Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Forty-Six

Sam sat up and bumped his head. A feeling of claustrophobia swept over him, though his vision was too blurry to make out where he was. Slowly, as his eyes cleared and the slight vertigo that he was feeling faded, he could just make out that he was in a narrow drum, perhaps four or five feet long and less than three feet in diameter. It wasn't long enough to lay down in, but neither was it high enough in which to sit up.

He felt about. His jail seemed to be made of solid and smooth metal. A small slit, about eight inches wide by three inches high, was situated along one end of the tube and let in a faint light. Feeling about some more, he could tell that the metal might have been hinged on that end, but the opposite end was smooth, seamless metal. His cage felt thick and unyielding. There was no sound, but the strong smell of urine assaulted his nostrils, and he soon realized the smell came from him.

As near as he could discern, he was in the same clothes he'd worn when he met Glenn Fallows in Lincoln Park. Checking his pockets, there was nothing. His memory of how he had gotten there was blank. There was only the memory of shaking Glenn's hand and then making his way back toward the bus stop.

He moved to the small slit and peeked out. The room outside, what he could see of it, looked plain and sterile, with tiled floors like those of a locker room. One or two metal tables were visible, but he couldn't make out what was on them. The only light seemed to emanate from an EXIT sign over a broad metal door about 20 feet away.

When he started to call out, he heard a faint, "Shhh ...." He stopped and listened but heard nothing further. Moments later, when he thought to call out again, his words again were forestalled by a faint, "Shhh ...."

"You don't want them to hear you," came a small, disembodied voice from outside his tiny cell.

"Who's there," Sam said. He took the cue of the voice and spoke softly.

"It's me," she said, as if he should understand.

"Me, who?" Sam said this almost by reflex.

"Celia." Her voice had the slight edge of exasperation that children often reserved for their elders. It was the voice of a kid, a young girl. Before Sam could formulate his next question, Celia continued.

"Don't talk to them. They just want to jerk you around." The words had sounded oddly mature from such a youthful voice. Sam couldn't help noticing her tiny, hushed tone had a cheerful, almost melodic quality.

"Where ....?" Sam began.

"The Range."

"What ....?" Sam began again.

"We're at The Range." Her exasperation had been replaced by a somewhat condescending tone of indulgence. "I don't know where The Range is," she said, again anticipating his question.

"What is The Range?" Sam managed to get out his next question.

"It's where they kill people like us."

She said those words in such a matter-of-fact way that it took a moment for them to register. After they did, Sam took a few more minutes to absorb them and to think of his next steps. As he did, he looked out his small window, craning his neck to see the area of the room from which Celia's voice emanated. There was nothing but darkness in one small section where the light of the EXIT sign didn't penetrate. He felt the walls of his cell and tested them with his strength. Despite Sam's enormous power, they didn't budge.

Tommy would tear this thing apart like it was cardboard, he couldn't help but think.

"Who's Tommy?" came Celia's voice from the dark.

Sam froze. "You ...?"

"Yup. But don't tell anybody. If they found out about that, whew," she giggled, "they'd do a lot worse things than kill me."