Induction, Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Electricity

A crack. A thump. Chains clatter. A yelp and gasp of pain.

My skin tightens and my stomach jolts. Elizabeth is slumped on the ground, one arm free from the cuff. She shoves her face against her shoulder, teeth biting into her flesh, her body shaking. I catch sight of her free hand: bloodied, the skin ripped off, revealing the white of bone. My head starts to swim for the hundredth time since waking up in this dungeon.

Should I be impressed or horrified? Is it possible to be both? Either way, I’m going to pass out or throw up. Or both. With being chained up, at least I won’t wake up in my vomit. Ah, yes. A silver lining.

She casts a glance at me, then gasps, “It’s…not as bad…as it looks.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”  

“Good idea.” She attempts a laugh, but it comes out as a whimper.

After a couple of shaky, deep breaths, she reaches up with her damaged hand. My heart pulses hard in my head. Is she going to rip her other hand loose? Oh, I am going pass out now.

But she does nothing of the sort. She pulls something from her braid. Her hands shake as she uses that item to pick the lock, freeing her other hand.

“I can’t believe you did that.” I let out the breath I’ve been holding. No wonder I feel like passing out.

“I told you, we’re getting out of here.”

She works on the cuffs around her ankles. I turn my attention to the cell door, realizing for the first time that the bald guard isn’t standing by the hose anymore. He’s nowhere to be seen.

I listen for any sign of someone coming to discover her escape. Our escape. I twist my own wrists in their restraints, hoping to pull my hands free and trying to ignore the mental images of ripped flesh and exposed, bloody bone.

Heavy footsteps sound from down the hall. I hiss a warning to Elizabeth. Another tall, bald man appears in the doorway. Or he’s the same one from before. I don’t know. He sees Elizabeth, and his lips press in a tight line.

I start to wiggle and tug my wrists. If I can just get one hand out…

“Prisoner loose,” he calls over his shoulder. Words easy, casual. Not a true note of concern in his tone. He unlatches the door and walks in. I stare at the open door—they didn’t lock it. I guess when your prisoners are chained up, what’s the point in locking the door?

The oversight is going to bite them in the ass.  We’re getting out of here. Elizabeth raises her chin in his direction as she stands to her full height. My hope shrinks when I see how huge he is, compared to her slight frame. While her arms are corded with muscle, they’re lean. His arms are three times the size of hers. He towers over her, the top of her head just level with his shoulder.

She just watches him, jaw set, eyes alert.

He reaches out to grab her. She shoves his hand away, then punches him in the throat. As he stumbles back, she grabs his shoulder, yanking him toward her before kneeing him between the legs. He crumples to the floor, gasping and moaning.

Mouth open, words nonexistent, I stare at his withering form, wanting to laugh and cheer at the same time. A girl half his size just kicked his butt in mere seconds.

Any time for celebration is short as Sahara enters the cell, crossing the distance between her and Elizabeth in long, quick strides. I don’t have a chance to call a warning. The evil twin swings a metal rod, jabbing the end into her sister’s chest. An electric spark sends her flying across the room, slamming against the wall before falling limp to the floor.

I crane my head to look at Elizabeth. Her chest lifts and falls with shallow breaths, but there’s no movement to indicate she’s conscious.

“Defective.” Sahara clicks her tongue, shaking her head at the downed guard. She stabs the end of the stick against his head. A buzz of electricity and his body tenses, trembles, then goes limp. Dark, gray, blood-like liquid oozes from his nose.

My chest tightens. The stench of burnt meat is the final blow to my system, and I heave, spitting up bile and what little I ate this morning. The liquid runs down my chin and neck. Eyes and throat burning, aching.

I avoid looking at the psycho in the room. She just killed one of her own people, and possibly killed her own sister. I don’t even want to think of what she intends on doing with me.

Combat boots appear in my vision. Hot metal touches my chin, forcing my face up. My chin trembles as more dreaded tears build, clouding my vision, but I can see Sahara staring at me, using her electric prod to direct my attention.

“And I thought I could use you. A simpering child.” She shakes her head as she looks me over, clicking her tongue in disgust and disappointment. “I’m sure we can find some purpose for you, though.” A wicked grin further contorts her face.

She lets my face drop and crosses the floor to Elizabeth. I glance at the dead guard, then at Sahara and at the prod in her hand. She’s going to kill her sister, isn’t she? I need to do something. Anything!

“Le-leave her alone!” My scream comes out stuttering and broken, the words ripping from deep in my lungs and throat. I yank on the chains, twisting them, willing them to break.

“Oh, please,” Sahara mutters. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill her. Unlike you, I can use her.” She looks at me with a thoughtful expression. “Unless you’re born into it, the OSE only recruit the best. How is it you wound up with them?”

I blink. OSE? Recruit?

She turns from her sister and walks back over to me. “Perhaps you’re a brain. You’re definitely not an EON.”

EON. That’s the second time she’s mentioned that. I begin to wish I’d kept my mouth shut, because she pokes at my arms with the electrical rod, then places the end on my abdomen, staring intently into my eyes, waiting for an answer.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a hoarse moan. My vocal cords strain with effort, but I can’t form any words. I don’t know what to say. I don’t have an answer for her. But the prod is pressing into the soft tissue of my belly. I need to give her some sort of reply.

I try again, mouth opening. A shout rings out down the hall. Sahara’s lips pull into a deeper frown; she steps away from me and leaves the cell, neglecting to close the door behind her. Not that they lock it in the first place. And Elizabeth is presumably still passed out.

Joke’s on them, I hope.

“Hey,” I croak. I clear my throat and try again. “Elizabeth…”

My throat feels like I gargled sand.

The shouts continue down the hall, along with clangs of metal and muffled thumps. Someone barks out orders. Footsteps—running—draw closer. I don’t dare breathe, or hope. I watch as two men race past, identical to each other and to the dead one in my cell.

“Took them…long enough,” Elizabeth says.