Opposed (Under Construction)

December

05:00

This has definitely been the longest amount of time I've spent in the field. For forty minutes, 17 dirty, bleeding, smelly, refugees have been sitting in the back of an old van. Many had fallen asleep already. Honestly, I would've followed their lead, but I'm hyped up on adrenaline. Besides that, this little adventure had sparked so many questions. Why was the Order capturing civilians? Why was the beaten-up guy a lot worse than the others? What time will I be able to eat next?. I figure we'll have a meeting and discuss what we need to know about the Order.

A moan rattles the van and pulls me from my thoughts. The beaten boy's mouth is open as if he were gasping for air, and his face scrunched in pain.

"Hey." I whispered, nudging him. His eyes flickered open, the closest to consciousness he's been since we boarded. I watched carefully as his eyes attempted to focus on my face. "Where..are...we..." He slurred.

"Shh." I hissed. "We have to be quiet for now.". He cocked his head, as if to question me. I would have answered, yet his head lolled back against the side if the van before I could utter a word.

I groaned inwardly. There were so many possibilities as to why the boy was abused. For one, he could be an Opposer. That seemed likely. The other option would probably have be something along the lines of a suspected double agent, however he would need major family connections to even be able to become a field operative at our age. Well, at least in the Order. Opposers start as young as 13 if necessary. Our anonymous leader's most famous quote is "Don't waste youth on the young.". So children are trained early to maximize their energy, in order to benefit our mole-like society.

I shifted carefully and winced anyways. My shoulder throbbed from the bullet wound. The only way I have been able to help myself is by stopping the bleeding, but that didn't stop that lovely searing pain from continuing.

The van bumped along the trail, and I found myself drifting into an uncomfortable sleep.

***

The girl is sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth, holding her breath.

A truck came, and the Order Representative snapped at the girl, "Follow."

She did as she was told. The back of the truck was thrust open, and she saw the walls were covered in benches. Sitting on them were other children. Their eyes were hollow and their faces smudged. They looked her over and laughed, noticing how well kept she seemed. A screech came from the driver to be quiet, and they obeyed. The girl trod carefully into the truck, holding her skirt as she passed the other children. Their eyes flared at her, with a dangerous mixture of jealousy, curiosity, and ferocity. She knew that wherever she was going, it would not be like home. And she would not like it.

***

Bright lights found their way into my closed eyelids. Jumping up, I winced, once again, as soon as I felt the wound.

"Alright, what's going on?" I asked, getting straight to business. Glancing around, I noticed the crisp white sheets, the unearthly smell of antiseptic, and the fact that my shoulder no longer felt like somewhat had doused it in gasoline and lit it with a match.

"Hospital, right." I mumbled to myself.

"Ah, Miss December, feeling better are we?" a nurse asked.

"Yep." I answered, rotating my shoulder for emphasis. "Works like a charm." She laughed quietly and nodded, jotting down a few notes on her paper.

"Can I see A.C?" I asked quickly.

"Of course, you should be ready to return to your usual activities." the nurse responded.