The Medical School

Chapter Nine

Gong, door, carrying Abby, breakfast, and the Chemical Testing Lab make up the morning of Day Eight.

I'm strapped into a reclining chair, and hundreds of different chemicals of different amounts and concentrations are painted onto my arms in small squares. The worker watches them eat away layers of my skin.

They tell us that the purpose is to 'find out how your unique skin reacts to different chemicals. Aren't you interested to know?'. Some of the mixtures fizzle, some pop, and some are quiet, but all of them hurt.

Lucy gives a small yell each time one is applied to her fragile skin, and each cry kills a little piece of me inside. I can't stand this.

Another, this time larger, piece dies when I glance over at Abby and her crooked arm, which is now covered in small red squares. She doesn't need to be in any more pain than she is already experiencing.

Even if Peter does get something that will help her arm, what will the guards do when they see her wearing it? The girl who spoke to us on our first day had a bandage over her eye, and there are a few pairs of crutches. Maybe the policy here is to patch the kids up just enough to keep them working. I don't know. Maybe Abby will just wear it in our Room.

A new chemical is painted onto my arm and I wince, thinking about how much this is hurting the little ones. My skin is fourteen years old, and thicker than theirs. If I feel like my arms are being skinned, then I can't imagine the damage to theirs.

This is going to be a long seven-and-a-half-hour torture session.

I try to fall asleep, but this time unlike the Motion Reactions Lab, the discomfort is too much. The best I can do is to think about running.

A few hours pass, and I turn my head to the side so I get a change of scenery. Abby is next to me, and Lucy is beside her. Both of them have their eyes closed, despite the continuous application of mystery chemicals. I'm glad that they were able to get some rest and escape the pain.

A worker passes in and out of my field of view, and it's only when he's gone do I realize something strange about the blank wall he walked by.

When I look straight at it, I see nothing. But when I shift my eyes away, something seems to appear for a split second, then vanish just as quick.

I spend a good fifteen minutes squinting at it, until a worker moves a metal cart with a desk lamp on it. The way that the light shines on the wall at an angle lets me know that I'm not imagining things. I see a rectangular outline.

I've found a door.

-

When I'm finally allowed to sit up, I have a heart attack when I see my arms. They're completely covered in little centimeter-wide red spots where the chemicals were brushed on. All of them are a slightly different shade, as some have burned deeper than others.

Abby and I can't hold hands on the way to lunch like we normally do, because our palms are also spotted. It would hurt too much.

We all eat our mashed potatoes by holding the fork between our fingernails. It looks ridiculous, but it's what hurts the least. I keep glancing up at Peter, panic rising in my chest. I almost want to tell him that it's a bad idea, but I know that Abby needs some kind of cast badly.

"Workstations!"

Peter and I look at each other. He gives me a little nod of reassurance, but that doesn't stop me from worrying. I walk toward the Laundry Room, and catch one last glimpse of him heading into another hallway.