Impurities

Fourteen

Muscle spasms in my stomach stirred me from whatever smidgen of sleep I'd managed to claim. My organs felt like they were clenching and unclenching over and over again. I winced, fighting against the restraints that still bound me to the chair. The spasms were probably an after effect of the electric volts. One could assume that pumping electricity into a human body wouldn't end well.

Without any swells of nausea or other physical warning, my stomach revolted. Stinging, yellow bile projected from my esophagus. The stream of acid didn't miss my clothes. The entirety of my lap was covered in it.

God, why—

Again. More bile. All over me and the surrounding white tiles. Three more rounds of retching proceeded until I was left to dry heave. The agony was unbearable. Not only did my throat burn, but my abdominal muscles ached. The exertion of vomiting had exhausted me.

My eyes, even through fatigue, heard the door squeak open. I squeezed my eyes shut. No more. I couldn't take another moment of this torture. Couldn't they just kill me? I didn't want to be their soldier or anything of the sort.

The old soldier's grunts and disgusted noises didn't go unnoticed. My eyes automatically opened when I heard the jingle of keys. He was fumbling around with his keychain to find whatever one he needed. Then, dodging the pools of bile, he unfastened my manacles.

I groaned in relief. When I brought my sore wrists in front of me, they were battered and bruised. Once the feet bindings fell away, I rotated my ankles. They felt stiff from neglect.

The old man tugged me out of the chair with shocking strength. I tumbled to the floor, and a pool bile sprayed out as my knees fell into it. Yet still my arm was being yanked upwards while the Red Patch attempted to get me on my feet.

Anger spawned rebellion. After jerking my arm out of his hand, I scrambled to my feet. My legs momentarily swayed unsteadily under me. Then I was in motion, shoving the old man down as I rushed towards the door. He cried out upon falling, but I didn't look back. Even though part of me felt miserable for hurting a geriatric person, I couldn't go back and help him. These people were torturers. I couldn't forget that.

The doorknob twisted compliantly between my fingers. I pushed against the heavy door until it gave way. My feet charged forward before I'd thought through a plan, and I found myself sprinting through unfamiliar, blank hallway.

A nurse had just started to step out of a room when I flew past. Her shriek of surprise ricocheted off the walls. I took a few right turns before a red exit sign glowed over a door at the end of the corridor. My speed accelerated.

Sunlight blinded me as I raced through the door. Nothing came into focus for a few seconds, so I stumbled around. When my eyes adjusted, they scanned the area. A group of Red Patches were standing twenty or so yards away, staring dumbfoundedly at me.

I sucked down a deep breath and began running again. Across the lush lawn and through two brick buildings. My head was filled with the thudding of my heart. Adrenaline fought against my protesting muscles to keep me moving.

Just as the forest came into view, two soldiers darted out from a building, guns raised at me. My breath caught. For two whole seconds, I hesitated. Stop running or keep going? By the third second, I hadn't slowed. They could shoot me if they wanted.

But the crack of bullets never ensued. I wasn't loaded with lead. Nor electric volts, for that matter.

Instead, I was completely knocked off my feet by a soldier from my right. I hadn't seen him coming. Our bodies tumbled across the grass, a pile of twisted limbs and pained grunts. When we came to a stop, he wrestled me down, pressing me against the soft earth.