Powerful

Chapter 7: A Simultaneous Sense of Dread

 My eyes opened. I blinked once. Twice. What met my ears was complete and utter silence. It wasn't the artificial silence created by the soundproof glass, but something entirely different. I sat up and tentatively peered into the corridor, because, like I suspected, the glass was gone.

There was no talking, not even heavy breathing. Just silence. Everyone just sat in their cells, still as statues, staring at their hands, their feet, anywhere but each other and the empty cell at the end of the hall. Jason's cell.

Immediately, a million possibilities burst into my mind. Had he done the impossible? Had he escaped? No, I told myself just as quickly, there would have been an uproar had that happened. And besides, the security wouldn't be this loose, although that wasn't exactly the right word to use to describe the dozens of guards and bulletproof glass.

Finally the answer hit me like a bag of bricks. Words from what felt like a century ago filled my ears, even though they were only spoken yesterday. Today was the beginning of our individual training to be shaped into the machines Gary and Walsh wanted us to be.

I looked around at all the solemn faces, let the silence fill my whole being. No one knew what this meant, or what kind of new torment this training would bring. Despite the lack of conversation, despite the tension, my fellow prisoners and I were in this together. A defenseless group of mutants fighting against a dictatorship.

So I did the only thing I could do. I waited, respecting Jason, trying to banish the thoughts of torture from my mind.

It was an unbearably long wait, lasting through both lunch and dinner, both meals spent in silence. I positioned my body in view of the double doors, my anxiety growing each second they remained closed. Several times I tried to catch Luke's eye, but all he did was wring his hands in what looked like frustration.

I've never been a patient person. But now, sitting here all alone, amid the silence and tension, waiting for someone I barely knew and doubted would return, it felt like an eternity. It was much harder to wait for something that might not happen than something definite.

As I battled both boredom and my own range of emotions, it suddenly hit me. In a mere handful of days, it would be me forced behind those doors, subjected to an unimaginable hell. I guess I'd known this all day, but my fuddled brain had refused to acknowledge this harsh reality. I didn't want to accept this, so I banished it to the back of my mind, but I knew the thoughts would resurface the moment the opportunity arose.

Eventually, some people tried to fall asleep in an effort to ease their troubled minds. But judging by the excessive amount of tossing and turning, it wasn't working. Damn this incessant waiting!

Eventually, I, too, began to succumb to sleep. My eyelids drooped and I yawned constantly. I was just about to rest my head down on my pillow, the small ray of hope I'd been clinging to almost diminished, when a sudden noise, tremendously loud in the deafening quiet, made me stop.

The double doors had opened, and two guards were escorting Jason back to his cell. Actually, they were practically carrying him; the boy was barely conscious. His eyes fluttered and his skin was extremely pale. Sweat poured down his face. I noted that everyone, including the other guards, was suddenly alert, a much more tense quiet replacing the old.

It was several long moments after the guards had deposited Jason and left that I realized what I had to do. I pushed myself off my cot. Eighteen pairs of eyes followed me as my stiff legs made their way in Jason's direction. I stopped in the doorway.

"Hi," I said, my throat congested from not speaking all day. Jason looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had large purple bags under them, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Hi," he responded. I doubted he knew my name, or that I knew his.

"So... how are you?" I asked, realizing only a split second later how ridiculous that sounded. How are you doing? Really? It sounded like we were two friends who hadn't seen each other in a long while, not in... this situation.

"I'm... tired." He spoke slowly, as if that wasn't exactly the right word to use to describe how he was feeling. I also noticed that he spoke in a monotone, as if all the life had been sucked out of him, like air out of a balloon. It was sad.

"What did they make you do?" I asked in barely a whisper. I didn't want to hear the answer, but I had no choice. It was important that I know.

"Made me fly around a lot. Wouldn't let me stop." He didn't make the effort to complete his sentences.

"Oh." Somehow, that sentence was disappointing to me.

I looked at Jason. His eyes were closed and he was leaning against the wall for support.

"Jason?"

No answer. He was asleep.

I sighed and exited the cell. Eighteen worried faces stared back at me. I smiled slightly, and immediately a collective sigh of relief escaped everyone's lips. There were even a few relieved laughs. As I passed Luke's cell, he gave me a look of fond admiration. I beamed.

Later, I lay awake much longer than anyone else, my mind too busy to rest. A torrent of emotions overcame me. Sympathy for Jason. Sadness at what he'd become. Fear for myself. I was #20. Jason was #1. That left just nineteen days. Less than three weeks. Then it would be my turn.

I thought again of my ingenious (yet crazy) plan. It was now a constant idea in my brain, hovering in the background until needed. I wanted so badly to put it into action, but I couldn't. Not yet.

Three weeks... Was that enough time?