The Hourglass

by Donaldson, Casey

  “Hey Mathers!” He yelled gleefully, “nobody vomited! You owe me a drink!”

  There was an indistinct reply and then the guard stuck his head back into the hull.

  “Well c’mon you lot, we don’t have all day.”

  They all got up. They were stiff from sitting and their legs were wobbly, not used to the rocking motion. After a few awkward tumbles they made it up the ladder and onto the main deck.

  The grey ship in front of them was huge and depressing. It looked like a retired navy ship. The name ‘Prison Ship 374A, The Anoscosa was stencilled on the side. A metal ladder fell from the deck of the prison ship, reaching the deck of the transport vessel. Someone in a grey mechanics uniform was climbing up it. He had a clipboard in his right hand. A middle aged woman on the prison ship deck, wearing tailored clothes, peered down at them distastefully. She nodded once and one of the guards motioned with his gun for them to climb up the ladder. They did so slowly, warily. Sarah looked around while she waited for her turn to ascend. She couldn’t see any sign of land. She was trapped. A gun poked into the side of her ribs and she looked back around to see that they were waiting for her to ascend. She took a big breath. What happened next was important. First impressions were everything. She felt about as important and confident as the slime on the bottom of a pair of boots. With a mammoth effort, she straightened her shoulders and climbed the ladder.

  Chapter Eight

  The Anoscosa

  Sarah reached the top of the ladder and joined the others. Half of the ship’s top deck was open to the elements, the other contained the enclosed bridge and what looked like private cabins, encircled by a promenade. The ship looked only slightly newer than the bus they had arrived on. They were marshalled into a line by two guards, one solid and short, the other lean and of average height. The prisoners stood shoulder to shoulder, nervously facing a grey-haired woman with a stern mouth. Sarah didn’t need to know anything else about the woman to know that she was in charge. It was in the way she stood, and in the way she coolly assessed each prisoner in turn. When the warden finally turned to look at Sarah, she felt as if the warden could see every single misdeed of her past. Without so much as an eyebrow twitch, the warden somehow managed to convey that she ranked Sarah somewhere near “pathetic”. Sarah felt like throwing something at her. The warden turned away from her and addressed the group as a whole.

  “Welcome to the prison ship Anoscosa. I am Warden Krogan. These gentlemen are Mr Painter,” she inclined her head to the lean guard, “and Mr Wall,” she inclined her head towards the solid guard. “They lead the guards and you will show them the upmost respect during your stay. You will serve out your time on this ship quietly and efficiently. This ship is tasked with making supplies for the war effort and you are thus contributing back to the society you scorned when you committed your crimes. I trust that you will all be most diligent in your work. Myself and my officers do not take kindly to laziness or disruptive personalities. You will find that your time here will be best employed by the task in front of you. I advise you to not get involved in the business of others.” She gazed impassively at them. Nobody spoke. She nodded her head at one of the guards and departed through a door behind her. The tension on board eased visibly upon her exit. Mr Wall, who looked like he could crack open a watermelon with his bare hands, turned to face them. His expression was surprisingly kind.

  “This way then chaps,” he said. They all filed after him. He led them down a metal staircase into a plain metal corridor that ran down the ship lengthways. The boys and girls were then divided, boys went left, following Mr Painter, who so far hadn’t spoken a word, and the girls went right with Mr Wall. As they walked away Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. She could make out Finn quite easily by his white hair. He was walking erect with his shoulders thrust back. She wondered if he was making a conscious effort to do it or if that was just his usual posture. Her own shoulders were hunched in a subconscious effort to go unnoticed. On an impulse she straightened them. It took a lot more effort than she thought it would. Colt turned around and saw her looking. He winked at her. Sarah blushed and hurriedly turned back to face the others. They branched off the main corridor and passed through a number of heavy steel doors. Each door had an electronic lock system that required Mr Wall to display an encoded bracelet that he wore around his wrist to a well hidden scanner to gain them access. After passing through the fifth door, Mr Wall raised a hand, bringing them to a halt. He rapped his knuckles on the door infront of him. They waited in silence for a full thirty seconds before the door opened to reveal a female guard sitting in a chair. She had not bothered to get up, instead she had leaned as far back as she could while still seated to unlock the door and turn the handle. She was surrounded by monitor screens. Two empty mugs, and one half-full one, all mismatched, bespoke of someone who didn’t clean as a matter of habit.

  “I’ll take over now, Ms Hutchen,” said Mr Wall with busy officialdom. “You see to the ladies.”

  Ms Hutchen managed to give him a look that somehow both conveyed her utter disdain of his position and her displeasure at doing the job he tasked her. The look seemed to have no effect on Mr Wall, who kept on smiling at her pleasantly until she rolled her eyes and heaved herself out of the chair. Ms Hutchen was an extremely tall, slim lady. She might have been pretty had her expression not conveyed a hateful disdain of those around her, and had she not been chewing on something vigorously. She stomped out of the room into the corridor, and Mr Wall slipped in behind her before she could slam the door. Ms Hutchen walked off. The girls, Sarah, Marland, Heather, and April exchanged silent glances before following. In sullen silence Ms Hutchen led them into a long, plain room. There were shower cubicles along one side and sinks lined the other.

  “Chose a cubicle,” droned Ms Hutchen, leaning against one of the sinks. “Get inside, strip, chuck your clothes out here, then shower. I will bring you your new clothes.” She was examining her nails now. “You cannot keep anything, that includes jewellery of any kind, including hair ornaments,” she added, pre-empting a question that, through long repetition of the process, she knew she would be asked. Sarah couldn’t have cared less. Heather, on the other hand, was not happy.

  “This ring is an heirloom,” shouted Heather, sticking her hand out pugnaciously. She pronounced ‘heirloom’ as ‘hair-loom’. The ring was an ugly piece of silver with a large, dull rock in the centre. “It is going nowhere.”

  Ms Hutchen didn’t even bother to look up from clearing the dirt that she had just found under the nail of her pinkie finger. “All your possessions will be kept and returned upon your departure,” she intoned. She might as well have been reading from the manual.

  “You don’t understand,” said Heather, taking a step forward. Her head was cocked back, her chin jutting forward, and she was staring at Ms Hutchen without blinking. “It ain’t, going, nowhere.” She paused between each word, as if trying to get maximum impact out of the statement.

  Ms Hutchen finally looked up from her nails. She reached into her pocket and casually pulled out a silver cylinder as she stared at Heather with boredom.

  “Take if off and put it with your clothes, or not only will I electrocute the living crap out of you, but I will also put you forward for disciplinary action and strongly urge an extension on your sentence.”

  There was a moment where Heather froze. Sarah could almost hear the cogs turning over in her head.

  “This ain’t fair. I have rights.”

  “The moment you stepped on this ship you lost any rights you may have had. Your ass belongs to us now.” There was no venom in that statement. It was simply, as Ms Hutchen saw it, fact. Heather was so unprepared for the plain response that all she did was blink, surprised.

  “What are you all waiting for?” demanded Ms Hutchen, exasperated. “Go have a shower.”

  The rest of the girls, who had been watching the drama without moving, now jolted into action and slid into their cubicles. Sarah closed the door
behind her. The door closed firmly but there was no lock. She quickly took off her clothes and turned the shower on. To her pleasant surprise there was hot water.

  “Slide your possessions under the door,” called out Ms Hutchen. Sarah kicked them out with her foot. She stepped into the stream of water and practically sighed with pleasure. The water felt amazing on her skin. She hadn’t had a hot shower in what felt like years, and she felt particularly grimy and salty from her travels on the bus and the transport boat. At the three minute mark they were told to turn the water off. She did and waited.

  “I will be opening your doors one at a time. I just need to confirm your identity, make sure you aren’t hiding any contraband, and then you can have your clothes. Don’t give me any trouble.”

  Sarah hugged herself involuntarily. She knew this would have to happen at some point. April, who was in the first stall, was the first to be inspected. It was quicker than Sarah expected, which was relieving. Then the knock came on her door and it was opened up. Sarah stood still and pretended she wasn’t there. She felt her face go red.

  “Arm,” demanded Ms Hutchen.

  Sarah stuck out her arm with the burned barcode on it. Ms Hutchen scanned it. She then pulled out another device and tapped Sarah lightly on each shoulder and hip. It lit up green.

  “Turn around.”

  Sarah turned around.

  “What’s this?” demanded Ms Hutchen.

  For a moment Sarah panicked. What did she mean? She didn’t somehow have something stuck to her, did she? Then she relaxed as she realised that Ms Hutchen was asking about the scar. It was a small, white scar that sat on her right shoulder blade. She understood why Ms Hutchen pointed it out. The scar was too well formed to have been an accident. It was the perfect image of an hourglass in a thin circle.

  “How did you get that?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Sarah. She was being honest. She just knew that about five years ago she had woken up one morning and there it was, hot and painful but neatly bandaged. She had asked her mum about it, but she had claimed not to know either.

  “Bullshit you don’t know. That would have hurt like hell. And why that symbol?” She added, more demanding suddenly. “Why the hourglass?”

  “I, I really don’t know,” stammered Sarah, not appreciating the sudden intense attention, especially while she still stood there naked.

  Ms Hutchen looked at her disbelievingly. She opened her mouth to demand more answers but was stalled by an alarm going off on a small device that she wore on her belt. She silenced it irritably and glanced at her watch. She muttered something under her breath about her shift having finished and exited the stall. Ms Hutchen kicked a pile of neatly folded clothes into Sarah’s stall before walking over to the next stall and repeating the routine. It seemed that finishing her shift on time was more important to her than discovering the secret behind Sarah’s scar. Sarah grabbed the clothes with a feeling of relief and put them on. She was provided with underwear, a sports bra, which fit surprisingly well, and a top and pants combination that mimicked medical scrubs. A hairband was also provided and she tied her hair back into a ponytail. By the time she had finished dressing and had exited her stall, Ms Hutchen had made it to the last stall in the row, Heather’s. A beep emanated from the stall. Sarah guessed that it was the device that Ms Hutchen had used to touch her shoulders and hips. Something about Heather had made it go off.

  “Hand it over.” Ms Hutchen’s voice was flat and humourless.

  “I don’t bloody think so,” sneered back Heather’s voice.

  There was a screech of pain and a ripping sound before Ms Hutchen emerged from the stall holding a ring which still had a chunk of hair tied to it. Evidently Heather had gotten bored while waiting and had decided to hide the valued heirloom in her nest of hair. Ms Hutchen kicked a pile of clean clothes into Heather’s stall without even looking, walked over to one of the boxes which now sat on the floor, chose the one furthest away and dropped the ring, hair still attached, inside.

  “We’re going to your cells now.”

  Heather emerged from her stall, hastily dressed and clutching her head where a patch of hair was missing. Some blood was congealing on the area. She was looking at the ground, but every now and then Sarah saw her glance up at Ms Hutchen with a look of utter loathing. She stifled a small, self-satisfied grin. It would do Heather good to realise that she wasn’t always in charge.

  They exited through a different door to the one they had entered and passed through what seemed to be a multitude of corridors and down two flights of stairs before finally entering the cell block. The room had a central corridor that was lined on either side by cells. The corridor size was similar to the rest of the ship, however the walls on either side were made of a thick, clear plastic that allowed you to see directly into each of the cells. Each cell had a bunk bed in it for two people. It was separated from its neighbour by a thin wall of metal. The plastic walls had small circular holes cut into it at intervals at about eye height. It reminded Sarah of a zoo she had been to once when she was little. The air holes resembled those that were punched into the sides of the reptile tanks.

  “Where is everyone?” It was April who spoke. Apparently she didn’t mean to ask out loud, because she threw a quick, concerned glance at Ms Hutchen. Ms Hutchen, who was reading the numbers above each door and comparing it with what she had on her device, couldn’t have cared less that she spoke without permission now that her shift was technically over.

  “They’re all at dinner. They won’t get back for another half an hour. There are some protein bars on your bunk.”

  Ms Hutchen started ascribing them cells. Sarah and Marland were next to each other. April was across the corridor from them, and Heather, much to Sarah’s relief, was separated from them by a good seven cells. Ms Hutchen watched impatiently as they all entered their correct cells before leaving. The door closed behind her with a thud.

  Sarah sat down on the bottom bunk. It was unmade, but there were sheets, a blanket and a cheap toothbrush and hairbrush in a neat pile down the end. The top bunk was made by an inexpert hand. There was less than a metre between the side of her bed and the metal wall opposite. At the far end of the cell was a small toilet and hand basin tucked behind a thin partition. There was a door, but much like the showers it couldn’t be locked. She stared around dismally and caught site of a protein bar on the floor, obviously having slid off the bed. She picked it up, peeled off the wrapper and starting eating, more for something to do than because of actual hunger. There was nothing at all stimulating about the room. Apparently Heather had felt the same, because she was back from visiting her room and was standing in the corridor near their cells. Sarah finished her protein bar, got up and walked out to the corridor. The others had done the same. Even talking to Heather was preferable to sitting in there any longer.

  “Alright, we’re in this shit together,” said Heather, apparently forgetting that only twenty-four hours ago she had ground Sarah’s face into the floor with her foot. “So if any crap goes down, we have to make sure we’re on the right side.”

  April coughed, drawing Heather’s attention.

  “How old are you?” asked Heather in disgust, looking the small girl up and down. “You look like, what, ten?”

  April narrowed her eyes slightly. “I’m thirteen.” She had not been impressed by Heather’s grandstanding and then easy capitulation in the showers. “You stabbed a guy, right? Let me guess, you stabbed him in the back?” The question was more a challenge than a polite enquiry.

  “In the stomach, he was pissing me off.” The obvious implication was that April was also getting dangerously close to pissing Heather off too, so she better watch out.

  “I agree with Heather,” said Marland, much to Sarah’s, and even Heather’s surprise. “We should watch each other’s backs.” Marland’s hands were shaking and Sarah felt a pang of sympathy. She felt her original plan of keeping to herself and trying to go unnoticed shatter. Muc
h to her surprise, she realised that she wanted friends. What’s more, she wanted to be friends with Marland. And if they were all looking out for each other, then maybe, she told herself, having friends might even work out to her advantage. Back home she had been comfortable with being alone, here it felt like being alone was unsafe.

  Sarah nodded. “Ok, we’ll keep our ears open and eyes peeled. If anything happens we’ll let the others know.”

  Heather was staring at them as if they were idiots. “Holy shit you guys are useless. I meant let’s make sure that if there is crap going down, we’re on the winning team. Not this run and hide bullshit.”

  “We don’t even know what it’s going to be like yet,” pointed out Sarah.

  “I’m with you guys,” said April, turning her back to Heather and facing Sarah and Marland, “until we know what the deal is we watch each other’s backs.”

  “Oh look, the kiddie likes your plan,” sneered Heather, obviously irked at being cold-shouldered. “You know what, fine. You guys go ahead and hide out together, but groups like yours won’t last for long. You’ll need to run with the adults eventually.” She turned on her heels and headed back towards her cell. She looked quite pleased with herself, thought Sarah. It was probably the most eloquent thing she had ever said.

  “So we’re agreed then, right?” asked Marland, her hand jerking as she tried to pin an unruly piece of hair behind her ear.

  “Yeah, sure,” said April.

  Sarah nodded.

  Marland gave a small, quick smile. “Right.”

  They stood there awkwardly in silence for a few more seconds before reaching an unspoken consensus where they all returned to their cells. The next twenty minutes were spent by Sarah nervously pacing around the cell block. There were doors on either end of the central corridor, both closed and not responding to anything Sarah tried. The younger girl, April, was watching her efforts mutely.