What would Joanie do in my place? Calm down and get it together, girl. That’s exactly what she’d say. And she would have been right. I had to face the fact that I was a prisoner. At some point, my captors would have to show their faces.
I banged on the steel door. “Hey, anyone out there?” I paused, listening with my ear to the metal before I pounded again. “Let me out of here.” No movement, but I thought I heard a clattering sound echo from somewhere distant.
Grasping the handle, I yanked as hard as I could, trying to twist it. Grimacing through the aching all over my body, I braced my feet against the wall and used my entire 120 pounds. Hopeless. Security was tight, and I knew my captors were professionals.
Grunting, I gave the door one last kick. “Let me out, you bastards,” I shrieked as loud as I could, my face to the window. Then I retraced my steps, stared into the camera, and flipped it the middle finger. I swooped up the beanbag chair and flung it at the camera, hoping I would shatter it. No luck. A transparent cage protected it.
I gazed at the bathroom area and had an idea. I balanced the beanbag on the concrete half-wall, then tossed the green circular rug on top. It would shield me from the camera’s view. Bet that would piss someone off.
I wedged myself into the cramped space between the toilet and half-wall, triumphant that at least I’d outsmarted the watchers for now. Breathing deeply, I tried to calm down and consider my situation. Peering down, I studied the needle marks on my forearms, then searched the rest of my body under the gown. I found a small bandage high on my right thigh. I tore it off and discovered a thin gash. It looked to be from an incision.
Was this a hospital? It seemed more like a prison. But somebody would come retrieve me at some point. And before that happened, I needed a plan and fast.
Step one: Figure out who the hell I was dealing with. Would my rug over the beanbag trick work to make them angry? At least it would buy me a little privacy.
Step two: Find a weapon.
Step three: Get the hell out of here.
Seven
Several hours passed with no sign of people. My stomach growled; the last meal I’d eaten was breakfast the day I left Woodlawn. Was that yesterday? I could only guess. Scooping handfuls of water from the small sink, I tried to quell my complaining belly.
I crouched in my hideaway spot next to the toilet the entire time. Were they starving me until I reappeared? With nothing to entertain me, my thoughts returned to the Jensens. Had they tricked Mr. Kilpatrick at Woodlawn or had he known they would kidnap me? Perhaps they even paid him off? He'd looked all too pleased to get rid of me. Replaying the memories of the cruiser and my short passage onto the plane, I scoured my brain for any clues.
The large metal cases in the cruiser had said Frontier Medical Laboratory. The name was etched in my mind. Was that where I’d been taken? It made sense, given they'd stuck an IV into me, shaved my head, and injected something into my thigh. Not only was I caged, I was a medical lab rat.
The sound of metal slamming in the hallway broke my concentration. I scrambled to my feet and stood in the middle of the room. At the bottom of the sturdy metal door, a panel slid open that I hadn’t noticed earlier. Someone shoved a tray of food through. Heavy footsteps clomped away. Racing to the glass portal, I peered left to glimpse my captor. The man was six feet tall with a broad back and slight hunch to his shoulders. Dressed in a navy-blue shirt and pants, he had dark brown wavy hair.
I banged on the door after him. “Hey, wait. Come back!” But he disappeared from view as quickly as he had tossed my food through. Staring down at the plate, I hesitated. Could the meal contain drugs to sedate me?
I should revolt—starve myself in rebellion. But my eyes kept traveling to the large sandwich, plastic cup of corn, and crackers. My stomach rumbled again, reminding me how desperate I was. I carried the tray into my hidden corner and sniffed the contents. The smell of bread, turkey, and mayo tantalized me so, I couldn’t resist devouring the sandwich. After I licked my fingers, then the plate, I leaned against the wall.
Why hadn’t the guard at least looked into my cell? Checked I was okay? As I paced the room, an idea formed. I clutched my stomach and sank to my knees. I started groaning and writhing on the floor, hamming it up for the camera.
Then I crawled to the door and fingered the panel, trying to slide it open. After trial and error, I discovered I could press against both edges until the panel finally slid open. I thrust my hands out and wiggled them. “Help,” I yelled. “Please, help. I’m sick. I’m allergic to something in the food.” I swung my leg up and kicked the door twice. “Please, help me. I need medicine. It’s in my backpack.” Would they fall for it? I could only hope.
After a minute, footsteps sounded, and I spied a pair of black boots outside, near my fingers. A gruff, masculine voice bellowed, “What’s the problem?”
“I’m allergic. Very sick. I’ll die if I don’t get my meds… my backpack.” I gasped for air.
“Step away from the door,” he said.
I rolled back a foot and squatted, ready to pounce. Outside, a computer-generated voice said, “Access granted.” Biometrics. Damn. I wished it were old-fashioned keys that would be easier to steal.
He pushed the door open, and I braced to hurl myself at him. But as I gazed up at the same blue uniform and brown hair I’d glimpsed earlier, I recoiled. Fur-like dark hair covered his face, arms, and hands. He was unlike anyone I’d ever seen before. Instead of a nose, he had a canine muzzle. He glared at me with unblinking, almond-shaped, golden eyes that rooted me to the spot. My gaze traveled to his oversized hands and sharp claws. He held a long black baton, gripped in a ready position.
I slowly rose to my feet, then shrank away from the freakish guard. “Who are you?” I said as I edged against the far wall.
He frowned. “Sick?”
I looked at the camera, then him. “I-I… feel better now.” He seemed like he could hurt me, tear me apart with those claws. Would he?
Then he shook his head and turned to leave. “I’ll summon the doctor.”
He secured the door behind him.
Eight
“Good afternoon, Ida,” the man in the light blue sweater said. “I’m Dr. Kenmore.” He smiled. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Was it the food? I’ve told them over and over to avoid any nuts—”
“What am I doing here?” I held my chin high. “You can’t hold me against my will.”
He fidgeted with his glasses, dropping them so they hung from a chain around his neck. Crow’s feet were etched deep in the thin skin surrounding his eyes. “Oh, I’m not holding you here. I’m just the doctor.”
I edged away. “What do you mean? Where am I? Is this Frontier Medical Lab?”
He cocked his head. “How did you get that idea?”
Near the door, the same guard waited with his baton. When I stared at him, I couldn’t help think he looked like a cross between a wolf and a man. How had he become that way? Or was he born like that?
Dr. Kenmore noticed my wary gaze. He nodded at the guard and whispered, “What do you think of him?”
I crossed my arms. “Why am I here? Why are you keeping me locked in here?”
“Ida, everything will be revealed in due course. Please sit down on the bed and let me examine you for injuries,” he said, opening a silver medical bag from which he pulled out a stethoscope.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed. “I’ve already been injured. By you and whatever bastards are holding me here. Why was my head shaved? Huh?” I stomped, feeling adrenaline course through me. Could I find a weapon in his bag? Maybe a knife so I could stab them and escape.
“Now, Ida,” he said, raising his hands slightly, “Calm down. Let’s not turn this ugly.”
“Screw you, asshole.” I reared back and spat at him. It landed on his neck.
His smile faded, and he flushed crimson. “The rules have changed, now. You are to cooperate and obey orders, or you’ll be punished.”
“What? Punish me by drugging me and operating on me more? That’s already the worst punishment I can think of.”
He wiped his neck with his sleeve and frowned. “You’ll discover much worse. Just wait.” The warm doctor who had first arrived now snapped in a threatening, icy tone. He dug into his bag and retrieved a long syringe.
I cringed. I freaking hated needles. Glancing at the guard, I wondered if he felt sorry for me. He lowered his gaze, avoiding my stare. “Where are the others you brought here, huh?”
Kenmore approached with raised needle, but I lashed at him with a strong front kick. He was expecting it, and I only grazed his knee before he dodged sideways.
“Where are you keeping the others like me? When I get out of here, I’ll find you and hurt you.” I raised my fists and bent my knees, ready to defend myself from attack. No way in hell was I letting that needle near me.
Without emotion, Kenmore retreated and nodded to the guard. “Subdue her, Peterson.”
The beastly man lurched forward, his baton pointed at me. He was about the same height as Marc, but he was no boy—he was solid. Could I even knock him down?
Peterson approached, arm outstretched, and the end of the baton buzzed with the sound of electricity. A stunner. Shit. I’d encountered a stun gun once when a rival street gang threatened my group with one. I’d seen it take someone down and didn’t want to find out what the jolt felt like. Eyeing the live weapon, I raised my left knee, hopped, landed it, and launched my right leg up in a massive shin kick, striking his hand. The baton went flying and hit the ceiling, then clattered into the corner near the toilet.
“What are you waiting for? She’s just a girl,” tutted Dr. Kenmore.
Peterson clenched his fists and snarled, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth with gleaming large canines. I shrank back. What was he?
Then he leaped on me, his bulky mass sending me careening onto the hard concrete floor. I gasped as the wind was knocked from my body, and I felt all my recent bruises throbbing all over again. I was helpless. He tossed me forward on my stomach like a rag toy then grabbed my wrists and held me down. Something heavy bore into the small of my back. His knee, maybe.
Kenmore approached. I flailed and squirmed underneath Peterson, kicking my legs with all my strength to no avail. I was no match for his sheer brute force.
The prick of the needle in my thigh caused me to scream.
As my vision grew foggy and everything faded to black, Peterson’s claws dug into my arms.
Nine
Later, I woke with no idea how much time had passed. Damn drugs. I hated being so helpless and out of control. In what I assumed was my bed, darkness surrounded me.
I pushed myself up against the wall. My left shoulder was tender—a memento of the wolf-like guard, Peterson, knocking me down and wrenching my arm. My temples throbbed, and soreness racked my body.
As I waited for the lights to turn on and the prospect of my next meal, I considered my situation. I was alone in a cell, possibly in a place called Frontier Medical Lab. Had Dr. Kenmore’s momentary surprise been a slip?
My only contact so far had been with Dr. Kenmore and Peterson. The doctor I could overwhelm and beat the shit out of given the opportunity. Peterson, on the other hand… I had no chance against his superior strength and mass.
His strange animal-like appearance haunted me. I’d seen no one like him. Half-human, half-wolf. This was a medical facility, and they were obviously conducting experiments on people. Could he have been manipulated somehow to become an animal?
A chill ran down my spine. Would they do the same to me?
I jumped as the lights flashed on and illuminated the tiny cell. I scrambled out of bed only to find the beanbag chair and rug had disappeared. Damn them. I sprinted up to the camera above the door, my one constant companion, and flipped off the watchers. I knew it was pointless, but I felt better for doing it.
At their mercy. On their schedule. Shit on a brick; I hated having no control. At least at Woodlawn, I could escape to the yard, find a private spot. There’d always been books to read, as I devoured new ones every time I switched centers.
Here, they’d given me nothing. Was a lack of stimuli part of their warped experiments? Then, I remembered an old book I’d read, The Island of Dr. Moreau. Joanie had swiped it at a street market one day. In the story, a shipwrecked man ended up on a creepy island where the inhabitants, Dr. Moreau and his sidekick, experimented on animals. Moreau transformed them into animal-human hybrids. Was that what Peterson was?
Crouched in my hidden corner, I examined my body. This time, I found two small bandages on my stomach and one on my shoulder. Clenching my fists, I pounded the wall, choking back angry tears. Then I pulled myself together. I refused to let the watchers see me broken or suffering. Gulping air deep into my lungs, steadying my breath, I emerged into view.
Despite being sore, I did jumping jacks and high knee kicks. Screw this place. I vowed to keep up my physical strength. I would have to be ready to fight when the time came.
Peterson’s stun baton was the only weapon I’d seen so far. If I could grab it, maybe I could use it on him and other guards. But if a bunch attacked me all at once, they would overpower me. If only I could talk to the other prisoners, form a plan.
The lying couple that had adopted me were bad; Dr. Kenmore seemed even worse. Was he the one doing experiments on me while I was drugged? If so, I needed to be wary of him. What about Peterson? Had Kenmore experimented on him against his will too? Did that mean Peterson might help me?
Knowing he would bring a tray of food this morning, I lingered by the door, keeping watch on the hallway. Sure enough, a while later, Peterson shuffled along, head down, with a cart of trays. So, the other prisoners were nearby.
I banged my fist against the window. “Peterson,” I said, trying to hijack his attention.
He glanced at me with his unusual ochre eyes, then mumbled something I couldn’t hear.
“Help me. I’m being held against my will and operated on. Let me out or get help.”
After sliding my tray through, he pushed on.
“Peterson, I’m being tortured, experimented on like a rat. Help me.”
He walked out of sight and out of earshot. But I had spied a metallic card at his waist that must have been his badge. It must have allowed him access to my cell and through the hallways of this hellhole lab.
I knew my plan.
Get that card.
Ten
Days passed before I could take action on my newly formed plan. I’d fallen into a routine. Peterson, with his eerie, bestial demeanor, brought me food daily. Every other day, he escorted me from my cell to Dr. Kenmore’s office where he interviewed me and ran tests like blood work, urine samples, taking my height and weight. I guessed he was studying the effects of whatever surgeries he’d been performing on me. It had been a week since I’d discovered any new bandages, so I was relieved, but still nervous. I hoped to find an escape route before they put me under again.
Peterson was habitual. “Step into the center of the room, hands behind your back, palms open, feet spread,” he would say before opening the door to my cell.
I obeyed because I wanted to get on his good side. Could I win him over? And would he ultimately help me escape? Either way, I needed to steal his badge. It was my key out of this hell.
On our trips to Kenmore’s office, Peterson always handcuffed and blindfolded me. Tight security. They didn’t want me knowing my surroundings or seeing the other prisoners. What else were they hiding?
As he shuffled me down the hallways en route to Kenmore, I tried my best to engage him. “How did you end up here?”
Silence.
“Why do you help that creep?”
Nothing. He was good at ignoring me. “Know any good jokes?” I asked.
“Keep moving and stay quiet.”
“Two peanuts walk into an alley.” I paused for dramatic effect. “One was a salted.”
I swear he must’ve smiled. Too bad I was blindfolded.
The visits with Kenmore were monotonous. As well as the medical tests, he’d ask me routine questions about whether I’d experienced any pain or noticed anything unusual. I mumbled answers and avoided eye contact. I wanted to be dull and lead him into underestimating me.
It took all my strength of will not to dropkick him when Peterson uncuffed me, but I cooperated. I watched for any sign of weakness. When the time came, I would seize my chance to escape.
I wished I could talk with the other prisoners, or even know their whereabouts. But the isolation meant I would have to break free on my own, then summon help. I only hoped the outside would be friendly and English-speaking. Could they have taken me off of Earth into space? I supposed anything was possible. I could be in a submarine, for all I knew. But I couldn’t control that.
Focus on my escape. That was how I occupied my time.
Today, Dr. Kenmore seemed chipper. “You’ve been a good girl, Ida. Well-behaved lately.”
Fine. Let the bastard think that. I couldn’t wait to stomp on his face one day.
He glanced at Peterson. “There’ll be a reward in your room when you return.”
My room. It took all my self-control not to shout at him that it was a freaking prison chamber. I averted my gaze, pressed my lips together, and dug my nails into my palm to keep from screaming.
As Peterson accompanied me to my quarters, I stayed mute, mulling over the prospect of what I would find. I had learned to count the steps—1,160 between my cell and Dr. K’s office, give or take five steps. On step 980, Peterson whispered, “What did one electron say to the other?”
I flinched before a smile crept onto my face. “What?”
“Don’t get excited. You’ll only put yourself in a state.”
The Rogue Spark series Box Set Page 3
