34 Degrees (1-4)

34° Air

       Containment ushers me over and with feigned confidence, the sole of each boot deliberately hits the floor just a little too loudly as I make my way to Erica.

       "You want us to go outside?" I ask her, straightening my aching spine in a pointless attempt to look tough.

       Without turning to face me, continuing on her way to the supply table, she answers, "I have chosen you because you are expendable. You won't be missed. You all have been locked in Araca with no hope of escaping. If anything, you should be thanking me."

       She turns her head around ever so slightly, just enough for me to see a mischievous glare in her eye and a slight, serpentine smile on her face. A look of sick enjoyment. For a moment, just a moment, I think about fighting her back but I hold my temper. She's right, I am expendable. They can and will throw me back inside and replace me with someone else in a split second if I'm not careful. Without friends, there is no one to even notice that you are missing.

       Following her to the supply table, I immediately see two white boxes with a red plus sign on top. Medical supplies. Instinctively, I reach my hand over but hesitate as soon as she turns to look at me. After a slight nod of approval, I cautiously open the medical kit and find that it's stocked with basic first aid supplies - gauze, peroxide, pain killers, distilled water, some cloth, and tweezers. Good for injuries but little defense against disease. Sitting amongst the medical kits are several cans of food and bottles of water but only two backpacks. Looking to my right, I see why. Gordon is already wearing one - a deep blue with a thunderbolt-shaped black stripe through it. Not surprising.

       Once again, I wait for Erica's nod, then reach down and pick up a solid black bag. I unzip it and shuffle through the supplies. It's packed with a few simple survival tools, such as rope, a lighter, flashlight, and extra batteries. Useful, nonetheless, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not underwhelmed.

       Gordon, now fully equipped in his gas mask, steps over to the selection of weapons. A Containment Officer guides him, holding his gun flush with the skin on his neck in case he decides to try anything with his chosen weapon.

      He studies them intensely and I watch him closely - his decision will determine mine. This isn't about my preference, this is about our proficiency as a team. If we can't work together efficiently, we'll be dead in a matter of days. He runs his hand over the blades for a moment, and moves to a new section. He walks past the bows, and makes his way to a section designed more for brute strength - bludgeoning. He picks a large bat off the shelf - a thick, sturdy, wooden bat - with a leather handle for gripping.

      He speaks to the Containment Officer who then takes a step back. Gordon takes a swing with the bat, and nods his head. He lets the bat drop by his side, holding it with one hand, and the officer points back to the selection. Gordon walks over to the selection of smaller weapons. Do we get to choose two? He picks out a 6-inch knife, with a red hilt and a jagged blade. The Containment Officer asks him to hold out his arms and he obliges. His measurements are taken and a few moments later, the Officer leads him to the other side of the room.

      "April," I hear Erica call my name. How long have I been watching?

      I grab my black bag off the table, scoop up a medical kit and throw it inside. I grab a couple cans of food and a few bottles of water as well - as many as I'm allowed to grab before I'm ushered across the room to obtain my gas mask. Just as Gordon had, surely enough, I go through the same process. A few minutes pass and a Containment officer makes their way over to me, mask in hand. It looks ancient. Who knows how old it really is - then again I don't know what they're supposed to look like.