Something Good

[Toaster]

Cara sat on the hard mattress and glared out of the glass door that sealed off her small cell. She was cold, the thin tunic she had been provided with barely doing anything to keep her warm. She was hungry, too. Thrice a day, a guard delivered a tray with synth paste and orange juice. It barely sated her.

Five days had passed since the two strangers had taken her. At least she believed it to have been five days. There was no way for her to tell for sure, no clocks, no windows, no sun nor moon. She wasn’t even sure whether she was on a planet or in space, nor how long she had been in cryosleep.

Why? It was the question she had had on her mind since she was awoken out of suspension. Why was she here? Why did they want her? Why were they putting her through tests and taking samples of her blood? No one had bothered explaining any of it to her, hell, barely anyone even spoke to her. And when they did, it was just instructions and orders on what to do.

Absentmindedly, she ran a hand across the left side of her head. A patch of her hair had been shaved off, and a new scar ran from her temple to the back of her head. What had they done to her?

Cara wanted to cry, but she had already done that. No more tears would come.

A guard appeared at the glass panel. He glared at her, his eyes cold and hard. The panel slid open and he stepped inside, his right hand hovering near the sidearm holstered to his belt. Cara pulled her legs up against her chest, trying to cower away from him. She didn’t want to be taken again, didn’t want to endure any more exams and experiments.

“Come on, get up,” the guard growled impatiently. He reached out for her arm but Cara lashed out at him, slapping his hand away from her. Angrily, he stepped closer and struck her across the head with the back of his hand. A blast of pain erupted from the scar on her scalp and the young woman slumped to the side, momentarily blinded and numbed. “Get up already.”

She felt the man’s iron grip on her arm drag her to her bare feet and out of the chamber, down the long corridor, past her fellow inmates. The blast-door slid open and the guard shoved her through.

“There she is,” she heard him mutter. Then she felt a warm hand on the side of her head, fingers gently probing at the bare patch of skin.

“Don’t hit them,” a soft voice spoke. It sounded oddly familiar, but Cara couldn’t place it. Then the hand moved down to hers and took it. It tugged at hers and she followed, placing one foot in front of the other as the voice guided her.

“Come along.”

It almost sounded soothing. As the pain in her temple subsided, Cara’s vision began to return. Around her, she could make out the same steel corridors she had been marched down a dozen times already. Before her, leading her by the hand, was a dark-haired man, his thick strands slicked back. She recognized him. He was one of the two strangers that had taken her from Denver, the one who had caught her and injected her with a drug.

Cara stopped short and pulled her hand free of his. The man came to a halt and turned to face her.

“Please,” he said quietly, “we don’t have much time.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Cara hissed in response, anger seeping into her voice. The man glanced over his shoulder, down the corridor. It was deserted. She glared at him, surprised by his expression. He looked… worried? Anxious?

“Trust me,” he pleaded, turning back and locking eyes with her. Cara nearly exploded.

“Trust you?!”

The man’s eyes widened in alarm and he took a step towards her, raising an outstretched finger to his lips.

“Quiet!” He whispered. They stood perfectly still for a moment, the man again looking up and down the hallway, seemingly waiting for something. Satisfied that no one had heard them, he took another step towards her and lowered his voice even further. “I’m getting you out of here.”


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Olivia Sable