Rehabilitation: Romantic Dystopian (Unbelief Series Book 1)

by C. B. Stone

  “That oughta hold him at least ‘til we get to camp,” the man says.

  He turns to look at me. It’s unnerving because I can’t see his eyes through the visor.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me.

  I fold my arms across my chest and lean back against the metal beam that holds up the tarp over our heads. I can’t decide why this soldier seems different, and it only serves to fuel my distrust. “Sinna,” I answer finally.

  He smiles then, and it’s the first time I notice he has full lips and dimples on either end. “Sinna, eh?” he says, that amusement lacing his voice again. “Interesting. What are you in for?”

  I keep my mouth shut, deciding I don’t particularly like his amusement.

  As though sensing my reluctance, he lets out a sigh and does something that shocks me. He pushes his visor up onto his hat so I can see his eyes. They are brown with a hint of green around the edges and flicker with a surprising amount of warmth.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  “I guess you all are here for the same thing,” he says, his warm eyes locked on mine. “This your first time?”

  “Obviously,” I can’t help but saying. “No one goes to Rehabilitation twice.”

  His smile widens and it occurs to me that he’s attractive. Not like Jacob who is so charismatic he would be attractive even if he had been the ugliest man in the world. No, this man—if I can even call him that, he looks closer to my age than that of a soldier—is attractive simply because his features are put together perfectly.

  “Oh, my mistake,” he says, but it’s mocking.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He tilts his head to the side, then makes a humming noise in his throat. Shrugging his shoulders he says, “Nothing.”

  I’m about to push further to find out what he means, but he gives me a sly smile before I even get the chance.

  “Wanna escape?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes and a smile on his face.

  I stare at him like he’s a crazy person. Mostly because he has to be a crazy person. People don’t just ask someone if they want to escape, and even if they do, it’s got to be a trick question. Even if someone wants to escape, there’s still nowhere to escape to.

  “Are you crazy?” I ask finally.

  He laughs at me, then quiets down as he notices several of the other candidates for Rehabilitation glance back toward us. Composing himself, he winks at me. “Maybe a little.”

  I don’t know what his game is, but I just shake my head at him. No, is my answer, no matter what kind of games he’s playing. Or even if he’s not playing one. “No, I don’t.”

  His eyebrows raise high on his head as he stares at me in surprise then demands, “Now who’s crazy?”

  He has a point. Only a crazy person would think escape was an option, but only a crazier person wouldn’t even want to escape. Which I guess makes me stark raving nuts.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t need to escape,” I tell him, wondering how I can explain this without giving my plan away to a soldier. “Whatever Rehabilitation throws at me, I know I’ll survive.”

  He stares at me for a while. Tilting his head to the side, studying my face, he looks to come to some sort of decision about me. After a moment, he breaks into a wide grin. “You know, I think maybe you’re right.”

  I’m about to ask him what he means when a voice from up front, the driver, comes back to us. It’s loud and irritated as he says, “Shut up back there! This isn’t play time.”

  We fall silent after that. He puts his visor back on to cover his eyes and I spend the rest of the journey trying not to pay any attention to him.

  Which of course I fail at, miserably.

  XI

  The soldier I talked to earlier when we first got into the truck has fallen asleep—I think. He might just be faking. It makes me wonder if he knows how hopeless it is for us and sees no point even bothering to guard us. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. After all, he did offer to help me to escape.

  I’ve been mulling that over for pretty much the entire trip. I don’t know why he would make such an offer. I also don’t know why he didn’t make it to anyone else.

  I don’t know why he even cared.

  After a while, the truck slows. I want to look outside and see what’s going on, where we are, but I don’t bother. There aren’t any windows in the tarp and I know I’ll figure out where we are soon enough.

  We come to a bumpy halt, the engine idling for several long moments. I think maybe we’ve arrived, but then the soldier wakes up beside me. As he stretches he says, “Must be at the gates.” Looking over at me—I think anyway, he’s still wearing the dumb visor—he adds, “It’s not too late to escape. We’ve still got another mile before we reach the camp.”

  I just hug myself tighter and give my head a sharp shake, not saying anything.

  He looks thoughtful again, but shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  He’s right about not being there yet, though. The truck lurches and we start moving forward again. I debate with myself for a moment, wondering if it’s a good idea, but decide I’m too curious. I want to know why there’s another mile to go when I’m pretty sure we’ve just stopped at a check point.

  The soldier said gates and gates mean we’ve gotten to wherever we’re going, right?

  “Hey,” I say, getting the soldier’s attention. He looks my way, flipping up his visor so I can see his eyes.

  “Alex,” he says in response.

  I frown. “What?”

  “Alex,” he repeats. “My name is Alex.”

  Shrugging, I say, “Alright. Alex. Why do we have another mile to go? I mean, you said that was the gate. Doesn’t that mean we’ve arrived?”

  Alex shakes his head before I’ve even finished my question. His expression is serious, and maybe sad, as he begins to explain. “Sort of. I mean, we’re here in the sense that within those gates is the camp, but there’s still another mile of, well, nothing. It’s just barren land.”

  “Why?”

  He takes his hat off for a moment so he can run a hand through his thick hair. I notice his hands look strong, and his hair looks clean and well-kept. Unlike mine which is often a tangled and rather mousy mess. The soldiers are obviously better taken care of than I am.

  “Well,” he begins. “If there’s a mile of nothing—no trees, no buildings, no shelter to speak of—between the camp and the entry gate, then it’s extremely hard to escape unless you’re driving, right? And when you add in some frozen tundra, a wall around the perimeter with some spikes on top, not to mention guards and spotlights... you’ve got a difficult place to break out of, you know?”

  His voice is casual, like none of this concerns him, like nothing in the world concerns him at all, but I don’t know what to make of it. I wonder if it’s an act—I hope it is, because no one should be that unconcerned with anything. Not even an Elite soldier.

  They’re strict, reminiscent of robots, it’s true, but usually at least, they don’t act like they know there’s something wrong with the world and just don’t care.

  They usually appear to be doing what they think is best.

  I think.

  I open my mouth, about to ask more questions, when the truck grinds to a halt. The others at the far end of the truck bed are all shaking, and I know it’s not entirely from the cold. They’re scared.

  I am too, but I refuse to acknowledge it or reveal it to the Elite.

  Alex has put both his cap and visor back on, standing up from his seated position so when the tarp yanks open, he jumps down to join the other soldiers. As soon as he stands among them, I’ve lost track of him. He looks just like all the rest.

  “Everyone out,” a gruff voice calls into the truck.

  They all remain still, but only for a moment because when no one starts to move under their own steam, two large soldiers grab me by the arms and drag me out of the truck. I start protesting before I even realize what I�
�m doing.

  “Let me go!” I yell at them.

  I struggle to escape their grip, but it’s useless. They drag me away when my feet hit the ground, and by making an example of me, they have motivated the rest. As I’m twisting and turning, trying to get out of their hold, I see the others filing calmly out of the truck.

  No one’s resisting now.

  Except for me. I continue to struggle and fight against them, trying to get away, but I know it’s useless. They’re too big for me. They drag me through the camp relentlessly, giving me my first taste of Rehabilitation.

  There are tents all over and a large round pit where a fire burns. People dressed in gray walk closely along the outside of the pit, as near as they can without getting burned. They’re clearly freezing. They’re wearing collars around their necks that look similar to the wristband I wore for my testing.

  Most of them are carrying something, heading toward what looks like a box in the snow, with a ladder going deep underground.

  I only get a glimpse of the box though, because before I know it, I’m being dragged away in another direction. There’s something else that looks built into the ground, but this one is round instead of square and no one else is going into it.

  “You’re here until you learn something,” one of the men dragging me growls, and I can detect the slightest hint of sick pleasure lacing his voice.

  It’s the last thing I hear before I’m released from their hold—only to be dropped like a sack of garbage into a dank, freezing hole.

  XII

  I tumble into the hole, colliding hard with the cold ground before I realize what has happened. I land on my arm, a cry escaping my lips as pain shoots through it. It hurts so badly my vision goes black for a moment. It takes a long time, with me just lying there, waiting for the pain to ebb away, before I’m able to pull myself together and sit up. That’s when I start to look around.

  The walls are curved, made of stone and mortar, so they give off no warmth to speak of. What’s worse, there’s a puddle of water at the bottom covering most of the ground, which is hard beneath the water. Some of it has just frozen over altogether, and that’s where I landed, which explains why it hurt so much.

  Looking up, I see the hole I was dropped through. It’s nearly twenty feet above me and part of me can’t help but wonder how I survived at all. I could have landed on my head and broken my neck or something.

  Had they intended for me to survive it?

  The soldier had said ‘until I learned something’, so I have to assume that when they threw me down this hole, they knew I’d be alright. Otherwise, it means they just don’t care if I die.

  I shiver, feeling shaken and confused. It’s freezing down here between the rocks and the water and ice. I’m dressed for the cold, but just barely. Boots, pants, my warmest coat and a sweater, plus my scarf. But I’m not sure it’ll be enough. It depends on how long they’re going to keep me down here.

  “Hey!” I yell out, aiming my voice upwards toward the mouth of the hole. “Hey!” My voice bounces along the interior of the walls, echoing around me but not achieving my goal.

  I try several more times to call out, but it’s clear no one’s listening. Feeling defeated, I place my hands along the wall, following it all the way around as I walk in a circle. I’m hoping to find something that will help me get out of here, but I think I knew it was useless even before I started. By the time I’ve finished, I know there is no hope for escape. I sigh, fear, tension and the freezing cold weighing on me, making me feel suddenly exhausted.

  Clearly I’m stuck here until they’ve decided ‘I’ve learned something’ however long that takes.

  Pulling as tight into myself as I can, I crouch down, propped against one of the walls, unwilling to sit in the freezing water. There, I wait.

  I wait as the light from the hole above me fades.

  I wait as the water starts to soak through my boots.

  I wait as my body becomes so cold, it might as well be numb, and the darkness is like a thick black blanket around me.

  I try not to fall asleep, worried if I fade out when I’m this cold, I might not wake up. That’s one of the things to worry about, right? Except I can’t help it. My eyelids droop heavily, in a desperate attempt to protect my stinging eyes.

  Though I’m trying my hardest, I’m about to fall asleep anyway. Until something hard and sharp hits me on the head. The sudden pain makes me jerk awake and lose my balance at the same time. I fall over into the half frozen water with a splash, crying out against icy cold as it seeps into my clothes.

  I pull myself out of it immediately, stepping into the shallowest part I can feel, but it’s no use. I’m soaking wet now, and freezing even more.

  Wondering what hit me, I look up, thinking it came from the hole. “Hello?” I ask, but hear nothing. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Still nothing. I start to think no one will answer, but then a male voice calls down, “Don’t fall asleep.”

  “Who are you? Hello?!” It’s a relief to hear someone else’s voice and I try to call out to whoever it is again, but I get no response. Whoever it was has already gone.

  Cold, tired, and feeling more afraid than I’ve ever felt, I stay standing this time, staring up at the opening. That’s when I notice the light has begun to return. It’s morning. I’m at least partially relieved, hoping the sun seeping into the hole’s opening will warm things up a bit.

  It doesn’t.

  I remain freezing all day, because though the light comes about halfway down the hole, it never actually reaches the bottom. It doesn’t even reach the top of my head. I hold myself tighter, and wait some more.

  I wait to hear from someone, anyone, but there’s only silence.

  I wait until I see the sun drop from the sky again.

  I wait until my stomach growls and I start to think maybe it was a mistake I ever came here. I feel tears well up, and blink them back, my anger creating a lump in my throat that feels as if it’s choking me.

  “What was I thinking?” I ask to myself.

  I had been thinking Jacob needed my help and that somehow I could save him. How stupid had I been? Miriam had told me this was the only way, but what did she know? Sure she had been here, but had she been here? In this hole? Watching the sun as it never reached her, waiting as her clothing soaked through and then turned into ice she had to shake off?

  No, no she would have told me about that. But she didn’t. Because she didn’t care. She let me come here knowing how bad it was, knowing I would be put through hell, and for what? How could she do this to me?

  I spent the rest of the night raging against Miriam, needing someone on which to place blame—and more than that needing to stay awake. By morning though, I’ve moved on. Now, I’m wondering how she ever survived a place like this. Poor, little, haunted Miriam. So fragile.

  Who would do something so horrible to someone so gentle?

  “The Elite,” I mutter out loud to myself. “And for what? Because you thought she believed in something you don’t?”

  My voice echoing back is the only response I get.

  “That’s just stupid,” I continue, getting angry now. “Everything’s stupid. It’s stupid she was here, it’s stupid that I’m here, and it’s stupid Jacob’s here. For what? For nothing!” It is nothing. All this Believing stuff? It’s nonsense. Utter nonsense, because if there was truly a God out there, would He let this stuff happen to people? Would He just look down on us and wave, saying, “Gee, that all looks swell to me”?

  No. He wouldn’t. Unless he’s not a very good God. If he just likes people to suffer maybe, then sure. But the way Jacob talks about Him? That’s just pure and complete nonsense. There’s no great Creator out there who loves all of us like His children. Fathers don’t make their children suffer.

  He isn’t real. He isn’t real. “He isn’t real!” I yell out to the well, screaming as loud as I can.

  My voice echoes several times, traveling up and up,
and then it fades. I’m left in silence. I didn’t realize, but as my hands reach up to touch my cheeks, I feel the tears that welled earlier have spilled and I’m crying.

  “How come you won’t save me?” I whisper, staring up at the hole. “Am I a bad person?” Obviously Jacob has had more of an effect on me than I’ve realized, because I never would have asked the question if not for him.

  And I don’t expect an answer. No one’s listening, I know, but I have to ask anyway, because of Jacob. I have to know.

  That’s why it surprises me so much when a rope drops down right beside me. I stare at it for a long moment, then my eyes follow it up. It’s dark outside again, so I can’t see much, but I think a shadow is leaning over the hole.

  “Climb,” comes the single word drifting down to my ears.

  XIII

  I hear it again, and give my head a tiny shake, wondering if maybe I’m hearing things. “Climb.”

  It’s that male voice again. I think I must be hallucinating or this is some kind of trick. A test, maybe? How could it be that there’s a rope hanging down in front of me, just when I’ve given up, when I’ve conceded that it’s hopeless?

  Hesitating, I reach out, feeling for the rope. The rope is real. It’s solid and sort of soft in my hand, moving as I give it a small shake.

  “Hurry!” comes the voice again. “We don’t have much time.”

  The voice sounds familiar, like I know whoever is at the other end, but I can’t be sure. He’s only a silhouette against the night sky. But I do know one thing: I have to climb. It doesn’t matter if this is a trick or a test or anything else, I have to climb.

  I can’t stay here anymore.

  Wrapping my other hand around the dangling rope, I tighten my hands as much as I can, then start to pull. I tug myself upwards, finding it hard and slow going. “I’m coming,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I’m coming.”