The Bearing

12. The Storm

It's hailing. It's never hailed before. The URA claims that, since they've established the perfect utopia, they've abolished any bad weather. It must have been the force field maintaining the nice weather and clear skies. I stare outside my jail cell window, awaiting my death.

Sure enough, as if on cue, I hear footsteps from the stairwell. It's Mustache and Cookie-beard once again.

"You already know what's coming, Leah," Mustache huffs, rolling his eyes, clearly exasperated with me. "You cannot escape your doom now. There is no way out."

Cookie-beard unlocks my jail cell and yanks me by the arm, making my handcuffs rattle and tighten around my wrists. The other prisoners stare at me, wide-eyed and clenching their teeth with apprehension for their own fates. As the AA leader's daughter, I must be another figurehead for them, even though they were angry at me. If somebody had told me three months ago that anyone would ever look up to me as a hero, I would have scoffed in disbelief. Now, here I am, being escorted to my imminent death like some sort of martyr, dying for the most worthwhile cause imaginable. Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. With every step I take, I grow sure that this was what I was meant to do. Everyone has to die at some point, so why not die for something bigger than myself?

I feel as if I'm walking in slow-motion, as the familiar white walls of the URA glide past me. These walls used to represent comfort, safety, and hard work; it's so funny how the old career that I strived for means absolutely nothing now. We approach the elevator, which detects our presence and dings automatically.

Mrs. Adams is standing inside, wearing a high ponytail and a plain expression. Oddly enough, I expected her to be more disappointed in me or at least somewhat critical, but she keeps a straight face and stares ahead at the door as it shuts.

Strangely, the red light on the elevator monitor stops glowing. The room goes black. Loud scuffling and thudding resonate in the tiny box. The lights flash on for a second. Mrs. Adams brandishes a knife in the dim glow. She lacerates the throats of Mustache and Cookie-beard. I'm thrown back into darkness as the doors open slowly. Their dead bodies slump out of the elevator. Mrs. Adams takes my arm and helps me step over them, then cuts the handcuffs off with her sharp knife. When the doors close again, the heavy metal shuts on their torsos with a definite, rich squelching noise. The elevator starts upward, moving their bodies toward the ceiling. They press against it and rip from the pressure, leaving their upper halves bleeding out and guts spilling over the white linoleum floor. Their eyes stare vacantly at us while their heads loll lifelessly to the side, necks continuing to gush a seemingly endless supply of blood.

Mrs. Adams turns to me, now with a broad grin on her face. "You really didn't think we had spies in the URA?"

"But you're his literal secretary," I say, astounded. "How'd you get away with it?"

"Nobody would suspect it." She leans toward me and whispers, "I was forced to give up my third child. I never forgave them. Now, come on, we have to hurry and free the rest!"

We head downstairs together, fleeing down the winding steps as fast as our feet will carry us. We reach the jail cell doors. Mrs. Adams presses her thumb to the doors, which open for her. All of the rebel prisoners jump to their feet in joy.

"Leah! You're alive!" The burly man smiles at me for the first time. Mrs. Adams darts to each of their cells and unlocks them with her fingerprint.

No happy moment lasts for very long. A deafening alarm blares throughout the building. Loud thudding footsteps coming down the stairwell signal danger. The robotic men in black jumpsuits enter the room in perfect unison as if controlled by one brain. Each of their eyes locks on a single prisoner for their target and springs on them at the same time.