The Season Trials

C H A P T E R S E V E N

Unedited

___________________

C H A P T E R       S E V E N

The next morning, I'm not feeling any better about any of this—but there's some hope.

After being forced to follow Sergeant Holmes' daughter to her room, to sit there while she played with dolls, I'd been led to an underground basement, to a collection of beds. There'd I'd been ordered to stay and not come out until morning.

In the quiet—I'd been the only one—I'd walked around in the little light offered through a tiny window. I'd had no idea of the time but it had been afternoon if I'd guessed.

Conscious of someone watching me—whether through a camera or a security guard—I'd been careful, trying to look inconspicuous. A futile effort, considering it had been impossible.

So far, I'd found nothing. Nothing substantial anyway.

I'd looked for escapes. Looked and looked. Until I couldn't look anymore. It'd only wasted my time. The room isn't big, a small cramped space with metal walls. Almost as if it's a cell. There's ten beds, just a metre apart each.

No cupboards. No secret passages. Nothing but beds, with a pile of clothes next to it. Not even anything to make a makeshift weapon.

No means of escape.

"You must wake, 2309. Master Holmes will be up soon."

Jarring out of the bed with a soundless scream, I turn. The sheet falls to my waist, but too startled, I don't fell the cold on my bare arms nor through the flimsy material.

2309—I'm used to the name. If that isn't terrifying, I don't know what it.

To the left of my bed, a woman stands. She can't be much older than me. Her eyes are lifeless, dark enough they look as if they're colourless. The dark hair on her head is short. Hacked off in a botched haircut. Loose black clothing cover her gaunt frame, leaving her frail arms exposed.

As she moves her arm, I catch the inside of her wrist. She's branded too—9456.

"Kaylin. My names Kaylin," I whisper, before I can hold my tongue.

Her eyes cloud with sadness momentarily before they clear. "No. And don't let Master Holmes hear you say that."

I can only stare at her.

Wordlessly she turns. Then lifts the back of her shirt.

All my breath leaves me. Covering he back is scars. A lot of them. Raised and ugly, as if they haven't healed properly. "Your back . . ."

She turns back around, sitting on the bed behind her. "When I first came, I rebelled. Disobeyed an order. And I got whipped for it. Other have had their tongues cut out." Sighing, she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "So, no, you're not Kaylin. You're 2309."

To that, I don't know how to respond. Other than to pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them. Eventually, I break the tense, terrified silence. "Did you try to . . . escape?"

She shakes her head again, glancing outside the window. "No. 6324 did though."

"He did? Did he . . . succeed?"