It’s your turn. You
watch as he walks
down the row of cells, a soft sigh at all of the
empty ones—glass and steel
mixed with antiseptic white, with no life inside
to animate this barren bunker.
You look down as he finally comes to the first
occupied cell. Yours. You
thought you had burned away all traces of your
fear long ago, but your stomach
rises and begins to practice knotwork as he
stops in front of your
glass-fronted room.
He
studies
you and you study him right back. He is older than
you remember, older and
wearier than the day he put you in this room. His
hair has all faded to gray,
messy as it never had been before. It makes a
startling contrast to his
spotless lab coat and the suit underneath. As you
study his form, you notice a
roughly-hewn cane at his side. That is new; a sign
of age that is unable to be
ignored. But you suppose that you are older as
well, though you wouldn’t know
it. There are no mirrors in your room. Your hands
have grown larger, at least,
judging by the stain on the wall.
You
take a
step back, unwilling to leave this place that is
both prison and sanctuary, the
place that made you special. Uncontaminated. But
it is time to go. The door
slides open, and you feel a breeze for the first
time in… you don’t even
remember how long. Even if it is an underground
breeze, it feels cool and fresh
against your skin, unlike the wind that you barely
remember, filled with sand
and acid and burning. You close your eyes to
marvel at it, luxuriate in it,
attempting to ignore the man outside of your cell.
But that proves impractical
when he grabs your arm and you stumble into his
embrace. He is no less strong
than he was.
He
steadies
you gently with those massive and callused hands
of his, rough against
your skin, and you look up into his eyes. It only
lasts a moment, but you can
see fear, tenderness, and regret flash through his
gaze before he turns you
around, and both of you face the entryway. A thin
hope shoots through your core
like a beam of light. Maybe you’ll get to see the
sun once more before…
whatever he does. You don’t know, in all truth. No
one ever came back. You
didn’t get to hear Petja’s laugh again or see
Matt’s smile. They left. Just as you are
leaving now. You
hope they managed to change.
You
feel a
brief pang for those you leave behind, and turn to
look, but he yanks on your
arm and you are away before final goodbyes may be
made.
The
room
he brings you into is huge. The ceiling seems to
touch the sky, cold gray walls
slicing through the air as if to cut into the
blue. But you can see the blue.
Through high windows near the peak of the arch,
the sky peeks in. And you gawp
unashamedly. The last time you had seen the sky it
had been brown and red, the
colors of death and contamination. It had been a
blessing that you had come
here, even if you had to let him change you. You
look over at him, a darting,
pleading glance, then look back to the sky,
reveling in the feeling of sun on
your face.
He
chuckles
at that, letting you both pause a moment to allow
you your time, but you notice
something wet and cold in his chuckle, and heavy
breathing behind it. He is no
younger and no wiser than he had been before, when
this all began, you suddenly
realize, and this is a fact. No happier either.
What has he got to show for all
of those years you and the others spent confined?
What happened to the children
you used to know, the ‘special’ ones who had been
saved from the apocalypse
outside? You don’t know. But there is an
aching sense that he doesn’t either. And that,
more than the lives that have
been spent, hurts.
He
begins
to walk away from you, and you hurry behind, more
because of your teaching than
any sense of obligation. Together you leave the
sky. Together you hurry back
into darkness, into the places where man has won
over nature and proudly
displays his conquest. Together, you hurry toward
a new future. There are
machines here that you know you cannot understand,
but you take it all in
anyway. It is a sensory feast compared to your
room. The wires and displays
would please any motion-picture fan—if people
still remembered what those were,
anyway. You had been lucky. The changed were given
an education, just in case
it worked.
You
know
when you come to the end. This room is a large
circle, filled with pictures,
machines, and tubes. Some of these tubes are
filled with a dark fluid, and you
are not sure what is inside, though the pictures
of what you know were former
subjects give you some clues. Most of them were
stamped with a bright red
FAILURE. You determine that will not be you. You
will be one of the precious
few MOVED TO PHASE TWO. You will not join the
shrine of the failed, with a
candle lit to you in the corner.
In
the center is a large machine, with a space
inside it for just one person. There is a long
thin tube of glass that you know
you are meant to inhabit. You study it, wondering.
But then you shake your
head. There is no use in wondering. You will go,
no matter what you may think.
So you step up to the railing.
He
looks
shocked at this, and even delighted, but all
emotion fades quickly. It always
has. You assess the structure, find the places
where you are supposed to be
strapped in, and begin to do the work, but his arm
catches you once more. You
look back.
He
is
close to you now, smiling as gently as he is able.
He cups your face between
his palms and places a gentle kiss on your
forehead. You can feel the tears on
his cheeks as he holds you close. “Thank you,” he
murmurs. “Thank you.” But there
is no more time. It is your time to
change.
So
he
helps you buckle in and feeds a needle into the
flesh of your arm. Your flesh
burns like fire where the needle is taped in, but
you cannot be afraid. He
closes the door. You stare at the ceiling and tiny
bit of sky as the tube
starts filling with fluid. You cannot look down.
Never look down, or all your
emotions will come undone. But you can see his
face. He looks crushed.
So
you smile. Bravely.