S.M.A.R.T. (The Subject of Mind Altering Research and Testing)

Chapter Nineteen

The corridors by the kitchens were one big area, the kitchens and the quarters all confined to one big section of the facility. Jim never needed to worry about passwords when he left the kitchens. Anywhere that he had to go, he would be escorted by a guard, who knew the passwords. There was something he found amusing about having his own escort. He liked to think of him as his body-guard, it made the day easier, pretending he was a secret agent, on some important mission. It kept his attitude up, but he knew deep down, the guard was a chaperone, and that he was only a disposable cook, who was lucky to have lived through his first month here, where a group of other cooks had convinced him trying to escape would be a clever plan, and two of them got themselves turned into what they might have said themselves resembled well-done pasta. They certainly stuck to the wall.

Jim stayed awake late in his room that whole week, waited until it was quiet, and until he knew everybody had gone to bed. He noted that the last person usually went to bed around eleven, and wouldn't fall asleep for another hour. Jim could tell when he had finally dozed off by his snoring. It was so loud you could hear it from the room over, where the head cook slept on his twin-sized captain's bed. The man was fat as one might expect, working in kitchens his whole life. He was the head cook, and much older than Jim, so he had time for his belly to grow and ripen into the giant bulge that it was.

Tonight, Jim sat awake, but not track bedtimes, that part was over. He heard the snoring, and quietly slipped out from under the covers. He had jogging pants and a sweater on, instead of his normal chef's coat. He picked up his shoes, and started to made his way quietly towards the door to his room, in his socks. His room had two bunk beds, and each bed was filled, another potential eye to see him leaving in the night. His heart was jogging as stepped as lightly and nimbly as he could. He was almost at the door, and he heard a rustling behind him. His heart started to sprint, and he turned to check if anybody was watching. One of the men was stirring, and he rolled over loudly. Jim thought it was over, but the man's snoring resumed, and Jim turned and quickly stepped into the hall. Stay asleep while I'm gone...

The hall was black, and he could barely make out his own feet in front of him. He stopped to let his eyes adjust. The last thing he needed was to trip over something and wake up the whole hallway. Three other rooms were full too. There were enough men here, and he didn't trust any of them not to running to the General if they saw him roaming the halls in the dark of night. The General was fond of rewarding people who snitched on any suspicious behaviour. The last time somebody had merely snuck into the kitchens for a late night snack, he was accused of trying to plot an escape, and everybody on the wing was interrogated to find out if they knew anything. The man who ratted got a nice reward of a new comfortable bedspread, and an extra portion of meals for a week, while the one who was hungry got his head flogged by Gus and Keg.

Jim only knew of one likely place to find the password out of the kitchen corridors, and it would be risky to get. It was in the head chef's bedroom, the only one who had access to it, of all the kitchen staff.

Jim moved stealthily down the hall, still in his socks, until he got to the door of the fat man's room. He looked inside, and he was there on his bed sleeping. The head chef's room was smaller than his own, but it was all to himself, so he actually had quite a bit more space than Jim. The room had a small desk, the bed, a picture of the cooks family sat on the desk, and there were papers tossed about with papers, with the organizational skills of a seven year old child.

Jim slid into the dark room, and the snoring got louder. It didn't matter how quiet he was going to be, if he didn't wake him up somehow, his own snoring could be the alarm system he needed to catch Jim red-handed. Jim made his way over to the desk, one foot, then the next, slowly and softly. The papers on the desk didn't reveal what he was looking to find. They were just recipes, old, and new, unsorted and crinkled. He knelt down and grabbed the brass knob handle to the desk drawer.