Iron cuffs dug into my skin, searing through my wrists and ankles. The chains suspended me above the floor of the white tent. Sweat dripped down my brow, soaking my T-shirt. I couldn’t see my jacket anywhere, it felt like I had shed a layer of skin without the comforting jean material. That also meant the file-box I had stored in my pocket was gone as well; no doubt being destroyed. The heat had to be intentional, it made the pain worse.
Live… survive…. My mom’s last words haunted me, A sneer in my face as I waited for death, prayed for it even.
The last few hours had been excruciating. My head had been bashed so many times, the heavy, ironclad footsteps outside the tent began to ring like bells. Two bells. Ten. An infinity, all ringing. Loud like bees. Buzzing in my ears. In my nostrils. In my throat. Choking, slashing, stinging. The pounding of those bells in my head was habitual, methodic even.
Suddenly, the ringing stopped, and the tent entrance flew open, revealing the towering figure of a burly man with a long mustache. His muscles rippled as he entered the room, never meeting my gaze. This was supposed to scare me, intimidate me into giving information. I didn’t know where they had taken the boys after the rooftop, I had lost track of them in the chaos of the raid. But they clearly hadn’t gotten any information from them since they kept rebounding back to me.
I wished I had run when I had seen the Asian boy had Felix cornered at gunpoint. I should have just left them to fight their own battle. I made a stupid mistake, and this was my punishment.
The man’s face flushed crimson against his formal white military uniform when he spoke. “Where’s the Hierarch?”
“Fuck you!” I spat at him.
A huge wade of mucus and blood plopped into his gaudy mustache. I wasn’t so much mad at the man in front of me, the Fryer was a mindless slave. I was more mad at me for getting myself into such a ridiculous situation.
Veins popped at the crown of his skull as he clenched his jaw. His fist slammed into my temple, hard. I grit my teeth, blinking away the black spots dancing across my vision. My body sways stiffly, as if my joints were rusted metal.
The man’s face stops only inches from mine, his breath stunk of old meat and tobacco. I was familiar with the second smell since cigarettes were considered a lifeline to older Outliers. “I’ll ask one more time, Prisoner; Where did you heathens take the Hierarch?”
I really didn’t want him to hit me again. My head was still spinning from the first punch. Who the hell was the Hierarch? He sounded important. I tried to think back if I saw anyone Hierarch-looking. But drew a blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
His fists pounded against my ribcage. Right side. Then the left. I could practically hear my bones shattering under the force. My insides squeezed tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even scream at him to stop; my lungs didn’t seem to work anymore. Even after he stopped hitting me, I just hung there, choking on bile and blood as my stomach lurched up my throat and poured out all over my front.
My rib’s were broken, that much I knew for certain. Soon the rest of me would follow. I wondered how many times they had done this, how many of my brothers and sisters had the N.S. killed this way?
He grabbed my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Lets try this again now, shall we?”
I bit my lip to stifle a sob. If I was going to die, it was going to be with dignity. I wouldn’t beg for mercy. Not from anyone. Not even if Hell had frozen over that very instant.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
