Misdirected

Chapter 2

Misdirected: Chapter 2

The windows of the bus were not only barred from the outside, but from the inside as well. I am no longer a human being; I am an animal, trapped inside a moving cage. My wrists were still handcuffed behind me, making the slightest movement uncomfortable. Andy, the man who was seated next to me, kept rambling about drugs. I closed my eyes and nodded once in a while, pretending to care. After hours of being on the road, the bus finally came to a stop. The doors opened and three more guards poured into the bus. Following behind them was an older man. Judging by his lab coat, he was probably one of the experimenters.

He began pacing the bus, observing each of the prisoners. His eyes were that of a predator's, ready to close in on his prey.  Occasionally, he would write something on his clipboard. I held my breath as soon as he reached my row. His wicked grin sent chills down my spine. Even Andy stiffened as the old man looked at him. Then, as though nothing had happened, he continued down the rows. I immediately began shaking with fear and anxiety. 

The man eventually made his way to the front of the bus and began reading names off his clip board, "Ashton Bland...Joseph Kingsley....Chris Roberts..." He made his way down the list alphabetically. I let out a sigh of relief when my name was not called. Those who were called were escorted out of the bus by the guards and lined up in an unspecified order. I couldn't see what happened next, as the bars obscured my view. The man began skimming his clipboard.

"Ah, I seem to have forgotten one." He stared at me.

"Logan Conroy." I felt nauseated as he called my name. One of the guards grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the bus.  I didn't know what to think. I didn't want to think. I licked my lips nervously, staring at the batch of miserable criminals that were standing in perfect rows. The guard removed my handcuffs as he led me to an open spot beside a boy who looked to be around eighteen.

"Let's get moving!" A deep, harsh voice in the front yelled. I couldn't see who, since I was located in the middle row. We marched toward a tall, white cylindrical building. It was hot out, but no one dared utter a complaint.

"Psst!" The boy next to me tried to grab my attention. I ignored him, but he kept pestering me, forcing me to give in.

"What?" I hissed.

"I'm hungry." He grimaced, making his freckles seem like they were moving. What is this kid, four?

"Good luck with that." I rolled my eyes. As if on cue, my own stomach began grumbling.

"Think they'll feed us?" His green eyes sparkled with hope. He obviously couldn't take a hint.

"This is prison not vacation, kid." I hissed.

Eventually, we reached the cylinder-shaped building. It was made entirely of curved rectangular pieces glass, though it was impossible to see inside. A large billboard that read, "Northern Illinois Clinical Trials Institution" was placed to the left of the building. The place didn't look the least bit depressing, despite the horrors that waited inside. Green grass, flowers, and the sound of birds chirping made it seem more like paradise than hell.

"Those whose names are called, go to the left. Those who aren't, stay put." Despite the calm look on his face, the man still sounded harsh--almost angry. He was wearing a simple, black suit. His white hair reminded me of a bird's nest. Eventually, he called my name.

"Logan Conroy." I moved to a line that was forming on the man's left. As he made his way down the list, I noticed that those whose names had been called looked to be around my age or younger. Being twenty-seven, I assumed that those who were over thirty were not called. Once the man finished calling our names, we continued. Armed security guards surrounded us as we made our way into the building.