Oculus (Oculus #1) (32 page)

“Can you at least ask someone? If I’m going to die, I would like to have some dignity left when they pull the trigger. For God’s sake, all I wanted was some food!” He leaves without looking back, making me wonder if my performance has been convincing.

Several hours later, I am rewarded with the confident strides of Chief Williams coming down the hall toward my cell. Two guards step inside, training their rifles on me, and then she steps in behind them. Two more guards stay outside the door.

Say what you will about this woman, she is careful. And efficient. No wasted labor, but all sight lines and contingencies covered. She would be a very difficult target to assassinate. I would probably have to resort to poison, or maybe a nerve agent.

While my mind entertains all the lovely ways I could put an end to Chief Williams’s life I keep my body limp, my face fearful. Giving me a contemptuous look, she waves her guards back to the wall.

“So, Bakes. My guards tell me that you have been whining about being released from your restraints. I think we might be able to accommodate that, but what can you give me for it?” I pretend to be confused by the question.

“What? I don’t have anything…you even took my clothes.” Her eyes flick down my naked body with just an instant of casual interest before she speaks again.

“Yes, but this is a business. You wish to be free from your restraints; I wish to find your collaborators. They have been extremely competent at avoiding capture. I find myself wondering if they have not already escaped into the Dark Lands.”

It is unsettling that she has already jumped so far ahead. I had hoped to have a few more days before she called an interrogator. I can now see what little time I have slipping away from me. Plastering the most pathetic look on my face I can muster, I make a horrible mewling sound that I had heard one of my louder victims make. The effect it has is instantaneous; Williams recoils then slaps me hard across the face. I see a micro expression of lust and glee cross her face, which is quickly replaced by her normal sedate glowering.

Turning to her guards, she motions for them to join her at the door. I hear her give instructions to each pair to go to the far ends of the hallway, effectively blocking this area off from all personnel. I notice with interest they will also be out of listening distance. When Williams returns, she wheels in a small cart then closes the door behind her. Taking a plastic bag from the cart, she removes all of her clothing, folding each piece neatly and placing it within the cart. Then she puts on a disposable jump suit with a hood, which she pulls up over her hair. Finally, she takes a face shield from the cart and draws it over the only exposed skin she has left.

As she faces me, I feel a strange sense of recognition. This is a true predator. Not some fancy, spoiled child like Ingram, this is one of nature’s perfect machines.

Plucking a heavy set of gloves from the cart she pulls them on as she walks in my direction.

“Bakes…poor, little bakes. You must realize by now that your friends are never coming for you? Even if they did, I have quite a few nasty surprises waiting for them. No, you are going to end up in the furnace I’m afraid. Powering the lights for a few hours, maybe a day. The question is, how do you want to spend the last hours of your life. Tied to a table? Or would you like a good meal, more food than you could eat? A nice soft bed to sleep in? A shower? All of that could be yours…if you tell me what I want to know.”

It is probably true. She will give poor Bakes his shower. His food. His nice warm bed. Then the next day she will trot him out in front of the cameras, well rested and fed. To be shot in the head. No altruism there, just more agenda to serve her needs.

You have to admire the single minded ruthlessness of this woman.

“Please,” I whimper out. “I don’t want to die.” I quiver my lip for effect. She replies by punching me with her right fist, mashing my lips into my teeth.

“Please,” she mocked. “A big strong lad like you, already reduced to a quivering mass of jelly? Where is the fire? Where is the anger?” Her left fist smashes into my ribs, smarting, but doing no real damage. It is hard enough that on an out of shape opponent she might have broken a bone. The look of lustful glee she has on her face is undisguised now.

“I’ll do anything you want. Please, stop hitting me.” I can see where this is going. A woman in her position probably doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to have sex. There would be too many people trying to use a relationship against her. Based on her physical response to hurting me, I can see that situation had festered in her. She seems to get sexual pleasure from inflicting pain, heightened by me being completely at her mercy. I am not sure if she’s going to want to copulate, but if she does she might loosen one of my hands. If she does, she will find out quite quickly how fast the tables can turn.

Sneering at me, she back hands me across the face. For the next ten minutes she works me over, avoiding my genitals. Professionally, I have to admire her work. The average man would be somewhat broken by this treatment from a woman. The same thing had been done to me when I was four. I’ve since worked through any issues it caused; mostly it just makes it easier to kill women if the need arises.

I continue to give what I feel are the appropriate responses. A cry of pain at a heavy blow, a whimper during a pause in punches, continued pleads for mercy. In the end, she waits until I offer to do whatever she wants then she stops.

“Yes, Bakes. I think you will. I will be coming back here tomorrow. You will be released from the table and allowed to shower. You will be given a good meal. You will be allowed to use the bathroom. Then, you will be placed back upon your cleaned table. When I come to you tomorrow you had best be ready to answer my questions and comply with my every command. Is that clear?”

The undisguised lust on her face makes it crystal clear what she has in mind for the following day. None of that matters. Once they free me from the table this will all be over. The only question is whether or not I can kill the attendant and get to Williams before being forced to kill myself. Keeping my face appropriately terrified, I nod vigorously.

Williams returns to the cart and removes her facemask and jumpsuit, placing them in a black trash bag. Pulling a packet out, she tears it open and removes a large, moist towelette, which she uses to wipe her face. Retrieving her garments she dresses, then turns and opens the door. She leaves the room with the cart, not even giving a backward glance.

The attendant comes in a few minutes later and gives me some water, wipes me down with a wet towel and feeds me. After helping me relieve myself he leaves, never once making eye contact with me. I guess even in The Corp there are people who can’t stomach torture. It is the kind of thing that gives me hope that someday The Corporations will no longer be in power.

I
CAN’T SAY THAT I’M
the cleverest woman in the world. Nor am I the most skilled. Nor am I the bravest, but in this instance, my desperation has bred opportunism that I’m smart enough to not waste away.

Sic said to leave, to run. The thought of running only sends a shock of hurt through my chest. Not only because I’d be running away, leaving behind my father, but because I’d be leaving Sic behind too. A small scared girl deep inside me is whispering to me, reminding me that at this juncture both of their futures look bleak. Even if I leave, how in the world am I suppose to just join up with The Resistance? Am I to keep up the blind girl act? Is there an end to all of this? A place for me? A life waiting for me to show up and shape it?

I feel lost, but no less determined to help Sic. He’s been my companion even before I knew about him, before the dreams came… I can’t lose him. I
won’t
lose him. At least, not completely, not if I can help it.

Chief Williams has outwardly given me trust and freedom to come and go as I please, swaying the good people of The Corp with my walks and chatter about how good Fenra has been to me and to all of us. Yesterday I arrived at Security as instructed to record the PR ad that Chief Williams had arranged… and scripted on my behalf.

It has been difficult navigating the compound hearing and seeing my own face and voice on the Fenra monitors throughout our community.

Fenra, a safe place, our home, our livelihood, a haven of possibility… for everyone
.

The scripted words ring out clear for residents to hear as they carry on about their business. They’re catching rail cars to and from work. They’re spending their hard earned time at ration machines. They’re escorting their children to Fenra First School. All with my voice echoing around them, selling a lie over screens and speakers bought with their blood, inside a walled compound which is actually a prison disguised as a refuge.

Lies!

Keeping the scowl from my brow has been no easy task. Reminding myself that this is a means to an end has been my only foothold on maintaining and further endorsing the propaganda.

Time. I’m buying time. Dad and Sic need this from me.

Still, seeing the curious glances from strangers shift to relaxed looks of affirmation turns my stomach. If they only knew, if only someone would tell them just how wrong this entire society is. If only someone would give them the proof they need, they’d all know that they weren’t meant to live this way. Cade is right, Sic is right, dad is right. It’s not safe here. This is no refuge. We don’t need The Corp. They need us. We could make our way without them. We could, if there were enough of us, build our own society. We could start over separate from The Corp and the compound. We could rebuild somehow. It would take time, actual time. Moments measured in minutes, hours, weeks, months, years instead of moments of human beings’ lives spent serving The Corp in exchange for goods and services that should be easy enough for us to get on our own.

Doesn’t anyone else see how backward things are?