The Wounded (The Woodlands Series)

by Taylor, Lauren Nicolle

  The noise sounded out again, and I mentally urged the soldier with the keys to hurry up. I wanted to kick him in the back. Finally, the lock opened and we were shoved through a wire frame and into an open garden. Hedges were neatly trimmed into concentric circles; sweet smelling roses edged the low bushes. The smell mixed horribly with the fish odor and I covered my nose with my hand, gaining an amused snigger from the soldier next to me.

  It was beautiful, organic, and completely wrong. But when I looked past the gardens with their inviting wooden benches and candy-colored lawn to the gritty, black iron bars giving stripes to animals who had none, it was more like I would expect. A prison for animals. I blinked slowly, trying to take it all in, and was hit sharply in the back with a gun butt for my dawdling, knocking the wind out of my chest like a door slammed shut. Joseph growled behind me.

  Someone held up a radio and spoke low and quick into the speaker, alerting Superior Este’s guards we were coming.

  “How far to Este?” Joseph asked with pent-up anger lacing his words.

  The soldier in front of me grunted and then answered, “Her compound is closest to this part of the wall.”

  “I wonder what kind of mood the flea will be in. Paranoid or really paranoid,” the redhead snorted.

  “Be quiet!” the man in the front snapped, before picking up the pace. “Este is cautious. That’s why she devised this entry; it’s how she keeps our technology safe.” The redhead shut his mouth, but I saw him smirk while his chin was dipped towards his chest.

  I rolled that morsel over in my head, and it scared me. Paranoia didn’t really help our plan. We needed her to believe we were telling the truth.

  I thought back to my one and only helicopter ride, the openness of the terrain inside the Superiors’ compound. I did remember one small patch in the corner that looked like yellowing grass, now understanding that was the cornfield we had just walked through.

  One of the guards dragged his gun butt across the bars as we walked over concrete pathways, the sound echoing dully like a broken bell. We wound this way and that, turning back on ourselves and seeming to walk in circles. I glanced at the animals as I passed them, their droopy eyes and swinging heads emitting pure depression. No wonder Salim wanted to take his monkeys with him.

  We came to the source of the trumpeting noise, and I had to stop. Its crusty eyes were so large in its leathery head, but they looked human. Its expression distinctively wise. It lifted its head, blew from its long nose, and then began to step sideways and back, sideways and back, swinging its gigantic head repetitively like it couldn’t believe some unknown truth. My heartbeat crept up in anger, knocking on my ribs and struggling to find a voice. This was cruel. This Indian Elephant, as it read on the plaque glued to its prison cell bars, was the epitome of sorrow. My hands strained against my sides, as the want to free myself and then all the mistreated creatures in here started to overtake reason.

  One of the soldiers cocked his gun and aimed it at the elephant. “Poor bastard,” he said with one eye closed as he took aim, “maybe I should put him out of his misery.” They all laughed, banging the bars and shouting at it. I connected with its eyes, eyelashes as thick as wire, brushing over the oldness, the tiredness, of that human expression.

  One of them picked up a rock and threw it at the animal. It hit it on the flap of its enormous ears. It flinched. They were too busy laughing and cracking jokes to see it stomp its large foot, plumes of dust rising up around it. They were too distracted congratulating each other on their own idiocy to see the anger in its eyes. They didn’t hear it as it charged towards the bars.

  I’d never seen five armed men so terrified or move so fast before. They were all silenced, some of them falling backwards and swearing.

  “Dumb animal,” one of them muttered as he dusted the dirt from his pants.

  I couldn’t help myself. I put my hand to my mouth, but that only caused the laugh to fly sideways from my lips. I shook with it, pointing at the men on the ground. “Ha, well, you deserved that,” I said between giggles.

  “Rosa… no!”

  But it was too late. A chunk of a gun butt approached my face. I gasped, but I didn’t have time to react, and then darkness.

  I put my hand to my temple.

  “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Joseph’s face hovered in front of me.

  I groaned, rolling over to look at the ceiling, expecting hard rock, or metal bars and restraints. Instead, I was faced with the canopy of a four-poster bed draped in red velvet. The luxurious fabric cascaded from each corner, pulled together with thick gold rope and neatly trimmed tassels.

  I closed my eyes, sure it was a dream, opening one and then the other. No, it was still velvet, and the bed was still dark mahogany. And I still had mud all over my shirt and bruises on my skin.

  “You know that was pretty stupid, Rosa. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

  I sat up on the bed and nodded somberly. “I know.”

  Joseph reached out to touch what I was sure was a brilliant purple bruise and chuckled. “It was pretty damn funny though.”

  I smiled warily. This was way too creepy. It reminded me of the underground facility, where everything was an apparition.

  “Where are we?” I asked, taking his hand in mine and putting it my lap. Joseph shuffled up so he was leaning against the headboard and sighed. I focused on the carved, brown cherubs draped on either side of his face, narrowing my eyes at the blue paint that had been dotted on their round, wooden eyeballs.

  “After you passed out, they made me carry you. We went a really strange way, backwards and forwards. When we got to the gate to Estes’ compound, the soldiers stopped, each one tapped the symbol on the gate three times, turned around in a circle, and jumped. I swear I nearly ended up like you, but I managed to stop myself from laughing.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I smoothed the thick, satin quilt that lay over my legs and frowned.

  “I’m serious. It was like that all the way into her home. Knocking this many times, spinning around… I think Este may be a little more than paranoid.” He whispered the last sentence close to my ear. I looked up and noticed the camera in the corner of the room.

  “So where are we now?” I surveyed the room, looking for the chinks in the projection.

  “We’re in her house. The soldiers threw us in here and locked the door. Someone came in with food and water, flanked by guards, about an hour ago, but that’s it.” He stood up and moved towards the table in the corner. “Here, eat something.” I eyed the food suspiciously. “Just eat, Rosa. I already have, and I’m not dead yet.”

  I shrugged and took a bite of the flaky roll. It was delicious, sweet, and buttery. I finished it quickly.

  “Do you think he’s here?” I asked carefully, wiping crumbs from my mouth with the back of my hand as my mind turned to Hessa, and then Orry. The aching pain etched a new wound across my insides. I missed them so much.

  Joseph shook his head, looking up at me with intensity, his eyes swirls of muddy gold. “He has to be.”

  The heavy, wooden door creaking opening interrupted us. We stood to attention, bracing ourselves for violence. Our eyes widened, and my mouth dropped a little as two guards dressed in black marched into the room with clean clothes, towels, and toiletries in their rigid arms.

  They laid them on the bed carefully. The one with dark, bushy eyebrows and brown eyes stated, “Este will speak with you tonight. You are required to shower thoroughly using the… er… antibacterial soap provided and change your clothing.” He cast his eyes critically over our dirt-encrusted jeans and not-so-white-anymore t-shirts. “You’re clothing will be laundered and returned to you if they are acceptably free from contaminants.”

  Both of us nodded slowly in dumb shock. Were we being toyed with? The room, the food, the clothing… it all seemed like trick. Surely, any minute now, the guards would shake off their cool and pleasant demeanors, like a cicada kicking off its skin, and throw us in a cell. I d
idn’t understand it or like it.

  The soldiers stood rigidly, waiting, until we picked up the clean clothes and nodded. The tall one bent down to whisper, “You’ll do it right? I mean, you’ll take the shower and change?” His face was all kinds of nervous.

  I raised my eyebrows, watching them shift back and forth on the balls of their feet uncomfortably. “Oh ok,” I said, understanding they needed confirmation we would follow the order. “Yes, we’ll do it… as soon as you leave,” I said brazenly, my eyes moving to the door. They didn’t react and, once assured we would follow their request, they stepped out of the room calmly, almost respectfully, which creeped me out even more. The bolt slid back into place with a final, metallic click, just to remind us we were prisoners, not guests.

  Joseph threw me a look as if to say ‘Just roll with it,’ and shrugged, pulling his shirt off as he walked towards what I assumed was the bathroom door. I watched his muscled back covered in fresh bruises, the perfect match for gun barrels, moving away from me. It didn’t make him any less perfect. I found myself wishing, yet again, that I could take just one tiny part of his attitude. But I felt like a bird in an invisible cage, flying up again and again, only to hit the bars and lose more of my feathers. Soon I’d be picked clean. Nothing felt right about any of this.

  “You coming?” he threw over his shoulder.

  I blushed, sitting on the bed with my arms wrapped around my knees. I let the thought tick over for one second, and then my body reacted before my brain could stop me. Quite honestly, what did it matter? We were in as much trouble as we could possibly be in.

  I sprung from the bed a little too enthusiastically and ran to his side.

  He looked down at me in surprise and smiled. “I never know what you’re going to do.”

  I grabbed his chin and pulled his mouth towards mine, stopping just short of kissing him. I grinned. “Good.”

  He chuckled and held out his arm. “After you, Sleeping Beauty.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked into the bathroom.

  We’d been sitting in the bedroom for hours. I’d paced the four walls. I’d pulled back the plush curtains, only to find the window bricked up and a projected image of a garden with a single bird flickering in the fork of a stupid, plastic-looking tree wavering across the space. It gave me shivery flashbacks and reminded me why we were here—save the babies, and create a distraction.

  Slumping in a chair, I exhaled heavily. I reached my finger up to trace the gold-embossed wallpaper. It was a bird, swinging on a seat in a cage. How fitting. I let my shoulders fall even lower, until I started to resemble a triangle of flesh and bone.

  Joseph lay on the bed with his arms wrapped behind his head. He could have been relaxing at home for all the worry he was showing right now. I pursed my lips, trying very hard to keep the insults inside and glued to my tongue.

  The clothes they’d given us were simple and elegant. A clean, white, button-down shirt and dark pants for Joseph and, to my dismay, a similar shirt and fitted skirt for me. They gave me tights, but I decided they were optional.

  I scowled as I scratched at the paper with my last useful fingernail, seeing if I could remove the bird from the cage by erasing the bars. Gold dust fell in my lap, and I brushed it off violently with a humph.

  “You all right?” His deep voice sounded from across the room.

  I continued scratching and didn’t turn to him. “I don’t understand why we have to wait like this. You would think she’d want the information right now. It feels like they’re doing this on purpose, you know, to unsettle us.”

  He left the bed and came to stand over me. “I know.”

  I kept peeling and scratching, the gold paint rubbing off on my fingertips, “God, Joseph, do you think we did the right thing? I miss Orry so much.” I dragged my nails across my chest, pulling at my heart. “And I’m scared. I know no one else would do it. I know we decided we couldn’t let all those kids die. I mean, what kind of parents would we be if we just ignored it? But damn it, sometimes I wish we could be those kind of people. You know, the blind-eye people.”

  He put his hands on my bony shoulders and rubbed the tired, tiny muscles. It just hurt.

  “I’m glad we’re not the blind-eye kind of people, Rosa. And I miss Orry too. So damn much. But you’re right. We couldn’t let all those babies die… Every time I…” He stopped talking and pulled his hands through his hair, breathing deeply. I wanted to wrap him up somehow, buffer all the horrible feelings that were running through his mind. I looked up, waiting for him to finish. “I see them. Every time I close my eyes, I see them, suffering, seizing in numbers I can’t imagine. In pain, like Orry was. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that was happening, and I did nothing to stop it.”

  I snatched his hand and squeezed. I knew exactly what he was saying. But the fear and disconnected aching I felt every time I thought about Orry was dragging me back to him. The ribbon was stretching between us. I was so very nervous it would snap and wither like a band that had lost its elasticity, curled and distorted.

  The door creaked open, and the same guards walked in. The bushy eye-browed one looked me up and down, pausing on my bare feet inside the leather shoes. He raised the caterpillars but didn’t comment.

  “Your presence has been requested. Follow us to the laboratory please.” He stood, leaning against the door, his arm outstretched welcomingly.

  This place was so weird. I had never heard a guard, soldier, or guardian ever use the word ‘please’. His whole demeanor made no sense.

  Our eyes connected briefly before we were escorted out of the room and into the hallway, his brown and warm, mine wrong and wide with surprise.

  I had been unconscious the first time we entered, so I was looking at everything with new eyes. My head snapped back and forth, as I attempted to take in the lush details of just the hallway. The electric vrooming of a vacuum cleaner seemed misplaced in this heavy, old environment, like it should be straw brooms and cloth. Thick, woven carpets lined the floor, colored in heavy blood reds and sharp blacks. Tapestries hung from the walls, curled around wooden poles. A woman busily, hurriedly ran a vacuum over one of the tapestries, sucking in the nose of a creepy little kid with wings and curly blond hair like Orry’s.

  “How many times today, Von?” the guard asked in a friendly tone.

  She grunted and wiped the sweat from her sticky brow, strands of hair were coming loose from her ugly, white hairnet. “Today’s evens, so four times.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Well, hopefully the odds day will be one, eh?” the guard returned with a casual smile.

  “As long as we don’t go back to factors of eleven…” She grimaced, her eyes rocking back to an unpleasant memory.

  “Could still be one then,” he said, hopefully.

  “True, true,” she muttered as she hitched her skirt and climbed up a ladder to reach the puffy, white clouds at the top of the tapestry.

  The guards saluted and moved along.

  We strode down the hall, following these strange, somewhat friendly guards, wondering what we had stepped into. I’d not had much experience with the mentally ill. In Pau, if you had a psychological ‘issue,’ you were sent ‘away.’ Wherever, ‘away’ was. But anyone who had her tapestries vacuumed four times a day was clearly on the other side of the fence from normal.

  On the corner wall, a single, white stag stood in a field of snow, so lifelike I could see the textured, velvety brown covering on his antlers and feel the cold from the ice-covered pines flanking him. He stood there, proud, defiant, his white-star chest pushed out. His eyes followed me as I turned the corner.

  Several metal doors lined this part of the hall, each with small windows punched in them, blinking white light. We were guided to the third door. A guard scanned his wrist under the scanner over the door handle, and it clicked open. He stepped back and allowed us to go in first.

  *****

  I blinked a few times. It was so shiny white and bright that it too
k me a second to find the dark shape in the corner, sitting perfectly upright perched on a stool. His back straight, his head slightly cocked to one side. He lifted his finger lightly, bringing it down in an elegant arc to tap the keyboard. Joseph took a sharp breath in. We both knew the back of that head, its neatly trimmed hair and slender neck, but we both guarded ourselves against disappointment.

  He spun around to face us slowly, his face calm. Only the slightest raise of his eyebrows registered our presence. Straightening his neat, navy shirt, he stood up.

  “Desh…” Joseph started to say, but Deshi shook his head minutely, like a quick, barely there breeze, and Joseph shut his mouth.

  The guards stepped back as Deshi waved them off. “You can leave us.” They hesitated. “Seriously, where are we going to go?” One of them nodded, and they left the room. The door hushed closed.

  Joseph took giants steps towards his friend and slammed into him with an embrace. My face cracked into a wary smile.

  “Desh… It’s so good to see you,” Joseph gushed.

  Deshi stiffened within the embrace, like he’d been snap frozen. He stepped back and cast his critical eye over Joseph. “You look awful,” he said, and then put his hands on Joseph’s shoulders briefly. “I knew it had to be you. As soon as they said an annoying, scrawny girl and her large companion had surrendered near the entrance to Este’s compound, I just knew. But, you shouldn’t have come. Not for me.” He checked himself and removed his hands from Joseph’s shoulders quickly.

  His face was stern. He looked healthier, more like Deshi than I’d remembered. But the healing cut in his dark bottom lip spoke to me when his words wouldn’t. The half-circles under his eyes as thick and dark as boot polish told me even more.

  His eyes darted to the corners of the room quickly, subtly, and then he pulled me down to sit on a stool opposite him. He grabbed a band and placed it around my arm, holding a needle up. I stared blankly as he pushed it gently into my arm. “It’s just a blood sample for Este’s collection,” he said. Then he leaned in as he removed the band, whispering, “Hessa…?” Like it was his last breath.