“Warden, this detainee should be sent to a temporary holding cell for processing. She is wanted for questioning.”
“Negative, Agent,” the voice countered. “The detainee will be sent to incarceration.” Immediately the scanner ran down the length of Jane’s body again. “Agent, remove the detainee’s personal effects.”
Marcus stepped onto the platform again and removed the handcuffs from around Jane’s wrists and then unfastened her body armor from her waist, lifting it over her head. Treating her like a prisoner, he spun her around, pushed her arms out from her sides, and started patting her down.
“Please remove the communication device from your ear, miss,” Marcus said as he finished his search.
A swell of panic grew in her belly at the thought of not having Evelyn in her ear, and she opened her mouth in protest.
“Remember what I told you,” Marcus said with an eyebrow raised, interrupting her before she could say anything. “You’d better listen—and keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you.”
Jane slowly closed her mouth, unsure whether Marcus was still on her side. Figuring she didn’t have a choice, she raised her hand up to her ear.
“Stay calm, Jane,” she heard Evelyn whisper as she pulled the earbud out of her ear, placing it in the palm of Marcus’s outstretched hand.
Marcus turned and walked off the platform.
“Detainee, step into the changing room to your right,” the electronic voice boomed.
Jane turned to notice that one of the two doors had slid open, revealing a small room. She looked back at Marcus in disbelief. He motioned to the door with his head and a seeming sense of urgency in his look.
Not a moment later, Jane heard a loud rhythmic clicking noise, almost like a spark. Jane looked down at her feet to see where it was coming from, and a second later, she heard a deafening crack, saw a blinding flash of light, and then felt the searing pain of an enormous electrical charge shoot up her legs, through her torso, and out the top of her head.
Jane’s knees buckled, and she collapsed on the platform. Every part of her body ached, even her teeth, and she shook her head trying to clear it.
“Detainee, step into the changing room to your right,” the voice repeated.
Jane looked at Marcus again. He had a cool look on his face but motioned to her again with his head, the same sense of urgency in his eyes.
Jane started to stand, when the clicking started again. Not wanting to get shocked a second time, Jane stumbled off the platform and moved quickly into the room.
The door closed behind her, and Jane found herself in a small windowless room, not unlike an elevator. Along the wall in front of her was a built-in shelf with a pile of clothes on top of it. Next to the shelf, there was an empty compartment in the wall.
“Detainee, remove your garments,” the electronic voice ordered, now seemingly even louder given the metal walls and confined space. “You have one minute to comply.”
Above the clothing on the shelf, a red digital display appeared with the number 60. It started ticking down.
Not wanting to be told twice, Jane quickly started to undress and was relieved to remember that she had chosen to wear her workout briefs and sports bra, instead of something more intimate, under her clothes. Watching the clock tick down, she sat on the floor and fumbled with the laces on her boots to no avail. Managing to wrestle the boots off anyway, she stripped off the rest of her clothes, and scooping them off the floor, she stood facing the countdown clock on the icy metal floor, wearing nothing but her workout clothes.
With thirty seconds left, the voice boomed again. “Detainee, place your garments and your undergarments in the compartment to your right, and put on the clothing that has been issued to you.”
Jane shook her head and rolled her eyes, realizing that actually having privacy, even in a prison changing room, would have been too much to ask. With the clock ticking toward twenty seconds, she didn’t want to know what might happen if she failed to get dressed. Throwing the clothing in her arms into the compartment, Jane ripped off her briefs and her sports bra and tossed them in after her other clothes. She quickly pulled the prison-issued jersey off the shelf and without even bringing it close, she involuntarily gagged at the rancid spice of human body odor that had bloomed from it up her nostrils.
Disgusted, Jane paused for a second, watching the clock tick toward ten seconds. Figuring it was better to wear the filthy clothes than to be electrocuted again or go naked in prison, she held her breath and quickly pulled the foul-smelling jersey over her head, tugged on the equally foul-smelling and noticeably crusty pants, and slipped on the rubber-soled slippers, just as the door opened.
“Detainee, proceed back to the platform,” the electronic voice ordered.
The voice didn’t wait for Jane to think about it. She immediately heard the clicking sound and quickly jumped out of the changing room and onto the platform.
“Agent, tag the detainee,” the voice continued.
Smothered by the vile stink of body odor, and hardly wanting to breathe, Jane watched Marcus grab a pistol of sorts from a compartment that had opened near the two-way glass. She couldn’t help but think this whole situation was getting worse by the second. The impulse to run for the table where Marcus had put her effects, grab her pistols, and try to shoot her way out was overwhelming. She knew she wouldn’t make it far—or alive—but she had the sneaking suspicion that she might wish she was dead in the very near future anyway.
Stay calm, Jane told herself, so she stood her ground and watched Marcus approach her with the gun, with as much of a blank stare as she could manage.
“This incarceration tag,” Marcus said much louder than he needed to, given his proximity to her, “will assign you a number. This number will be your permanent cell number. It will also serve as your name.”
Glancing at a display on the back of the gun, Marcus continued. “You will be referred to as detainee nine, one, nine, seven, five. It will also serve as a tracking device.”
Looking back at Jane, he concluded, still overly loudly, “Extend your arm. This will hurt.”
Jane reluctantly held out her arm. She winced even before Marcus placed the tip of the pistol on the middle of her forearm, but nothing could have prepared her for what she felt as Marcus clicked the trigger. A searing pain shot through her arm from her bicep to her fingertips. For all she knew, he could have injected molten metal into her forearm, given the heat and pain she felt. Screaming in agony, she recoiled her arm violently in reaction. Gripping the spot with her free hand where the tracker had been implanted, she squeezed as if that would push the pain out. Jane continued to wince, feeling a constant and throbbing burning sensation. Determined not to let the tears out, which were forming in her ducts, she bent over, clutching her arm and staring at the floor, and hummed though her clenched teeth.
As the pain subsided, Jane peeled her shaking hand away from the spot. There was blood on her arm where the device had been shoved though her skin into the tissue of her muscle, and the burning sensation she had been feeling was apparently authentic. Jane was horrified to see that the device had somehow burned the incarceration tag number into her arm from the inside. Her arm reeked of burnt flesh, ached and throbbed like it had been broken, and now showed 91975 in simple grotesquely mottled black numbers.
Jane slowly stood straight and glared at Marcus but quickly realized that even he couldn’t completely hide the expression of being deeply disturbed by what she had endured.
“Detainee nine, one, nine, seven, five. Proceed through the doorway on your right,” the electronic voice ordered.
Jane turned her gaze from Marcus and looked to her right, still holding her arm, and noticed that the other door was sliding open to reveal a room similar to the changing room she had just been in. Walking stiffly, she went into the room, without bothering to turn and look at Marcus again.
“Too bad the food in here is terrible. You don’t look like you can aff
ord to miss any meals,” Jane heard Marcus call after her as the door closed behind her.
While the changing room had looked like an elevator, Jane could tell this room actually was one, as it jolted and started moving, slowly enough that she couldn’t tell if she was moving up or down. There were no buttons on the walls and no indication of what floor she was going to.
Seconds later, the door opened. Still having her back to it, Jane turned around to see a long, poorly lit hallway.
“Detainee,” boomed the electronic voice, “proceed to the open cell—nine, one, nine, seven, five.”
Jane stood still and looked down the hallway in a daze. Only a second passed before Jane heard the clicking noise, indicating that she was about to get electrocuted again. At this point she almost didn’t care. She absently took a step forward into the hallway, and as she did, she heard the crackle and saw the white flash illuminating the hallway from the electrical charge that had just missed her.
Jane walked slowly down the hallway. The concrete walls on both sides were only interrupted by windowless solid steel doors. The walls were damp, showed the white of calcium deposits, and smelled musty like wet cement, dirt, and sewage.
She had no idea how many cell doors she had passed and had no idea who the unfortunate souls were who were entombed behind them, but after nearly a minute, she came to an open door with her number printed in white above it.
Jane stepped inside the cell and looked around. It was dimly lit with a small bulb in the center of the ceiling. It was small—about eight feet long and six feet wide—had a narrow cot along one wall, and a metal toilet and small sink on the back wall.
Jane thought about her quarters on her shuttle and how she had complained about how small they had been. Given where she stood, she knew if she ever got out, she would never complain about her quarters again.
Behind her, the steel door ground to a close with a loud clank.
Given it was at least ten degrees cooler in here than where she had been, Jane began to shiver. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat on the edge of the cot. She looked again at the sink. Even though she desperately wanted a drink, she thought better of it; Marcus may have been trying to warn her about it with his comment about the food being terrible.
Jane was actually grateful for the dim lighting, as it made it more difficult for her to see the true condition of her cell. Unfortunately, though, what she couldn’t see, she could smell. The room reeked of excrement, almost as if it was sitting on top of an open sewer.
Jane looked closely at the cot. Just like the disgusting clothing she had on, it reeked of sweat and body odor and was stained and filthy. There was no blanket or sheets on it, so sitting on the end, which she hoped was moderately less vile, Jane leaned back against the damp, cold concrete wall and pulled her knees up into her chest.
As she did, the light overhead went out, and she sat alone, in the dark, in the chill and in the silence. No longer able to hold back the salty tears that stung her eyes, Jane wept and prayed silently for death or deliverance. She didn’t care which.
PLAYER
Jane awoke, still shivering and in the fetal position, though she was actually facedown on her knees. At some point, she had determined that having her face flat on the disgusting mattress was a small sacrifice, as it had at least helped her retain a little body heat.
She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been there, and she was somewhat delirious, considering the little sleep she did get in her icebox of a room was interrupted by nightmares. Now that she was experiencing the reality of DF-23, she couldn’t help but imagine her dad and brother suffering in some cell just like she was, and even if her mom had been here, she couldn’t imagine how she could possibly be alive after so many months.
The light overhead had been clicking on and off and buzzing every second or so—for how long, she didn’t know.
Jane sat up on the edge of the cot and looked wistfully at the faucet. She wasn’t sure how long she could go without water, but she didn’t think it was going to be much longer. Her lips had already gone dry and sticky from lack of moisture, and she couldn’t even make enough spit to give her tongue the sensation of being wet. To make matters worse, she felt nauseous—not from being sick but from exhaustion, lack of sleep, and having nothing to eat or drink for however long she had been in her putrid cell.
Why is the light flashing? Jane wondered, trying to make sense of her situation with whatever energy she had left inside her. A thought started to form in her mind—something about Marcus—but as soon as it did, the light in her room stopped buzzing and flashing; it burned dimly, and Jane heard the electronic voice.
“Detainee nine, one, nine, seven, five, proceed through the door to the elevator on your right.”
Jane looked around for the source of the voice and noticed something she had missed on entering her cell. Above the door, near the ceiling, she could clearly see the intercom and camera that gave someone a clear view of her room. At least I won’t have to be embarrassed to use the toilet, she thought, realizing she would be dead before that need arose if she persisted with not eating or drinking anything.
Standing from her cot, Jane heard the bolt in the door click and watched the door grind open, revealing the dimly lit hallway beyond.
Trying to shake the cobwebs from her mind, Jane jiggled her head and was reminded of the fracture above her eye, which to her amazement, had been something she had completely forgotten given her new aches and pains. She blinked several times to wake herself up. When she came in the prison, she had been in shock and remembered little of the detail of the places she had been. She was determined to pay more attention to her surroundings.
Stepping through the door, she looked briefly to her left and noticed the hallway continued past her cell for another twenty yards or so and then seemed to end in another door. Turning to her right, she still couldn’t make out much about the hallway she had missed before, except that each door had no handle. It was exactly the same as the next, other than having the cell number above it. Jane did notice that the cell numbers counted down from her cell in the direction she was walking, odd numbers on her side and even numbers on the other.
Jane walked slowly, trying to notice anything that could be of help to her, but nothing seemed apparent, especially in the dim light. Stepping to the end of the hall, she came to the elevator and nervously watched as the door slid open.
She hesitated only for a second and then stepped into the empty elevator. Turning to face the front, she noticed L9 on the inside of the outer elevator door as it closed. Jane felt the telltale jolt of the elevator as it began to move, and her mind whirled. Maybe there’s something to that—L9, she wondered.
Seconds later, the door slid open, and Jane looked to see what floor she was on. The number 2 was on the inside of the outer door. She knew she could be wrong, but her gut told her that her cell was one floor underground. The floor she came in on was ground level, and now she was one floor up. For some reason, the thought that maybe this whole place was smaller than it appeared on the outside, and that maybe she wasn’t buried in a prison cell a hundred feet below the surface, put her momentarily at ease.
“Detainee, proceed to the open room on your left,” the voice ordered over the intercom.
Looking out of the elevator, Jane could see that it opened into a brightly lit hallway with doors lining both sides. She stepped out of the elevator quickly, not wanting to get caught and end up in the dungeon any sooner than she needed.
In noticeable contrast to the floor her cell was on, this hallway looked like it could have come straight out of any of the office buildings her dad owned. The walls were clean and white. The gray and red carpeting on the floor was elegant. The whole floor smelled fresh with the combination of cleaning supplies and flowery scents, making Jane want to voraciously inhale and purge her sinuses of the stink of herself.
Jane walked down the hallway, once again trying to pick up on anything that may be
useful. There were still no windows here, though in the hallway, at least, Jane could see the crystal-clear blue Colorado sky through a glass ceiling above. It was a welcome change from being in the darkness, but also tugged at her emotions a little to feel so far away from freedom, which was just on the other side.
Passing several doors, it occurred to Jane that she hadn’t yet come across a door with a handle. Do the doors in this place just open automatically for the guards? Jane wondered, and then she remembered her fleeting thought about Marcus from earlier. So far he had been the only person she had actually seen since she came into the detainment facility—even now that she had left her cell and escorted herself to the room where she was headed on a simple order from a voice over the intercom.
Jane felt a renewed sense of hope. Maybe there was less to this place than met the eye. She figured it could be that the warden just wanted to perpetuate her feelings of being isolated, which would explain the lack of human interaction. The place could be full of prison guards and armed personnel standing ready with firearms behind the two-way glass, which seemed to be almost everywhere, but who knew? What she did know was that she needed to try to stay focused and look for anything out of the ordinary. Of course, she knew it was only going to get harder to do that the longer she went without food and water.
Jane finally came to the unmarked room with the open door, stepped inside, and heard the door click shut behind her.
The room was small, and much like the hallway, the walls were white and clean, and the floor was carpeted. A metal table sat in the middle of the room with a metal chair on either side, and there was two-way glass opposite the door she had come through. In every respect, Jane imagined it was an interrogation room as ordinary as any other. Even so, her attention was immediately drawn to the table.
Jane and the Exodus Page 16
