Текст книги "State of Chaos"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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All possible scenarios. All things I imagine to keep myself from panicking.

Another hour drags by.

I throw on my boots.

Twenty minutes.

I put on my jacket.

Fifteen minutes.

I grab my knife and strap it to my thigh.

Five minutes.

I open the front door.

There’s no light coming from inside the trailer, other than the tea lights I lit on the kitchen counters. I take a cautious step into the cool night air, clicking the door shut behind me. The sky is shrouded with rainclouds, making it difficult to navigate the trailer park without moonlight. I swallow a nervous lump in my throat before walking. I’m not really looking for Chris. I’m not going to find him. I just feel cooped up…and yeah. I’m worried.

I walk around the outer fence of the park, studying the ghostly appearance of the abandoned houses. Everything from children’s toys to spare tires are scattered around the front lawns. Grass is growing around one tricycle, twisting through the tires. It’s creepy on a number of levels.

“You stay here and wait until I show up. Period,” Chris said.

I wince, feeling guilty for leaving the trailer. I should go back. So I turn on my heel and head back to the trailer, making up my mind to sit and wait this one out. I’ve been through too much to run outside and get into trouble like this. I know better. I’ve seen the dark side of society on more than one occasion.

When I reach our trailer, I open the door and slip inside. Chris hasn’t come back yet. Major bummer. I sink down on the sofa and sigh, trying to relax. Get in a yoga peace moment or something.

Chris will come back. He always comes back.

And bam. Just like that, everything changes. It happens so quickly that I don’t even have time to scream. The picture window at the front of the living room shatters into a million pieces. The glass simply explodes, coinciding with a shrieking, ripping sound right next to my head. I roll to the ground, instinctively covering my head with my hands. I feel shards of glass cutting through my jacket, stinging the skin of my fingers.

What the…?

The explosion – if that’s what it is – stops. I look up, head spinning, pushing off the floor with my hands. I wince as glass digs into my palms, drawing blood. Another ripping sound fills the air and the lamp on the coffee table shatters. I snap my gaze to the kitchen, instantly finding the source of the noise: a gun. And a man holding it. He’s wearing a dark blue uniform. A white O is clearly visible on his shoulder sleeve.

Omega.

I freeze. Terror momentarily roots me to the spot. This is exactly what I’ve been scared of for weeks. Being found. And now I’m staring straight into the face of an Omega soldier, his gun trained right at me. He’s apparently just as stunned as I am to make eye contact – and I’m even more stunned that he shot at me twice and missed.

Strangely enough, my first thought is:

Chris would never miss.

The guy snaps out of it, raising his weapon again. No dice. I turn on my heel and sprint outside, running as fast as I can. I weave between trailers, shaking from head to toe. I could have been shot dead the instant I walked into the living room. God, what if the trooper was already in the house before I left the trailer? I could have been killed sitting at the kitchen table.

Those kinds of thoughts only make me run faster. I skid around a corner and spot another guy in uniform, barely visible in the darkness, his head bobbing in my direction. He yells something along the lines of, “HALT!” but of course I ignore him. I turn around and run the other way, rounding another corner, finding two more guards.

What is this? An ambush? How did they find us?

WHERE IS CHRIS?

I dart frantically across dead lawns, through backyards, underneath picnic tables and through flowerbeds. I can hear footsteps and voices now, sounds that are getting closer as they pursue me. I run to the edge of the trailer park, eyeing one of the breaks in the chain link fence. I need to lose these suckers in the woods, but I can’t bring myself to step away from the trailer park without Chris. He’s tactically brilliant, and I can’t see him stumbling into the lap of some Omega soldier. Maybe that’s why he’s not home yet. Maybe he ran into a patrol, too.

“Chris!” I yell, not caring who hears me. I’m already being chased, so it’s not like I’m giving myself away. “Christopher!”

Yeah, that’s it. Go for the full name.

A stray shot whizzes by my ear, nearly grazing my cheek. I jerk backwards and start heading towards the fence, Omega soldiers flooding out of the trailer park like roaches. I can’t believe how many there are. How could this happen? How long have they been tracking us?

I stop trying to rationalize the situation and slip through the break in the fence, diving into the woods. An eerie sense of Deja vu overwhelms me, taking me back to a couple of months ago when I was running from Omega in the mountains…

In the end, I’d escaped alive. Why not now?

I know without looking over my shoulder that I’m being chased by at least four people. At least. My advantage over them is that I’m small and lightening quick where they’re burdened down with bulletproof vests and heavy weapons. So I press harder, sprinting through the undergrowth, putting more and more distance between the trailer park and me.

Just as I’m looking for place to hide, a jolting, electrifying pain spikes up my right leg. I’m running full speed when it happens, making me go down fast and hard. I tumble head over heels to the bottom of a small embankment covered with gravel. I cry out, looking down at my ankle. I’ve been hit with… something. The dark material is wet with blood, hot and sticky against my skin.

I hobble to my feet and try to stand, only to get another electric jolt up my leg, straight to my chest. I gasp and fall to my knees, pulling the pant leg up. Something’s been shot into my skin. A bullet? No. My leg would be broken. I crawl forward, trying to pull myself to my feet, but every time I put pressure on my leg, excruciating pain sends me straight back to the ground.

Moaning, I realize absently that the Omega soldiers are closing in. I can hear their voices and make out their figures but it’s all background noise. This thing in my leg is killing me. It’s all I can focus on. But when an Omega man closes his hand around my arm, I get some sense of clarity and jam my elbow into his chest. He lets go and I hit the ground with an unattractive thud. Before I can even scramble to my feet I hear one thing and feel another.

I hear: Put her down.

And then I feel a tremendous blow to the side of my head, making all the pain go away. Everything goes black.

Not the highlight of my day.

Chapter Three

Growing up, I always had very vivid dreams. I rarely had a dream that revolved around science fiction or fantasy – everything I dreamed about was related to real life. My mom, my dad, my latest explosion in the chemistry lab at school. Whatever was in my head before I fell asleep was the subject of my dreams.

Today is no different, except for the fact that I’m not asleep. I’m unconscious. How I became unconscious I have no idea, but I have a feeling it’s not good. I’m stuck in an in-between world of dreaming and reality, mixing real sights and sounds with my imagination. Bursts of light, deep voices, soreness in my leg…what happened to my leg, anyway? What happened to Chris? Where am I… and why can’t I wake up?

I try to shake myself awake but it’s not working. I’m stuck in darkness. No feeling, no nothing. I can only hope that I’m not dead and that this isn’t some kind of lame version of heaven.

“Wake. Up.”

I feel myself bobbing to the surface of reality as somebody with an accented voice repeats those two words over and over again. The voice gets more and more irritated, which kind of ticks me off.

I’m trying to wake up. Don’t rush me.

Light slips into the darkness, and with it, feeling. I feel cold. I feel thirsty. I feel seriously in need of a hot shower.

Yeah. That’s my first thought when my eyes open and I find myself staring at a gray ceiling. “Finally. Geez, it took you long enough.”

As I focus on the scenery around me, I realize for the first time that my head is crammed against a wall. And I’m moving. Well, bouncing would be a more accurate term. A figure is crouched at my feet. She’s got dark skin, short brown hair and glittering hazel eyes.

“You’re not very polite,” she states.

I sit up, feeling dizzy, and look around. Somebody’s ankle is pressing against the back of my head.

Wait.

What?

I jerk straight up, overwhelmed by the smell of human sweat. It’s beyond gross. I’m crushed against the back wall of some sort of truck, and everywhere around me, people are standing next to each other, packed tightly like sardines in a can.

“What? I don’t…who…?” I start rambling. I’m disoriented, terrified and sick. All of those lovely emotions rolled into one. “What’s going on?”

Nobody pays any attention to me and I can’t move, because I’m stuck between too many people. The air is humid and difficult to inhale. It reeks like vomit and urine, too. I gag and roll to my side, crawling on my hands and knees.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the girl asks.

I turn back to face her. I’d forgotten she was here.

“Who are you?” I pant, shaking.

It’s hot. The only cool air is coming from above the heads of the standing crowd, so I try to stand. When I do, I fall over and hit the ground. Real graceful. The back of the truck is open. Everyone is fenced behind a metal mesh gate. It looks almost like chicken wire. It’s dark outside, and I can’t make out anything more than flashes of trees whizzing by.

“Sophia,” she says. The girl is crouched in a feral position, studying my face. “My name is Sophia. What’s yours?”

“My… name?” I’m clutching the floor like an old woman on a rollercoaster. “Um… right. My name.” I meet Sophia’s gaze. She’s surprisingly calm. Considering the fact that we’re crammed into the back of a giant semi truck, I’m impressed. “I’m Cassidy.”

“Nice to meet you.” She crawls over to me and takes my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s okay to be scared, sometimes.”

“What’s going on?’ I whisper.

“Omega is taking us to prison,” she shrugs. “Or something like that.”

“I don’t remember how I got here,” I say. “I was running…I think. I got shot.”

“No, not shot,” Sophia replies. “Just shocked, plus you got hit on the head. You’re okay. But you were kind of delirious when they shoved you back here. I made sure you didn’t get squished when they crammed everybody inside.”

I stare at her, rubbing the sore spot on my temple.

“Why?”

She looks down. “You looked like you needed somebody to help you.”

For some reason, that makes me want to bawl my eyes out. Somebody besides Chris actually cared enough to make sure that I didn’t suffocate in the back of a truck. A red-letter day for Cassidy Hart.

“Thank you,” I say.

She flashes an embarrassed smile.

“No problem.” She huddles closer. “Where did they pick you up?”

“I was in a trailer park,” I reply, biting my lip. “They must have had a patrol in the area. They probably saw me walking around outside. Stupid me. I should have stayed inside like he said!”

“Like who said?”

“My…” I trail off. “Chris. He’s going to be mad when he finds out I’m missing.”

That’s an understatement. It takes a few minutes for the harsh reality of my situation to sink in, but once it does, it hits me like a bowling ball in the chest. I’ve been caught by Omega. I’m crammed in the back of a semi-truck with a thousand other people. We’re being taken to prison – or something along those lines – and the chances of me living to see the light of day are slim.

Maybe this isn’t such a red-letter day after all.

I fold my arms around my chest and try to take some deep, slow breaths. It doesn’t really help. There isn’t a Zen zone on this side of the planet that could calm me down. I’m being shipped off to my death.

And everybody in this truck knows it.

“I’m from New York,” Sophia whispers, scooting close to me. “I was on vacation in California when the EMP hit. My family is still in New York somewhere.”

Her eyes shine with tears. Tears I sympathize with.

“I heard our military is fighting somewhere on the East Coast,” I reply.

Somebody shifts and kicks me in the ribs. I pull away and huddle back towards the wall, Sophia right beside me. I keep my eyes closed to avoid looking at the sickening rocking motion of the truck.

“Yes,” Sophia answers. “I’ve heard that. I’ve also heard that it’s a lot worse on the East Coast than it is over here.”

“Why?”

“They say it’s an active battle zone right now.”

What’s left of the color in my face drains away.

“What kind of battle zone?” I ask.

“Don’t know. By the time news gets here, it’s all nothing but rumors.” She sighs. “Could be nuclear war. Maybe. But I’ve heard that Omega’s actually got a huge front of troops moving in over there.”

Yeah. The sick feeling I just had?

It’s back.

I cover my mouth to keep from throwing up again.

“You can’t be serious,” I mutter. But I know she is. And deep down, I knew something big was going down on the East Coast. I just didn’t know what.

We still don’t, but that gives me a little bit more of an idea.

“Where do these people come from?” I say.

“I heard—” Sophia begins, but closes her mouth. “I’ll tell you later.”

Several of the prisoners in the truck are listening to our conversation a little too closely. And by the way everybody here is dressed – not to mention the way they smell – I’m guessing they’ve had a way worse day than me.

“Where are they taking us?” I ask instead.

“Don’t know. Did they pick you up in Squaw Valley?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Same. I was with a community, though. What’s left of the city was living in a neighborhood just off the road. Omega came, rounded us up, threw us in a truck and now we’re here.” She clenches her fists. “They’re not looking for people to kill anymore.”

“Then what are we here for?”

Sophia’s eyes narrow.

“To work.”

I don’t get a warm and fuzzy feeling from that statement either. All of this is way too much to take in, so I focus on putting myself into a mental box and locking everybody out. I think about Chris and only Chris.

What is he doing right now? He’ll discover that I’m gone when he comes back from his hunting expedition into the great unknown. He’ll be mad at me at first. He’ll think I went looking for him. (Well, technically I did, but that’s not how I got caught.) And then he’ll flip to battle mode and start searching for me. But how will he be able to track a truck? How will be ever find me?

He won’t, a little voice says. Its name is common sense. You’re on your own.

No way. I’m not alone. Chris will find me.

Even if he does find you, you’ll be dead by the time he does.

I shudder. Common sense really needs to take a hike.

All through the night, the truck keeps moving. When the soft glow of morning hits the opening at the end of the trailer, I strain to see where we are. I can’t see outside, though. Not with the enormous amount of arms and legs blocking my view. Sophia falls asleep on my shoulder. I’m too exhausted to shake her off, and besides. The girl did take care of me when I was unconscious. The least I can do is be a human pillow.

And then we stop.

I freeze. Doors slam. Men’s voices echo outside the trailer. The rumble of nearby engines. Sophia snaps awake beside me. She grabs my arm, looking scared.

“We must be here.”

There’s movement at the end of the trailer. I wobble to my feet, wincing with the pressure. My ankle is still sore from being hit with a stun gun, I guess. Unsurprising. There’s a hushed murmur right before the crowd surges forward. It’s so sudden that Sophia and I get smashed together. I can’t breathe. Somebody at the entrance of the trailer yells, “EVERYBODY OUT!”

I’m guessing that means us.

We’re dragged out of the truck along with the other prisoners. When we reach the mouth of the exit, I’m blinded by the sun. It seems unnaturally bright compared to the darkness of the truck. Everything moves in slow motion. Somebody grabs my arm and throws me to the ground. I land in a heap just as Sophia slams into my back. She gets to her feet, grimacing.

“Sorry,” she breathes.

I look around, trying to get my bearings. We’re on a dirt road, and all around us are rows of perfectly aligned fruit trees. Oranges, by the looks of it. An irrigation canal is running alongside the road. I get a good look at the truck: A semi with a fruit packing-shed insignia on the side.

Wow. I’m nothing but a piece of fruit, now?

Wonderful.

Omega guards in dark blue uniforms are surrounding the truck, literally throwing people out and lining them up. “Come on, line up. Move it.” An Omega trooper with thick black hair and pale skin shoves his gun into my back. I scramble to my feet just as Sophia clutches my arm. We’re pushed into a group of people guarded by troops. As we round the side of the truck, my jaw drops. Three other trucks are parked in front of us, all of them packed with prisoners. About fifty yards down the road is a huge complex of buildings. The structure is gray with dark orange roofing. A makeshift fence has been erected around the entire thing, topped off with coils of barbed wire.

This obviously isn’t your average prison.

“Move it, go forward. Come on.”

The same pale guard brings up the rear of this group, and I notice something else. Our truckload is made up of female prisoners. There aren’t any men in our group, although I can see a group of men farther down the road. They’re keeping us separated, which is the only positive thing that I can see about this situation.

“Do you know where we are?” Sophia whispers.

The two of us are linked arm in arm, afraid of being separated. We’ve only known each other for a couple of hours, but already we’ve latched onto an important survival instinct: stick together. It might be the only thing that keeps us alive.

“No, but…” I trail off as we approach the fence. Guards are standing at the gate, watching the prisoners get shoved through the entrance. The complex is surrounded with concrete. An asphalt road surrounds the property. A sign marked School Crossing is leaning sideways over the pavement. That’s when it hits me. This is – was – a school. The name of the school has been ripped off the front of the building. In its place is a rough outline of where the letters used to be. I feel chilled to the bone. Sophia sags against my shoulder.

“I can’t believe they would use a school to house prisoners,” she bites out.

“I can. They’ll use anything they can get their hands on.”

I shut my mouth as the pale guard comes up beside us, practically flapping his ears to get in on the conversation. When we pass through the front entrance, I experience a sudden rush of desperation.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

As soon as I step foot on the sidewalk, my heart sinks. We’re inside, now. Getting out is going to be difficult, if not impossible. Outdoor halls, offices, administrative buildings, classrooms and a gymnasium dot the property. Everything was once well watered and green. Flowers had been planted in front of the main office. Now everything is dead. Yellow. Sections of the school have been separated with cheap but effective fencing, making the entire complex one big series of inescapable walls.

If you get past one wall, you just have to get past another one.

Nice.

Our group is led down a long outdoor hallway, heading towards the gym. It’s like high school all over again, I swear. I always hated P.E. This is cruel irony.

When we approach the gym, I notice that the front doors are propped open. Vending machines are sitting dead around the perimeter. We step inside the gym, and I’m immediately hit with the same gross stench I had to put up with in the truck.

Sweat. Vomit. Other unmentionable scents better left unsaid.

The gym is crawling with prisoners. They’re being herded into different rows and Omega officers are crowding men and women into separate locker rooms. I get a fleeting glance at the empty bleachers and a giant blue and gold banner tacked above the backboard of the basketball court:

GO TIGERS! FIGHT!

If only.

Sophia and I squeeze into a single file line. She goes in front and I follow behind her. I’m trembling from head to toe with adrenaline and fear. The pale guard with the black hair – I’m going to call him Grease, because it looks like his hair hasn’t been washed in a couple of centuries – gives me a long, creepy look before heading off to join the men’s group. He’s replaced by a score of female Omega guards coming in from the locker room. They’re all fair-skinned, dark haired women with loud voices. One woman in particular catches my eye as she walks to the front of the line. Her hair is pulled back so tightly that it looks like it might tear her skin off.

A small nametag is shining on her breast pocket:

V. Kameneva.

Russian. She notices me staring at her and flicks her laser gaze right at me. It’s beyond uncomfortable. Worse than the look my dad would give me if I were slouching at the table in a public restaurant.

My cheeks warm and I stare at the ground, praying that she won’t speak to me. She doesn’t, but she keeps throwing glances in my direction as we pass. Because of her nametag and the red band tied around her left arm, I make an assumption that she’s an officer rather than a mere soldier. She’s overseeing the arrival of new prisoners.

“Cassidy,” Sophia hisses, stiffening.

“What?”

I peek around her, watching the line of people disappearing into the girls’ locker room. As we’re pushed inside, we have to cram between rows of lockers. Everything from happy face stickers to musty bathroom towels are scattered around the floor. I’m guessing when the EMP hit, this school evacuated fast. Maybe they were in the middle of a basketball game when it all went down…

Flecks of cold water hit my face, and I get a glimpse of what’s going on down the line. All of the showers are running at full blast. The privacy curtains have been torn off, and everyone is being forced to strip and walk through the showers.

“How do they get the plumbing to work?” Sophia whispers.

“They must have their own generators,” I reply. “Maybe they’re tapped into a private well or something.”

“Alright, strip down and leave your clothes at your feet!” The woman named V. Kamaneva marches down the aisle, gesturing to the showers. “Walk through the showers quickly. You will be inspected and then you will be given new clothes. Move it along quickly! No delays!”

I’m momentarily frozen. Embarrassment, shock and a thousand other emotions rush through my system, and before I know it, I’m standing at the front of the line, right next to Sophia. We’re both terrified. Sophia looks like she’s going to pass out. I might, too.

Kamaneva claps her hands together in front of my face.

“You’re holding up the line! Move it, move it!”

The armed female guards in the corner of the room look bored with what’s going on. I stare at the floor and strip off my clothes – even my awesome combat boots. When I’m done, I realize that the only thing I haven’t removed is the necklace Chris gave me months ago. His graduation necklace. Panicked at the thought of losing it, I take it off my neck and pretend to set it in my pile of clothes. With all the noise and commotion – not to mention the absolute humiliation of being forced to march naked through a row of showers with a bunch of soldiers watching – I pop it into my mouth. The gold tastes sour against my tongue.

Sophia and I walk through the showers. The water is freezing and the pressure is so powerful that feels like I’m being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.

Dear lord, this is like P.E. all over again.

Okay, maybe not, but still…I keep trying to relate this to real-life experiences to make it seem normal. But it’s hard, because this is not normal. This is a nightmare.

When we finally finish the never-ending shower run from hell, we stumble onto the other side of the locker room. More female Omega troopers are waiting. Half of them are armed. The other half is standing there, chucking towels in our faces. I catch one. It’s covered in dirt and grime. Lovely. I wipe the water off and try to shake the moisture out of my hair.

On the bright side, I’m clean.

On the not-so-bright-side, I still don’t have any clothes.

I keep my eyes glued to the wall or the ground, afraid that if I look up, I’ll realize how embarrassing this situation really is and have a full-on panic attack. I’m already on the edge as it is.

After everybody has dried off, we literally get clothes thrown in our faces. I grab the material. It’s rough, brown and the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. The fashion police would shoot me on sight if I walked around in this thing in Los Angeles. But it’s something to wear, so I throw it on. It’s a shapeless piece of cloth, little better than a potato sack. Your basic set of trousers with nothing more than a piece of string to keep them around my waist. We all get beat-up tee shirts, too. I look like a stereotypical hillbilly now.

Sophia gives me a once over when we get the clothes on.

“Pretty bad,” she mouths.

I almost smile.

We’re given cheap shoes next. They’re all different sizes, like somebody fished them out of a dumpster. I get stuck with a pair of cheap gladiator flip-flops that are two sizes two big.

These won’t last more than a day.

Kamaneva and her guards throw open the rear-exit to the locker room.

“Alright, this way. Get in line!”

We start moving again. At the door, a couple of women are waiting with scissors. I blanch. They’re cutting off the prisoners’ hair. I grab my long red locks, hair that falls all the way to my waist. Hair that I’ve been growing out since I was in Middle School. Sophia stands motionless in the doorway. Her hair is already above her shoulders, therefore they only end up cutting off a few inches. Just enough to make it a generic, masculine hairstyle.

I’ve still got Chris’s necklace between my teeth, so I keep my mouth closed. But I’m nothing short of horrified. Take away my clothes and dignity, but don’t cut off my hair. Ever. The woman with the scissors takes my wet hair in her hand and holds it for a minute. I swear she almost looks sorry.

Almost.

I hear the hair being hacked off and when I’m pushed through the door, my head feels like it’s floating above my shoulders. The weight is gone. I touch my scalp. My hair is probably only a few inches long. Long enough to be combed over, but not long enough to put in a ponytail.

I. Flip. Out.

I spit the necklace into my hand and tie it around the inside material of my stupid outfit. And then I start crying like a little girl, shocked with the loss of my long hair, marching around naked through a bunch of showers, being hauled in a semi-truck like a piece of livestock. It’s like a tornado of bad luck. A hurricane.

A blizzard.

Sophia is the one who saves me from myself. She takes my face between her hands and grits out, “Stop crying. We’re not safe yet.” She gives my shoulders a rough shake. “Cassidy? Come on. We’ll get through this together.”

I take a deep breath, barely able to see her through my tears. Sophia nods and hooks her arm through mine, and then we’re moving again. There’s really no downtime around this place, is there?

We’re led away from the gymnasium, back towards the center of the school. Towards the classrooms. I see a science building, a history building…I sigh. History was always my favorite subject growing up. Why does Omega have to take anything that’s halfway decent and turn it into something twisted?

Kamaneva and her guards open up another set of doors. A classroom marked LAB. We’re marched inside. Chairs, desks, books, pencils and anything else of remote convenience have been removed from the room. All that’s left are some plain counters, minus the vials and test tubes. The only windows are small slits near the top of the ceiling, making an escape through a those openings impossible.

Kamaneva walks up to a giant chalkboard at the front of the room. She grabs a piece of chalk from the lip at the bottom of the board – I’d like to know who left chalk in the room but took everything else – and starts writing. Nobody dares say a word. There are about thirty or forty of us packed inside the room.

She writes:

Group 13.

“You are Group 13,” she states, turning to face us. She folds her hands behind her back, staring at everyone with a cold expression. “When you hear your number, you respond immediately. If we call Group 13 out in the morning, you come right away. If you disobey regulations, your entire group will be punished.”

“What are the regulations?” somebody asks.

Afraid to turn my head and see who spoke, I keep my eyes trained on Kamaneva. She draws her hands down to her sides, taking a deep breath.

“Regulation Number One,” she says, taking a commanding tone. It’s kind of annoying. “You do not speak unless you are addressed first or asked a direct question.” Burn. “Regulation Number Two, you do not make a move without direct orders to do so. This includes, eating, sleeping, walking, talking, moving, working and thinking.”

“Inspirational speaker,” I mutter.

Sophia slaps my hand. I guess some of my sarcasm is returning.

“Regulation Number Three,” she continues, looking amused. “No prisoner at any time is to ever carry a weapon. If you are found in possession of a weapon, you will be executed immediately.” She pauses. “Regulation Number Four, obey all of the above regulations, or you’ll be killed. Are we clear?”

Nobody says anything.

This seems to make her happy. She gives a brief nod, walks towards the door, and bam. We’re moving. No more than five minutes of peace. We’re walking back out the doors, away from the chemistry lab, and I’ve got a bad feeling about where this whacked out tour is headed.

We’re rounded through some more double doors and enter a huge room with plastic tables and chairs everywhere. A long table is set up in the back. Omega guards are posted at every corner. A group of about twenty male prisoners are huddled around tables, eating something that looks suspiciously like a mud puddle in a cup.