AUGUST IS A FEVER

25

The remaining untainted senses of yours, being sound and touch, gave away the fact that the helicopter was coming to a stop. All of the people inside were to get off as you arrived to what you thought could be a possible final destination.

Mentally, you weren't doing so good. The fear of the unknown for what's to come was heavy in your chest and made your hands shake uncontrollably until the PSF behind you got sick of it and stepped on your hands with his big and heavy (probably child-made) boots. The only thing that you found offered at least some flavor of comfort was 5740 sitting next to you. That was an ID number. Every child in America that eventually was taken from their families received one once they became virus-filled. Some determined filthy and unloveable at birth, being given their ID numbers then. 5740 was just a kid. It was nice to know you weren't completely alone, the thought taking a bit of an edge off of the whole situation.

Physically, you were doing even worse. Your stomach tightened to insanely painful lengths. The lack of food and drink was enough for you to dry heave every now and then. You felt empty on more ways than one. You felt as if you were a shell of who you were merely hours ago. Life felt many shades duller when you didn't have Clay or George to turn up the saturation.

As the helicopter finally settled to a complete stop, the PSF behind you angrily ushered you out the exits, him kicking your hunched spine in the same spot as before. A small yelp escaped your mouth. It was involuntary, but you still hated how helpless you sounded.

With the feeling of the muzzle of a rifle resting unsettlingly between your shoulder blades, the pressure of it gradually grew. The PSF was trying to push you somewhere and you obliged, sileny begging desperately for him not to take your life. The way you were being pushed around was almost embarrassing - humiliating. Although you felt a heat on your face, you couldn't differentiate between if it was your hot breath hitting your face again, having no where to go but to retreat back to it's original source. Or if it really was blush.

It all didn't matter anyway. For one, today could be the day you die for all you know. The PSF pushed you, and though the bag on your head muffled it slightly, you could hear what you identified as the sounds of your worn self-made boots stepping on grass as you walked forward. The walking was most likely only about twenty to thirty minutes, but it felt like an hour. You were terrified, feeling vulnerable as your hands were tied back, uncontrollably jerking, and your eyesight being stripped from you.

Eventually you were pushed forward and told to stop, you falling to the ground on your knees. Your head hanged low, your thoughts mangled with worry and wonder. The unknown is what made you sick with fear.

With your head hanging in shame and terror, the hand of the PSF grabbed with a fist, the bag over your head that rendered your eyes useless, and tore it off. A cool breeze hit your face and you hesitated to open your eyes, fearful to witness your surroundings.

"Chin up, 2847." Said the PSF behind you. You let out a small laugh, a sad smile growing on your face.

"Haven't heard my ID number in a long time." You mumbled to him as your head rose and your eyes met your setting. And you didn't realize until moments later, but speaking out of line was a bad idea.

"Zip it, freak." The PSF spat as he hit your hunched back with the muzzle of his rifle like before. That would definitely leave a bruise.

You didn't respond to the man in the black military outside, gun in hand, as you watched him walk towards the kid next to you who's hands were shaking just as yours were.

Looking around the area momentarily, you were in from what you could tell was a military station. A training field. You recognized this place even if you'd never been inside of it yourself until now. It was the football field of some University you'd pass every now and then on the road when you were younger. Even now you struggled to recall the name of the school. The grass around you was yellow and dead. Apparently lifeless and in need of a trim.

"Don't even think about trying to escape again, 5740. That is unless you want us to waterboard you again." The PSF told the kid as he grabbed a fistful of the black bag over their head like he had yours. The PSF yanked off the bag and tossed it away to the dry grass below, thirsty and in need of a drink of water.

The kid shook their head, short auburn hair falling in front of their face. They looked up and their natural green, sharp and hurt eyes locked with yours, saying a thousand words with one glance. He was just a boy who's line had been crossed one too many times. He had a mixture of scars and fresh cuts all over his face, red blotches on his skin from irritation. The bags under his eyes almost went unnoticed, the skin around the entirety of his eyes being blackened and bruised, disguising them. Heavy evidence of abuse was evident and even painful to look at. It must've been painful to live. He didn't wear normal clothes like you. Unlike your dirt and heavy blood stained white dress, he wore a pure black outfit. It was almost as if it was a uniform. You were about to speak up, but immediately got shut down.

"2847, I said quiet." The PSF snapped at you, kicking you in the side. "Don't wanna get waterboarded like 5740 over here, do ya?"

You hesitated in your answer, but managed to speak with a husky yet shakey voice that was prone to breaking. "No." Tears were so close to spilling and rolling down your cheeks, your nose stinging painfully, eyes glossy.

You held in cries from wanting to crawl from your lips, but they fought to. The battle was difficult. It was as if there were spiders that you kept trapped in your mouth that were trying to escape. You managed however, swallowing those spiders of cries.

"That's what I fuckin' thought." Said the PSF angerly. It was then all the hope that you had left in your body was drained. You're line had been crossed and you felt so powerless, unable to fight it. Unable to right it. 5740 felt it too.