Goodbye Eli

Chapter 6: A Rock and a Hard Place

When I wake, Glasses sits in a chair at the back of the room, nodding off. A pile of clothes appeared on the foot of the bed overnight and I hurriedly dress while he's still asleep. When he wakes, he follows me around the room.

Disappointment stings the back of my mind as I discover that even Glasses—the smallest man around—still stands taller than me by several inches. It's not even that he's small, it's that everyone else is large. As the morning goes on, he keeps his distance—out of respect for me or fear of the chief, I am not sure which—but out of everyone here, he appears the most civilized. Which isn't saying much.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"For a prisoner? Fantastic."

He sighs with a frown. He does that a lot, seemingly annoyed with everything I say or do. To be fair, I could be more congenial, but ever since last night's nerve-racking experience with the chief, I find myself angry. At the chief. At Glasses. At the world. But mostly at myself. For being so stupid as to fall into that cursed hole.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and stare at the obnoxiously bright yellow jacket wrapped around my shoulders. The thin, synthetic fabric swallows me, falling halfway down my thighs. I can't decide if I feel more like a child or a highlighter. The color may seem like an odd choice, but I know the reason. The same reason orange is the standard dress code in prisons. When I make a run for it, I'll have to ditch it even if it means freezing for a couple of nights.

"Can I at least have my pants back?" I say as I slip on what they gave me.

At least those weren't cut in half by a knife-wielding maniac. This pair hangs loosely around my hips, held up by a rope tied off at my waist.

He ignores my question. "There's something else the chief wants you to wear."

I follow his gaze to a heavy chain connected to a collar made of metal and thick leather. The sight stills my heart. It is eerily similar to what the masked man wore down in the Raider pit.

"You have got to be kidding me. What are you all? Raiders?"

"We're not raiders," he snaps back.

"Then what are you? Because from where I'm standing, you look the same."

"We're survivors. Nothing more. Nothing less." But even as he says it, he refuses to meet my gaze. Shame pinches his face. And rightly so.

"A collar?" I sneer. "Really? Do you think I am a dog?"

"It would be better if you didn't make this difficult."

"Better for who? For you?"

I don't know why I'm surprised. Honestly, I expected worse, but something about actually facing the inhumanity of the moment is infuriating. Whatever fear I have gets shoved aside by this blinding anger. I don't think, I just act. Stomping over to it, the collar feels heavy in my hand, the chain even more so. The weight of it fills my arms and I chuck the ugly thing into the air and through the open window. It hits the earth with a clunk in a bush a decent ways away.

The look of utter shock on Glasses' face satisfies the anger buzzing in the back of my brain and I return to the dresser. But as I turn to leave, I clash into an enormous body and my heart makes a dive to my feet in recognition.

The chief towers overhead, takes one look at me, and frowns. "Where is the collar?"

Glasses pales. "She threw it out the window."

"Cuff her. And bring the collar."

One of the bouncer types outside the doorway grabs my wrists and it feels like wrestling a gorilla. When I can finally rip my hands away, the cuffs jangle loudly.