Torment

Frozen

As we were all told to sit, I took a kneeling position and shuffled as close as I could to Curtis, looking briefly at Edgar who was knelt behind us. I was petrified. One of the two men opened up a silver metal briefcase and removed a large pair of scissors before approaching the badly injured man. Andy's father was acting very out of it and judging by the large gash across his eye and temple, I wouldn't be surprised if he had suffered from a concussion. That mixed with the traumatic event of having his son taken from him, probably left the man in a rather deluded state. The two scary looking men were dressed in posh suits. The one in grey took the large sheers and began cutting Andy's dads top off. I looked forward with my brows furrowed, unsure of where this was all going, I had learned that the boy's father was called Andrew, but apart from that, I knew nothing. With the man now bare-chested, the guy in the darker suit took some sort of cream and squirted it on Andrew's naked arm, before massaging it down the limb. As this was taking place, the guy in the grey suit began setting a time on a large stopwatch, as an Asian looking man, wearing an authoritative uniform stood next to him and opened up a book.

Looking around the carriage, us tail end passengers were seated before guards and many other uniformed individuals. It was clear that a statement was about to be made. "At this altitude, we need only seven minutes." The Chinese man said as the grey-suited man set the time and hung the clock around Andrew's neck. The dark-suited guy grabbed some sort of hollow metal ring from the silver briefcase and pulled it apart. I didn't understand, seven minutes for what? The silver cuff was fastened onto Andrew's upper arm and then a small circular compartment with Wilford's logo on it, built into the side of the carriage wall was opened, revealing a hole out to the freezing cold temperatures beyond the train. With silence still swamping the carriage, we all looked on in fear as Andrew was pulled towards the opening.

The messy-haired man looked worryingly at his hand before he was knelt down, and his limb was fed through the hole. As his arm hit the ridiculously cold air from outside, Andrew began to scream bloody murder. But suddenly his screams stopped, as the metal cuff reached the hole in the carriage and suction sealed tight, it was clear the numbing elements had already begun to take effect. As Andrews's arm was isolated outside the carriage, he stared off into space, whimpering, confused and heartbroken. I looked away briefly, wiping the tears running down my cheeks and finally wiping away my nose bleed. I found myself looking to Curtis, just as I always did, he glanced at me momentarily before an ugly, toothy looking woman in a purple co-ord and fur coat stepped forward. Minister Mason, Wilford's right-hand woman. The uniformed individuals sitting beside her rose as she fiddled with a microphone. The two men in the suits had also taken a seat and the one in the darker suit was leaning against the other in a rather loving position, pointing at the possibility that they may be a couple.

"Seven minutes allotted for your speech, sir." One of the men stated as the shoe Andrew had thrown earlier was handed to Mason on a silver plate. Mason picked up the shoe and held it up beside her as she began talking. "This is so disappointing." She began before two of the uniformed workers began to translate her speech into a couple of different languages. "No no, we don't need all that, we've only got seven minutes." She butted in looking at the workers and pointing to Andrew. "Passengers..." She began again, looking back to us after waiting for the noise to stop behind her. "This is not a shoe. This is disorder. This is size 10 chaos. This, you see this. This is death. In this locomotive we call home, there is one thing, that's between our warm hearts and the bitter cold. Clothing? Shields? No, order." Mason continued, but I wasn't listening. I was focused on Andrew's screams, he was shouting again, clawing the walls with the stopwatch because of the pain. All that was crossing my mind was how I could help him when it was over.

"Order is the barrier that holds back the cold and death. We must all of us, on this train of life, remain in our allotted stations, we must each of us occupy, our preordained particulate positions." Mason continued as she moved Andrew's shoe as if it were the train before placing it on Andrews's head. I couldn't believe her, and everyone else just sitting there, did they all not see anything wrong with torturing this man. "Would you wear a shoe on your head? Of course you wouldn't wear a shoe on your head. A shoe doesn't belong on your head. A shoe belongs on your foot. A hat belongs on your head. I am a hat, you are a shoe. I belong on the head, you belong on the foot. Yes? So it is." Mason added, any other time and I would've been raging at the capitalist approach to our predicament from the front end, but I couldn't take my eyes of Andrew, he looked like he had gone completely psycho, smiling through the pain. "In the beginning, order was prescribed by your ticket. First bus, economy, and freeloaders like you. Eternal order is prescribed by the Sacred Engine. All things flow from the Sacred Engine. All things in their place. All passengers in their sections. All water flowing, all heat rising, pays homage to the Sacred Engine. In its own particulate, preordained position. So it is." Mason drabbed on, making the same movement with her hand as before.

"Now, as in the beginning, I belong to the front. You belong to the tail." Mason said pointing towards the front of the train and then the back. "When the foot seeks the place of the head, a sacred line is crossed. Know your place. Keep your place. Be a shoe." Mason stated pointing back to the shoe on Andrew's head before licking her thin lips and lifting the stopwatch from his chest so she could read the time remaining. "We only have 42 seconds left. So, we can go to a comment of Mr Wilford, the divine keeper of the Sacred Engine. Sir? Mr Wilford? Are you there? Are you there, sir?" Mason spoke up to the ceiling after one of the workers typed something in beside Andrew and removed the shoe from his head. I looked to Curtis who was also looking to the ceiling waiting for Wilford to comment. "It's breaking up. Well then. Mr Wilford's a very busy man. So it is." Mason stated as the timer pinged on Andrew's stop clock and she pointed to the suited men to deal with it.

The dark-suited man slapped Andrews back and his slight reaction showed just how exhausting the ordeal had been on Andrews malnourished body. The man in the dark suit released the cuff around Andrews's arm and began to pull it back into the carriage. Andrews's arm was frost white, I wouldn't even say frostbitten, it wasn't black, it was blue and white, completely frozen solid, like something from a horror film. As I continued to stare, I heard Edgar speak to Curtis as he pulled out a knife. "Well, are we just gonna watch?" He asked. I looked to Curtis, not knowing what he'd say, "Not now," he whispered. "I'm not just gonna fucking sit here." Edgar sharply replied making me worry, this is how we got into this mess in the first place. I looked back to the front of the carriage to see Andrew had now been sat on the floor with his arm placed on a table like contraption that held his limb straight. The man in the light grey suit was tapping certain spots on the froze arm with a silver spoon, the tinny hollow sound his arm made in response indicated, it was indeed, frozen solid. Mason looked on with a smug smile and judging by the large mallet in the dark-suited man's grasp, I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

Edgar had now shut up and the man began to swing the mallet. In one swing the mallet came down on Andrews frozen arm and smashed the limb into several pieces, cascading parts of his arm across the floor. Andrew's cries soon followed, and I saw Curtis lower his head to the side of me. But I couldn't look away, I was already making a mental list of what I need to do for him. We needed heat, to make sure the remainder of his arm would live, and not die from frostbite. I needed to clean and bandaged the wound, along with all the other injuries he'd received earlier on. He will also need the extra protein blocks I'd been saving to get his blood sugar levels back up. It may have sounded simple, but it was all I could do with all I had. Before I came onto the Snowpiercer, injuries like this were common at the hospital towards the start of the ice age, so hopefully, I can do all I can to keep him healthy.

Andrew was screaming in agony in a ball on the floor at Mason's feet, it was taking all my might not to get up and rush to him. Suddenly, Mason stood up and looked to the back, I followed her gaze and watched as Gilliam walked forward on his crutch, others standing up around him. "Nah, I'm alright," Gilliam stated as someone offered him a hand. Mason walked forward wrapping her coat tightly around her, as we all parted and allowed Gilliam to walk between us. "Stop, stop right there. Sit down." One of the guards ordered pointing his gun at the old man, as Gilliam continued to walk forward.

"Put that useless gun down. Put it away. Long-time no see, Mr Gilliam." Mason stated smugly. "It's a pleasure" She continued only to be ignored as Gilliam walked towards Andrew. "You look healthy" Mason tried again looking him up and down. "He's fine!" Mason exclaimed as Gilliam stopped at Andrew's side, watching as the men in suits collected the parts of his arm into a dustpan. The old man removed the poncho he was wearing. "Hazel," he called. I rushed into a standing position, quickly manoeuvring through my fellow passengers before stopping at Gilliam's side and taking his poncho before draping it across Andrew, finally able to give him the care he needed. I covered the man in the poncho, and removed my coat, wrapping it tightly around Andrew's new stump, before pulling him up onto my lap and trying to embrace him the best I could to keep him warm before I could take him back to Gilliam's quarters. "Minister Mason, please deliver a message to Mr Wilford," Gilliam said, authority laced through his voice.

"Certainly, what should I say?" She asked, being sickeningly pleasant. "Tell him, he and I need to talk," Gilliam replied. "Well, you can talk to me! Mr Wilford has no reason to visit here." Mason stated smugly as Gilliam began to walk away. As people began to disperse and a couple of men began to help me move Andrew, I could just about make out Curtis's reply. "Not here. At the front."