Prologue – Escape

Rape, murder, it’s just a shot away

- The Rolling Stones

Janet sprinted naked through a busy sterile corridor, her bare feet striking against unyielding cement, unfettered firm breasts bouncing in time with her stride. Handsome doctors, pretty nurses, wheelchair patients, and milling visitors all ignored her, intent upon their business. Panicked, Janet spared a glance over her bare shoulder as she dodged a slow-moving nurse. The diminutive man pursuing her might have reached Janet’s waist if he stood on tiptoe; his stature inspired little fear in her. The clown mask the man wore and the sharp scalpel clutched in his right hand achieved what his height could not. She was desperately afraid, a lingering dread that reached profoundly into her soul and squeezed it. Her heart pounded audibly in her chest, her lungs struggled to inhale enough air. Her legs were long and fit. His legs were short, stumpy and lacked any significant musculature. Regardless, he was gaining on her. And he was grinning maniacally. She returned her attention ahead and attempted to sprint faster, her lungs and legs screaming in ignored protest.

Between hospital sections, sliding glass doors operated on a motion sensor. Time slowed; it felt like she was running underwater, each faltering stride more of an effort, even the air refusing to fill her aching lungs. As she struggled to approach the doors, they began to uncaringly and leisurely slide open as they sensed her frantic approach. Her legs slowed, then halted. Even if the dispassionate doors would admit her in time, she could no longer convince her legs to move. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As the gap widened enough to permit her passage, she battled to convince her bare feet to dash through the narrow opening, to escape. She could hear his pace slow as he approached, hear his quiet giggle, feel his fetid breath and stubby fingers upon her naked thighs. As the sharp blade sliced through her skin and buried deeply into her kidney, she fought to scream. Similar to her legs, her larynx refused to respond to her desperation.

Breath abandoned her. Her heart hammered dully against her ribs. Her kidney erupted in pure white hot agony.

Finally, her voice returned.

She screamed with all the force her body could muster.

Some dreams fade as one wakes, like smoke curling lost beyond the flue. Other dreams, often nightmares, refuse to release their grip, like flames licking at gasoline.

Janet woke to animalistic guttural groans emerging from her own throat, white hot phantom agony slicing into her kidney, body twitching uncontrollably. Damp perspiration drenched her skin beneath the thin sheet clutched tightly to her chin. She struggled to control her ragged breathing, her racing heartbeat, fight or flight converging into simple panic. Disorientation gripped her, unable to resolve diminutive clowns, sharp scalpels and the thin mattress under her. Surrounding her, soft snoring and calm regular breathing belied her immediate terror.

As she fought for full consciousness, the foreign moans of horror emerging from her throat subsided.

“Are you OK?” Rebecca’s sleepy disembodied voice floated from above.

Janet squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nightmare to retreat. It would never retreat. Not while she was here. Not in this place.

She found her voice, not trusting that it wouldn’t emerge a terrified scream. “Just a nightmare,” she breathed softly. Rebecca turned over in the upper bunk, the structure shifting and creaking.

“Another one? The creepy dwarf clown?” Sleepy. Not even half awake.

Not to mention sharp scalpels, glass doors and mutilated kidneys.

“Yes. I’ll be OK. Go back to sleep,” Janet whispered. She wouldn’t be fine, none of them would be, and she knew that, even if she could no longer simply accept it. She even knew the likely source of chasing clowns and knives.

Rebecca’s breathing had already descended back into quiet snoring.

Janet’s body ached from the nightmare, especially her lower back on the right side, where the phantom blade had sliced into her. She reached behind her, fingers probing at the skin, finding everything as intact as it should have been; however, even the lightest touch of her fingertips drove sensations of remembered pain flooding into her consciousness. She bit her lip, willing away the automatic scream. Her fingers traced her lower ribs and arrived at the long-healed scars tucked under her left breast. The raised scars formed familiar letters under the sheet; she shivered in revulsion at the memory of their formation. The rite of initiation. Another reason, as if she needed one, that she needed to escape this place.

And finally, she rested both hands on the tight muscles of her abdomen, palms pressed to her flesh as if embracing herself or touching someone within. She’d performed no official test, indeed no test was available to her, but a woman simply knows. Even if she weren’t present in a room filled with peacefully sleeping sisters, she would never be alone. Indeed, she was responsible for the vulnerable life growing within her womb.

The intensity of the remembered pain faded, even while the nightmare itself remained vivid within the forefront of her mind.

Earlier, on a forestry expedition, she had spotted the fallen pine, either a miracle of wind or lightning during the storm yesterday. It had not been cleared. A sign. It was an uncaring glass door sliding open, the tiniest gap widening and beckoning as she approached.

Three days ago, when she first suspected, she stopped taking the S. Each evening, she tucked the tiny white pill under her tongue until she reached the corn field, or the poppy field, or the forest, where the drug, whatever it was, fertilized or vastly improved the mood of the plants. Her libido had fallen dramatically but not disappeared. She could think again, even with remnant tendrils of fog floating through her mind. She idly wondered if the scalpel had become more vivid with the gradual decline of S in her bloodstream. She ached for another pill, her body constantly insistent and demanding; she’d be punished with The Box if they knew. She hadn’t even risked telling Rebecca, who she trusted with her life. She fervently hoped that her actions wouldn’t land Rebecca in The Box, but she had no illusions. Rebecca would bear the brunt of the repercussions, if she succeeded, merely by association and proximity. She also knew she was on an unavoidable clock. She had to leave tonight. Or never. Never wasn’t really an option.

“We aren’t staying,” she whispered towards her hands before she removed them from her abdomen.

That vulnerable collection of dividing cells growing in her provided the most important reason to escape. More important, indeed, than even the thought of The Box, or Rebecca.

Janet pushed the sheet from her, carelessly kicking it down to the foot of the mattress. The cool evening air bathed her naked skin, evaporating any residual perspiration remaining from the nightmare. She shivered, gathering her resolve.

Swinging her legs from the bunk, she stood silently, resting her hands on Rebecca’s mattress. Janet watched Rebecca’s serene sleeping face for a moment, ruddy muted light like firelight upon the skin of her cheeks and closed eyelids. Janet would miss her the most of all her sisters here, one way or the other, but she could no longer delay the inevitable. The clock ticked. The glass doors beckoned and they wouldn’t be sliding open forever.

Perhaps sensing Janet’s gaze, Rebecca opened her eyes and smiled. Janet wasn’t even sure if Rebecca was fully awake. Probably not.

“Everything OK?” Rebecca murmured.

It would be okay, or at least she hoped it would. Hope springs eternal.

“Just a facility run,” Janet whispered back, lying for the first time to her sleepy bunkmate. Instinctually, she traced Rebecca’s soft cheek with her fingers. “I love you,” Janet whispered. “Take care of yourself.” And she did love her in a way that transcended this place. She loved all her sisters here, but Rebecca was special, even so.

Rebecca smiled sleepily, clearly not understanding. Ignorance was preferable. Janet wanted to whisper goodbye, but that would have been too risky and unfair. Against all odds, she hoped to see Rebecca again. She would, but there was no way for her to know that, then.

“I love you, too,” Rebecca whispered before closing her eyes again and slipping back into blissful sleep.

There was nothing, not even clothing, for Janet to gather. Either she escaped, or she didn’t. There was absolutely no middle ground. She cast one last longing look at Rebecca and turned her back. Silently, she walked down the common pathway between the rows of half-empty bunks towards the beckoning exit. At the door, she turned to gaze into the barracks one last time.

“Goodbye, Rebecca,” she whispered. Nobody heard her.

She opened the door and stepped out into the night.

The night breeze cooled her bare skin. Clouds boiled in the night sky, illuminated by a distant but otherwise invisible moon. Janet was thankful for the lack of light, but it was a double edged sword; no light meant she would need to be more cautious during her journey. While the air edged with cool, the crickets sang and summer peaked. She wouldn’t freeze. Regardless, she wished for the modesty of clothing as she hugged herself. Shoes would make the journey easier, too, but again, they weren’t an option. The women all slept naked; although there was no explicit rule, it was expected in this place. She didn’t mind; for her, sleeping sans clothes always was more comfortable and afforded access for night time trysts. Unfortunately, it was indeed inconvenient when one needed to walk through kilometres of forest in the middle of the night.

Clothing for daytime resided in a communal storage building on the opposite side of the compound. Janet briefly considered walking to storage, but even at this hour, there was risk of being spotted. She wasn’t shy of her nudity, one lost that instinct quickly on S and after residing for any length of time within the compound. Rather, if she were spotted outside at whatever godforsaken time it was, it would raise uncomfortable questions, and there was simply too much at risk. She passed her hands over her naked stomach, a brief shiver ascending to her hammering heart.

She glanced one last time at the shadowy structures of the compound. She wouldn’t miss this place, but she would miss her sisters. Inhaling deeply three times, she turned to her left, her bare feet accustomed to the dusty dirt, and walked beside the barracks, invisible in the ghostly murkiness of night.

At the cornfield, she paused. She’d tilled the soil, planted the kernels, and assisted with irrigation; she knew the cornfield as well as she knew every centimetre of the compound. The night imbued a sinister aura across the tall plants. Strange rustles and sighs permeated the atmosphere here, as night breezes troubled the crop. The rustles and sighs reminded her of Gatlin, and children, and He Who Walks Behind the Rows. For a moment, she faltered, her legs insisting she return to her safe bunk, swallow the S and avoid the murderous children.