Are We Human?

Chapter 12

The driver finally pulled over and stopped in front of a large looking clock tower thingy. He stared at me through a small mirror near the top of the windshield, as if he were waiting for me to move, so I just assumed it was my stop. I got off the "bus" and began to look around aimlessly. I felt like I had been doing that quite a bit recently. I had no idea where the new base would be specifically located, let alone if I'd find Phil there.

I stepped closer to the tower in hopes that it would somehow magically help me. Surprisingly, it did.

Even though the sun was down sleeping below the horizon and the streets were only occupied by the tiny lights that hung over the roads, I could see a small grouping of tattered old tents surrounded by a flimsy, half put together fence with one guard patrolling only one part of it. A small fire seemed to be lit near one of the middle ones, so I approached the outside cautiously. Once I looked past a few small green tarps, I saw that about thirty young men and women were sitting around the dangerously large bonfire. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, too quiet for me to make out any specifics, but their voices were hushed up whispers and their faces held worry and sorrow in all of their features.

After a mere minute, a large man approached them and called for attention in a big, booming voice. His head was cleanly shaven and his face held a small bit of stubble around the chin area. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, almost like Phil's but completely devoid of any warmth or joy. His nose was slightly crooked, like someone had broken it and he never quite understood how to put it back together correctly. His jaw was set, his hands were behind his back, pulled back so you could see all his perfectly toned muscles, and he stood straighter than a piece of wood. I automatically knew, just by simply looking at him, that he held a higher status over all of the people that were gathered around the fire that night. 

They all became drowned in silence, as if the man suddenly turned their voices off. The only sound that could be heard was the faint crackling of the fire, and even that was so quiet that I didn't know if I was just imagining it. Some of their faces showed immediate submission, holding no questions in fear and forced respect. The rest were covered in repressed defiance and a spark of rebellion in their eyes. I stared, wondering what side I would be on if I were in their situation.

"Alright, Kips. Here's what we're doing." I realised with a sudden stab to the gut that these people were clones. They all seemed different with that new information. A bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more broken. I figured that they were the people that got relocated.

I quickly scanned all of their faces, looking for the sky blue eyes and midnight black hair that I had grown so familiar to. I found neither. The small flame of hope within me flickered and shrunk, but did not quite blow out.

I listened patiently to the man's speech in order to see if my Phil was still okay or not.

"Due to our sudden and abrupt relocation, it is my job to update you on the currently known injuries and casualties. I would've thought you could just look around and see who's missing, but whatever."

I rolled my eyes at his rude language but turned all of my attention onto him again. I could feel some of the other clones reacting in a close to same way as I did, clenching their fists and gritting their teeth together, but remaining completely silent.

"Alright. Let's get on with it then." He pulled a sheet of paper out from the inside of his pocket, like a crappy street magician. He unfolded it and began reading in an unfocused, almost bored voice. "First, the injured. Number 374, 502, 419, and 326 are currently at Edima Hospital being treated for mild injuries. We expect them to be up and running in about a week, but they are stable as far as my information goes."

I knew then. I swear I knew. I knew by the way that some faces around the circle brightened a bit and were bathed in relief while the rest sunk into a vat of grief. I knew that I fit in with the latter. I knew I was going to be disappointed and broken.

But a small part of me still hoped. A small part of me still believed in luck and true love and forever. A small part of me, the part of me that still somehow remained with the innocence and wonder of a six year old child, still wished for a better tomorrow.

To this day, I hate that very small part.

"The dead." The man paused and glanced up at the group before continuing. "Number 458," one head went down to look at a lap. "Number 333," two eyes began leaking silent tears and a mouth opened with a gasp of disbelief pushing behind its lips. "378," A loud sob. "467," A voice mumbling no's under their breath. "391," One arm went around a now shaking body.

"Number 351,"

I stopped listening then. I stopped breathing then. I stopped living then.

My heart didn't want to beat, the action seeming pointless. My legs didn't want to move; they no longer knew where to take me. My brain didn't want to work, the words too shocking to be true. I didn't want to live, all the hope drained out of me.

Dead. That's what he said. Dead. He's dead. Heart stopped beating. My Phil's gone. Dead. Gone. No longer existent. Dead.

My legs finally began working again, but seemingly not well. I stumbled backwards a bit and my bum hit the ground hard beneath me, but I barely registered it. All of the eyes of the squad were suddenly on me. Some held shock, others were still freshly dipped in grief that they couldn't hold any other emotions. I simply stared back at them, not quite willing to leave just yet.

Finally, the leader man found his voice and spoke again.

"Hey! This is a restricted area! What are you doing here?" He yelled as he began stomping towards me. I picked myself up and ran as fast as my malnourished but well trained legs could possibly carry me.

I could hear shouts and angry people calling out desperately behind me, but I didn't really care. I just needed to move. To forget. To make my brain too focused on my straining muscles and my quick movements that it would just completely shut down and possibly just end my existence. I just needed to run.

I finally ended up in a deserted park. It seemed too beaten up for children to use even in the day light. Still, that didn't mean I couldn't cry there.

When I got closer to the playground, I knew something just wasn't quite right. I flung my hand up and let it rest on a tall pole. It was a nice support beam for a platform on the equipment, but the blue paint that should have been coating it was rusted and chipped. It felt grimy to my skin, but it didn't bother me much at the time.

I was too busy vomitting up my lungs.

My throat ached as I gagged on the acrid liquid as my stomach was emptied. Sobs struggled past my clogged throat. Tears dripped down my dirty cheeks and I could taste the salt as they flooded into my mouth and touched my tongue.

I walked a few steps away to sit down at the base of a nearby tree. The trunk was thin and flimsy, but the branches covered a bit of the night sky for me. I put my head into my hands and wept to myself, feeling absolutely no shame. I wept for the clones whose friends had died. I wept for the others that died in the surprise attack. I wept for Pj, who didn't deserve to be murdered. I wept for my Phil, who I'd never see again.

I wept for me, the boy that no longer knew what the hell he was doing.

I sat and cried until my body produced no more tears. Until the dark night sky began to fade away and a light orange began leaking above the horizon. Until my mind only chanted one thought over and over again.

What am I going to do now?