Chapter 4: History
-E L L I O T-
“Payne! Slow ‘em down!” That sentence cues the sigh of relief from everyone in the crowd. The voice of saints comes from a car behind us. The Clone, “Payne,” gives whoever is in the car a thumbs up before slowing his horse. The other soldiers follow suit.
My heart beats painfully in my chest and my lungs heave for air. My skin is slick with sweat but my mouth his dry. My legs ache and the long grass whipping against my bare legs isn’t helping. My stomach is gurgling loudly, my throat is burning. I can tell that the people around me are having the same symptoms from jogging with no water, food, and a serious lack of sleep in the relentless sun for no less than ten miles. The skin of the man in front of me is an angry shade of pink. Not to mention we are all still very confused about where we are going and why. The physical combined with emotional exhaustion leaves our limbs quaking in fatigue.
I have never done this much physical exercise in my life. And I never expected that I would be able to. Because what I have done in my life time has never required more than a quick jog across the street. Oliver and I used to raise down to Selections, but I would usually tire after a few yards and fall behind. But with adrenaline buzzing my brain and my life being held at gunpoint I have run at least ten miles without a minute to catch my breath.
The slower pace doesn’t offer very much relief. In fact, it makes the adrenaline lessen. My calves and lungs continue to burn. My legs are begging me to stop and to breathe but the guns aimed in my direction make me push on.
Without the faster thumping of feet everyone’s breathing seems so much louder. The woman walking next to me grips her throat and breathes heavily through her nose. A child a few people a head of me drags his feet and hangs his head as he cries quietly. His mother emotionlessly pats his head, providing no real comfort because I’m sure she is comforting herself. A teenage couple are holding hands behind me and are whispering things to each other that are totally inappropriate for this situation. Whatever helps them cope…
“Thank God.” Oliver pants. His arms are quivering with strain. Holding Leo while jogging for the past two hours has taken its tole. We– me, my mother, Blair, several people around us, and even Leo himself have told Oliver to take a break and take care of himself. Each attempt has been met with a snappy refusal.
“We are walking now Olive.” My mother croons, touching his shoulder. “You can put him down. You are going to hurt yourself.”
Oliver doesn’t even look at her, or any of us for that matter. He stares ahead with a stern expression, lips pursed. He pulls Leo tighter to his heaving chest, pushing forward with a stubborn and stern stride. But his strength flickers, his left foot heavier than his right with a slight limp. “I’m fine. I can carry him.” He wheezes breathily.
Nobody says anything while we continue to march forwards. I have to look away when Oliver trips over the long grass, the sight making me sick. My mother continues in trying to convince him to put Leo down. Oliver continues to coldly shoot down the idea. I tune out the conversation completely when Leo begins to beg Oliver to set him down.
I am scanning my surroundings in hopes of distracting myself when something besides miles of fields catches me eye. I unsteadily walk on my toes, struggling to see over the sea of heads in front of me. I think for a moment that the heat must be getting to me. The dehydration must be messing with my head. I hope, for a second, that this is all a dream. But I’m not the only one who notices it– the sore thumb in miles of eternal grass.
“Do you see that?” Blair pokes my side excitedly. My heart jumps in my chest. She sees it too.
“See what?” Oliver grunts, craning his neck to look over peoples heads. The pace makes it difficult for all of us, especially being near the rear.
“There’s something over there.” I point. Oliver looks in the direction I’m pointing. “It looks like a building.” I hop a little as I walk in an attempt to see better. Damn my height.
“I see it.” Oliver says. He nudges my mother lightly with his elbow and ticks his head towards the building in the middle of nowhere. Our talk has grasped the attention of those around us– being that we are so close together– and the group begins to chatter excitedly about the mystery building.
In the distance there is a building surrounded by chain link fence. It looks like a large black box about the size of a ware house. As we approach it the grass suddenly gets shorter. It has obviously been cut or mowed. Other than that the fortress seems misplaced, nothing special about the particular area its been set.
On top is a flag– the Corrector’s flag during the Defiance. It is black with white horizontal lines going completely across the rectangle, alternating between wavy and straight. Seven lines– four straight and three wavy– for the seven government officials that were killed that started the war. I have only seen pictures of the flags in history text books. The flag has a negative association so the Correctors changed their flag a couple years ago to a white flag with a tiny black x in the center. The fact that they used the Defiance flag instead of the newer one and the grin on The Clone’s face sets me on edge and apprehensive to join in the Typos excitement.
As we grow nearer and nearer to the building our pace slows and the chatter grows louder. Our fast paced walk has turned into a lazy stroll. But it still isn't slow enough to soothe the ache burning through my muscles. I stay silent and scan the area, trying to pin point exactly why they have chosen to stop here rather than anywhere else in this field. The excitement when the train stopped still fresh in my mind and how easily that was to kill by a ten mile run. I couldn't find a reason to celebrate just yet.
However, when we finally come to a complete stop outside the mystery building and howls of glee erupt from all of the group of Typos, and I join them. Messaging my calves and cat-calling toward the sky. Fists are raised and before I know it everyone is clapping. I am clapping with them. Applauding the end of our physical turmoil. Adrenaline– a feeling I thought wouldn’t return after it was spent running for two hours– tingles in my veins, making my fingers and toes numb and my head fuzzy. The feeling is welcomed by sore limbs and aching feet. Right now, my heart beats faster than when it did when I was running for my life, thumping erratically in my chest.
In my moment of joy, I turn to the stranger next to me and throw my arms around them. The stranger embraces me back without hesitation, obviously caught up in the same joy I am. He pats me on the back with a large hand as he screams in my ear. I would be annoyed, but I’m screaming as well. His back is drenched in sweat and I assume mine is as well. I don't even have time to think about the fact that the only bottoms I have on are my underwear, my bare legs brushing his clothed ones. Too caught up in this moment of relief.
I’m suddenly yanked from the stranger without even having the chance to look at him. But the surprise doesn't register in my mind as Oliver takes me into his arms, lifting me off my feet and squeezing me tightly. Leo, who Oliver has put down, is bouncing excitedly around us. My mother and Blair are holding each other and my mother is crying. Around us, people are either jumping up and down or laying on the ground and everything in between.
Oliver buries his nose in my hair. “We made it Elli.” He says, and I grin. I don’t know why. Made it where?
When I look over his shoulder I see the Clone again. The malicious grin on his face is unsettling. My smile quickly slides off my face when I pull away from Oliver. Oliver moves on to embrace the rest of my family. When I look at the other soldiers their expressions match the Clone. Their mouths are twisted into sinister smirks, their eyes glinted. It’s unnerving and it makes my stomach flip.
The engines of the cars are cut off and higher ranked soldiers– two from each car– exit the vehicles. My eyes linger on the cars, still as amazed by the technology as I was when I was smaller. My eyes are dragged from the expensive machinery to follow the soldiers as they stroll across the grass. The Correctors stare at our celebration, regarding us passively with a touch of amusement. They make their way toward the mystery building. Soldiers quickly dismount their horses to follow them. They stop outside the chain link gates, talking quietly to one another as Typos continue to celebrate the stillness.
One of their gazes catches mine– one of the higher ranked soldiers. Green eyes staring stonily into my blue ones. I recognize him as the same Captain from the start of this whole thing. I hold his regard, curious as to why he has focused on me. He stands with his hands crossed behind his back, not paying attention to whatever conversation the other soldiers are having. He continues to stare confidently.
I think for a moment that he must not be looking at me– perhaps through me or behind me. That is, until I tilt my head slightly to the right and his head mimics mine. He’s definitely looking at me. Still curious, I continue to stare back, observing him just as much as he is observing me. I am strikingly aware of the gun strapped over his shoulder. I roll my lips against one another nervously and he copies the action. I narrow my eyes at him but as soon as his eyes begin to narrow as well I look away.
“Typos!” It seems as if my odd attention is shifted from the Captain just in time because a soldier stands in front up us with a bull horn. “We will be dividing you into groups of twenty!” He yells, the bull horn rings in protest. “Each group will be allowed twenty minutes in the rest stop so please do what you need to do as quickly as possible!”
“Rest stop?” Is the first thing Oliver exclaims.
“We are a little more than half way there.” The soldier calls back with a small laugh. “We have to stop to rehydrate our animals.” He ticks his head back at the horses, but I have a feeling when he says ‘animals’ he isn’t only referring to the stallions.
“Half way?” Oliver gasps along with the rest of us.
“About ten more miles until we get there, kid.” The soldier tells him, flashing Oliver a sarcastic smile and turning around to walk back towards the group of Correctors.
“Where?” Oliver calls after him, but the solider ignores him. “Where are we going?” Oliver yells frantically. Blair puts a hand on his shoulder.
It is now that I realize that the crowd has gone silent. Gone from whooping and hollering to complete silence in mere seconds because of another ten miles. And like I had joined them in their celebration, I join them in their sorrow.
Slowly but surely, we are separated into eleven groups of twenty. It doesn’t come out completely even. The eleventh group has only fourteen. My family and Oliver are all in my group. I vaguely recognize everyone else in my group but only know four of them well. My hand grasps Leo’s tightly to keep him close. Oliver silently boils on my other side. Our group– along with every other– is surrounded by our own line of armed soldiers and horses. One of them is the green eyed Captain who has since stopped staring at me. He stands less than a foot away with his gun aimed at the ground near my feet.
Without a word between any of the Correctors– an unspoken command, our group is the first to move forward. One of the soldiers opens the chain link gate. We are quickly ushered through it and then it is locked shut behind us.
A couple yards and we stop in front of the building. Two men walk forward, grabbing chains and hauling a large door open. A gust of cool air whooshes out of the building and hits our faces. I find it in me to shiver when the cold air hits my sweat slicked skin. Shivers ripple through the crowd of twenty as we relish in the relief.
We are walking forward a couple seconds later. The air conditioning becoming more intense and more refreshing as we enter the building. The door is shut and the heat from the outside is cut off.
The large room is mostly empty. A large bucket about four times the length of a tub sits in the center of the room. And there are computers and other forms of expensive looking technology pushed against one of the walls. But my mind– well– my overheated skin doesn’t allow me to ogle at the machinery for long as I appreciate the cool air.
“Bathrooms! You’ve got ten minutes!” The lieutenant yells, pointing to a door on our right. “Captain Styles will accompany you! I would not advise trying to escape!” This makes the soldiers around the room quietly laugh. Another seemingly morbid inside joke.
“Thank God. I really have to piss.” Blair mutters under her breath as we are ushered through the door. When she mentions it I suddenly feel the overwhelming need to pee.
“What the hell?” Oliver snarls when we enter the room. I gawk, whipping my head around the room. They expect us to go to the bathroom here?
Buckets of water are spaced evenly along the dirty walls. At first, I assumed that those were bins to wash our hands. That was until I turned around to realize they were lining every wall. And to my even greater horror: there are no stalls. No privacy or dignity whatsoever.
They expect us to relieve ourselves in buckets?
Oliver scowls at the green-eyed Captain. “Captain Styles” I presume. “What the hell is this?” Oliver snaps, motioning violently around the room.
The Captain simply shrugs, looking down at his watch. “You’ve got nine minutes.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me right?” Oliver steps dangerously close. My eyes are trained on the weapon that is still aimed on the ground. “This is completely unsanitary.” Oliver growls in the Captain’s face.
The soldier smiles. “Tick tock.”
Everyone watches the whole ordeal play out without saying a word. When Oliver takes another dangerous step towards the Corrector, I decide to speak up before Oliver does something rash.
“Oliver.” I say quietly. The Captain’s eyes shift to me.
“Eight minutes!” He shouts, eyes still on me. Oliver, luckily, backs away without doing anything.
I stand in front of one of the “toilets,” unsure on what I should do. An older man, squats down on one of the buckets next to me without hesitation. He sighs loudly as he relieves himself. I look away when he glares at me and try not to gag.
“Here.” Oliver mutters, grabbing my arms. I can tell by his firmer grip that he’s still angry, but it doesn’t hurt. “I’ll stand in front of you while you go so no one can see you.” He turns around so his back is to me, successfully obstructing the view of others as well as giving my my privacy. Bless him.
I plop down rather awkwardly onto the bucket to do my business. To my right, my mother stands in front of Blair while she does the same. Leo seems to be having no trouble doing his business with no privacy. An envying amount of blissful ignorance in the seven-year-old boy. After urinating, I stand in front of Oliver to allow him privacy as well.
My family and I gather in the center of the room after we are done, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. I suddenly feel even more bare without pajama pants and once again thank the lord Blair slept with pants on when one of the Typos gives her a once over. This seems completely inappropriate considering our current situation. We are in a restroom (sort of) for fucks sake. Oliver seems to be getting more and more angry by the second. His fists squeeze tighter whenever the Captain reminds us how much time we have every few minutes. He stares angrily at the ceiling, silently simmering on the spot.
“You’re ten minutes is up!” The Captain holds the door open and motions for us to exit.
“I’m going to hit him.” Oliver grumbles in my ear. I force a smile and place a hand on his forearm in hopeful comfort.
We are lead out into the larger room again. Soldiers are gathered around the computers doing God knows what. Four horses are drinking from the large bucket in the center of the room. I try to remind myself how hot it is outside when I start thinking that it is too cold in here. I rub my bare thighs in attempt to smooth out the goosebumps rising there.
“Drink as much water as you can.” The Captain says firmly. “You’ve got about ten more miles to run and only ten more minutes in here before we have to give the next group a turn.” He motions to the bucket where the horses are drinking.
They wouldn’t…
“You seriously can’t expect us to drink the same water as the horses.” Oliver speaks my thoughts. Apparently, he’s feeling very brave today. “We aren’t animals!” He yells.
The Captain doesn’t look at all affected by Oliver’s outbursts. In fact, he seems to have been expecting it. He opens his mouth to respond but before he can a lower ranking soldier– a cadet– walks up next to him. “That is where you are wrong, Typo.” The cadet says to Oliver.
“Zayn–“ The Captain holds up his hand in an attempt to silence him.
“No Harry if the boy is so upset about his water than he should know why don’t you think?” The cadet interrupts him, partially speaking to the Captain and partially taunting Oliver.
The Captain responds with a sigh of exasperation, taking several strides backwards. The cadet grins at the higher ranking soldier. He combs his fingers through his black hair twice before looking at us with a sardonic smile.
“So,” He begins, rubbing his hands together. “let’s start with a little history lesson shall we?
“A long time ago there were no Correctors or Typos. We were all one big happy family. But our government, was total shit.” My mother’s hands fly over Leo’s ears when the curse word slips through his crude lips. “There was a lot of poverty in this God forsaken world. You were either filthy rich, or dirt poor. And it was simply much better for the richer folks than it was for the poor folks. Obviously.
“Well, the poorer folks– your ancestors– didn’t like that so much.” He’s taunting us. “They thought, that they weren’t getting their fair share of nation’s money. So they rebelled against the government and started a war we now call the Defiance. On one side the rich people– the Correctors– and on the other, the poorer people– the Typos.
“Now the Typos, weren’t such good people.” Oliver’s jaw clenches. “They slaughtered millions of good, innocent civilians.” The cadet’s lips form a frown and he shakes his head in mock sadness. “Genocides adding up to tens of thousands of Correctors simply massacred by your ancestors.
“The Correctors finally got their control back after fighting in the Defiance for years. They successfully stripped the Typos of their weapons and rallied them up. But they didn’t know what to do with them after that. They couldn’t kill all of them. That would be savage– cruel.” The cadet laughs. “So they separated them into smaller towns all over the nation. Isolating them in order to keep them from joining together to rebel again. They took care of the Typos– murderers in order to keep the civilization safe. And they’ve been that way ever since.” The cadet pauses. Looking at all of us with a pointed, disgusted glare.
“But tell me, Typos,” He spits the word like it tastes bad in his mouth. “How is it that you murdered us and now we are spending our money to take care of you? How come we are wasting our resources on the decedents of savages? Huh? What is the point of that? You should be bowing at our feet for letting you live this long.” None of us respond to his heated words.
The cadet takes a deep breath. “Which is why we are taking you to Knox.”
The word sends off alarm bells in my head. I remember hearing about it in the paper a few years ago. My mind slowly processes the word, testing it. Knox. Knox. Knox.
“Knox? Like the camp the Correctors were planning?” I say aloud.
“The public said no to it long ago.” Oliver says.
“Isn’t that a death camp?” Someone speaks up in the back.
The cadet grins. “What the public doesn’t know won’t hurt them. In fact, it will help them in the long run. We can stop wasting our resources on you. And yes, it is a death camp.”
“You’re going to kill us?” I choke out.
“Eventually, yes.”
Blake Riley♥
dedicated to my first internet friend
If that didn't make sense please let me know. I will happily answer your questions.