The Future isn't Bright

Twenty-Eight

As soon as my ribs healed, I went straight to work. Intense training faced every single one of the Compound recruits in preparation for the inevitable. Mac led me to a concrete box with one side containing an observation window “just in case” training got intense. Apparently all recruits were getting individual help at this point in time, each with personalized training sessions.

An unknown older man in a labcoat attached sensors to my chest, temples, and arms and forced me to do exercises with them. It was difficult to get the hang of the first few times, because I found myself accidentally scratching in the wrong places and forcing the doctor as well as the people behind the glass to restart their trials. By day two I was a master at it.

My testing consisted of me pushing my abilities to their limits. The first day, the doctor had a barrel standing in the middle of the room.

“Can you lift that?” he indicated with his pen. I shrugged and got to work. I slipped my hands under the wooden frame and lifted it to my chest with ease, adjusting my hand placement as I proceeded to lift it over my head. It was no challenge, yet I smiled to myself, but the doctor seemed less than enthusiastic. He later opened the concrete door and I set the barrel down as Mac and someone else from behind the window pushed another one into the training area.

“One hundred pounds was a walk in the park, wasn’t it?” the doctor mused from his chair.

“Try that for size,” he gestured indifferently toward the second barrel with the tip of his pen. I repeated the same process as before, not seeing that large of a difference between the two. The sound of his scribbling make the silence awkward, so I set the barrel down and looked at the window, where Mac gave me a thoughtful thumbs up. I offered a meager smile and continued obeying all of the doctor’s commands.

I spent the rest of the day lifting barrels of increasing weight, smiling at the reminder of being spotted by Oslo and his father when I first realized my ability. As I reminded myself of Oslo at the pier, I was lifting a 275 pound barrel. When I snapped back into reality, my arms started to shake and fall to my side, dropping the heaviest barrel to the ground and making it splinter and release a black powder. I jumped in surprise, staring in shock.

“I-I’m s-so sorry!” I stammered like a child. I should have been focusing. Mac burst through the door, coming to my side.

“That was incredible!” she put her arm around my shaking shoulders, “You should be proud of yourself!”

I looked up at her, unable to respond from my tremor.

“Come on, you’re probably starving. We were meaning to be done with you by lunchtime, but you kept going higher and higher! Let’s go.” Mac spinned me around to face the door and I nodded my head meagerly.

As we walked through the chilly cement hallway of the Compound, I felt the cool air on my damp face. I wiped my forehead with my shirt sleeve, observing my slight perspiration. Mac glanced over to me.

“Gee, you barely broke a sweat. Are you tired at all?”

“A bit sleepy, is all,” I shrugged.

“Good,” Mac smiled, “You still have weapons testing after dinner.”

“Seriously?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes.

“I mean, unless you’d rather continue lifting barrels… I’m pretty sure those things fit about 300 pounds’ worth of lead.”

I shot Mac a glare, and she smiled sweetly. We separated in the dining hall, where Mac said she needed to swap me out for Georgie for individual testing in the afternoon. She also bid me good luck as she jogged off in search of her new apprentice.