Uncertain Truths

Ch 27 - Breakaway

She woke up in pitch black, laying on a hard surface. As she sat up her hit her forehead touched something. Not hard, like wood or stone. Soft. She lifted her hand to feel it. Soft, like silk. Breathable. No wonder she didn't feel smothered, trapped. That changed quickly when she found she couldn't sit up all the way.

She reached out to the sides. Those were hard. She checked her back pocket. Her knife should be there. It wasn't. Of course. Someone took the trouble to hem her in. There's no way they'd leave her a knife.

How did she get here? What was the last thing she remembered? She was in a house... a closet, then... a fight. Aiden!

She tried to tear at the cloth but it was too smooth. She curled her legs in front of her and kicked up against the fabric. A small rip started near the left side. She grabbed it and pulled as far and hard as the space would let her. Hopefully no one heard... or saw.

Leaning back, she took a moment to calm her breathing. Control your thoughts. Don't panic. She rolled to her side, close to the tear. No sound outside. There was cold air coming in through the gap. It was dark on the other side. Good. Hopefully that meant she was alone.

An elongated oval coffin. That's where she was. A specialty shape, she guessed. She'd never seen one like it. The space she was in was dark, cold, murky-smelling. The Body Bay, she nicknamed it. They brought her here after knocking her out. Why? And was there a guard?

She peered up over the edge. She wasn't the only one here. There were two other pods. Occupied? Closed, so probably. Her first instinct was to get out. Find the nearest exit and run, but now there were extra people at risk. She could try to wake them up, get them walking, right?

She pushed her stiff, sluggish muscles to respond and rolled out onto the floor. Cement. Dusty, damp, chilled. She went over to one of the other pods. The cover was a simple wooden frame with cloth staple-gunned across the top then down around the sides. She lifted it.

A young man, maybe 20 years old, lay inside. He looked pale. She put two fingers on his neck, hoping for a pulse. Faint. She nudged him.

"Hey, wake up."

No response. She pushed harder. Nothing. She lifted one of his sleep-heavy arms and dropped it back. That's when she noticed he had a thin line of hose attached to a needle going into his right arm.

She looked at her own arm and noticed an angry red spot where an IV must have been. Maybe she was restless and tore it out. She did react differently to medications than a lot of people. Should she pull his out and let him wake up?

No. Better not to mess with unknown chemistry. Better to get the police. That's the only way any of them would have a chance. She was sluggish and stiff. He could be worse, if he'd been there longer. She pounded on her weakest leg, hoping to wake it up more.

Her mind felt slow and unresponsive but this was different than alcohol, she noted. It may wear off faster. Or slower. Checking each pod, she was confused but relieved to see Aiden was missing.

By then end of her search, the drugs were almost out of her system - at least, it felt that way. Her thinking was clearing up. Her control was better.

Now, her goal was to get the Police. Constable Ricet. Greg. And maybe Ted too. Strength in numbers. That was her goal. If only she had her cell phone.

Except for the sleepers, the area sat empty. Not a soul. Cold storage. They wouldn't have an elevator, even if the coffins and bodies were heavy. The surrounding structure wouldn't support it. There might be a large dumbwaiter. And stairs... would those have an alarm to trigger? Not that she had a choice. Up was the only out. Air vents? If the floor here was anything to go by, the vents would be a bad idea.