Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

45. More Holes than Carakian Cheese

20th of Arrestre

"Remember, take a left out of the 'Dissection Room' and go down the hall a ways. The servant's access will be on your _"

"Right," I whispered, sliding my empty tray back through the gap.

"— right. Aye. Good. I think you've got it," Kenoa said quietly, taking the tray. "Aye... well..." He cleared his throat. "May all go well with ya, meilah."

I nodded and gave him a little smile, knowing he could see me through his side of the glass even if I could only see my reflection.

As he wheeled the meal trolley on toward NaVarre's cell, I took up a position on the floor, back against the wall first, then slowly slumping down until I was sprawled out flat, as if I had just succumbed to the drugs and fallen over where I was. That was for the benefit of the viewing porthole positioned to look in through the glass door, allowing the men in the guardroom to watch each prisoner. Kenoa had said that was how they knew the drugs had taken effect.

The scent of the soup and bread lingered in the air, calling to me from the pile of bedding I had hidden it in. I couldn't eat it, and Kenoa couldn't take it back with him, so I had concealed it by pouring it surreptitiously into my blankets and then shoving them under the bed. Still, I didn't like how much I wanted that soup. It was like an itch growing in my skin, a craving that was proving difficult to ignore. It bubbled and festered, planting thoughts in my mind of trying to lick the soup out of the blanket and crawling under the bed to see if there was any on the floor.

Grinding my teeth, I forced my limbs to stay put.

There were footsteps in the hallway. I had never been awake for this part, and I pushed that longing for a taste of soup into the background.

Make a place in your head where no one can find you... lock yourself in there... hold onto that, don't let anyone in... I slowed my breathing. In. Out. Calm. Even...

In. Out.

They didn't try to be subtle, didn't even attempt to keep from waking me. Two guards simply opened the doorway, obviously believing that I couldn't hear or feel anything as they tromped into my cell, bent over me, and flipped me roughly onto my back. Then one grabbed my arms, the other my legs, and they hefted me off the floor.

In. Out... I kept my body limp as a rag doll, offering no resistance as they carried me out into the hallway and slung me onto the hard, flat metal bed of a medical gurney.

In. Out...

The gurney wheels began moving, squeaking faintly as one of the guards began pushing the thing down the corridor to the door, just like Kenoa had said they would. They took me past a guard station, where two men watched a bank of glowing portholes, then there was a turn to the right, then another hallway and a turn to the left, then on through two sets of doors and into a brightly lit room that smelled of astringent and lye.

"Ah. Good, good," Karronido muttered from off to my left. There was a rustle of fabric and a shuffle of feet, then a faint tink-tink — as if he had just put some sort of medical instrument on a tray.

My insides knotted up, and my entire being wanted to fly off that gurney and away from what was coming. I had to fight a wave of terror to keep myself lying there while the guards proceeded to fetch a bunch of leather straps from a nearby rack, and Karronido arranged his knives.

This was one of the holes in NaVarre's plan. Kenoa had never seen what, exactly, Karronido did to his prisoners once they reached this room. All he had been able to do was get me out of my cell. The rest was up to me. Chilly tendrils of panic coiled through my chest, sending gooseflesh racing over my skin as the guards began strapping me to the gurney, their movements methodical and rehearsed.