them while my head is trying to remember what planet I am on. I know I have to react or in a matter of seconds this fight will be over. With what energy I have left, I thrust up, grabbing one of his arms and pull him forward, forcing him off balance, rolling him to my right side, off my body. I scramble to my feet and prepare for his onslaught. At this point, Steven is eager, knowing I am hurt. But remember, sometimes wounded animals are the most dangerous.

  He is overzealous. I allow him to think I am still disoriented. He comes in, unprepared for the right elbow that connects to his temple. I throw a roundhouse kick to his leg, stunning him even further. I grab him and knee him three times in the abdomen to cause further damage. I pick him up and slam him to the ground. Now on top, I proceed to hit him multiple times but out of nowhere, Steven kicks me with the heel of his foot right in my face. He grabs my wrist, wrapping his legs around my left arm, holding firm. I can’t move it. I’m in an arm bar!

  I am exhausted. I can’t believe he has the energy to do this. I see we are both in the final round for a reason. I clasp my hands together to prevent the full effect, but I can feel my fingers slipping. If this happens, my arm can be broken. This is something I do not want to experience, but I know Steven will not hesitate to do it. Steven struggles to make me lose my grip. When I do, the pain is immense, since I can feel the pressure build on my arm. I know I have only moments to either quit or reengage or have my arm broken.

  I look at our small audience outside of the ring and see the other young men cheering and shouting. I see Dr. Pruitt with a concerned look on his face. Then images of my mother and father come to me. I remember the Johnson family and other people who are counting on me, and I know I need to find a way to win, a way back to my family and those I need to help. I refocus and shift my weight, enabling me to re-clasp my hands to preve
nt my arm from being broken. I proceed to slowly lift Steven off the mat until we are face-to-face. I will never forget the astonished look on his face as I lift him further and slam him directly into the mat with all I have left, knocking him out.

  It is over and I won! Exhausted but still intact, I thank God for his help in my time of need. I see the perfect smile of my constant observer, who has not only put down his clipboard but also has joined in the applause. Dr. Pruitt comes into the cage and checks us both out and helps me to my feet.

  “Well done, John,” he whispers in my ear. I head to the locker room, and he seems relieved that I had not only won but I was going to be okay.

  Shortly after, we all come back out where our special visitor is waiting to address us.

  “Well, I can say that you boys put on quite the show! Something the State will be real proud to hear when I go back to give my report! Your progress is quite impressive, particularly yours, John!” When I hear this I am stunned. I do not know why the State has such an interest in some typical fifteen-year-old boy.