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.
“This is where you will eat your meals,” Kamaneva announces. “You will get two. Breakfast and dinner. You will never take more than the portion given to you. Stealing food will result in severe punishment.” Her lips curl up at the corners. “You’ll have ten minutes every morning to eat. Ten minutes at night.” She makes a motion and the guards fall into place around us, goading us outside again. “While you are here you will move quickly and listen without speaking.”
We reach the outside of the school, where the orange groves are growing in abundance. The bushy green trees are overgrown, aligned in perfect rows. Oranges are hanging heavy on the branches. They’re ready to be picked. Outside of the orange groves are several empty fields, and down from that, more oranges.
“Group 13,” she says. “Your job will be harvesting the fruit that is already on the trees. When you are done, you will move on to planting.”
I share a glance with Sophia.
Really? Omega brought us all the way out here to do some farming?
Male Omega troopers move in and surround us. A couple of pickup trucks covered in mud roll in, each of them hauling trailers. My jaw drops. It’s been months since I’ve seen a working vehicle outside of Omega’s designated military Humvees. This isn’t possible. Not unless Omega was a lot more prepared for an EMP than we were. In that case, I can think of several theories…
But not right now. Troops are popping open the trailers. Ladders, sacks and boxes are packed into the bed. Kamaneva points to the trucks. “You will harvest the entire orange crop,” she announces. “Fill your sacks, bring them back to this point, then place them in boxes. You will have water periodically, when troops provide it. You start today. There’s no introductory period. Go.”
Just like that. I finally got a job.
Sophia and I lace our hands together, moving towards one of the pickup trucks. The early morning sunlight is breaking over the horizon, illuminating the distant Sierra Nevada mountain range. I can see Mt. Whitney sparkling with snow from here. It must be nice to be unmoving and unaffected by everything around you. To stand for thousands of years and stay the same.
I’d like to be a mountain.
Then again, I’d also like to visit McDonald’s. Welcome to my world.
“You.”
Sophia and I come to a halt at the same time. Kamaneva is standing a few feet behind us, her hands clasped in front of her. Up close I notice the wrinkles around her eyes. The frown lines around her mouth. She’s older than I thought.
“You’re friends?” she asks.
I manage to shake my head.
“Hmm.” She steps closer, placing one finger under our chins. “I had two daughters, once. They were young like the both of you.”
I fight to keep my expression neutral.
“One of them died,” she goes on. “The other one lived.”
She removes her fingers and steps back.
“It would be such a pity if you found yourselves in the same situation.”
She gives us a long, hard look before turning around and stalking off. Sophia stares after her. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?” she whispers.
I lick my lips.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Hey, you two! Get to work!”
Grease the guard is back. Darn. He throws two cloth sacks at our feet. Sophia and I bend to pick them up, slipping the thick strap over our shoulders. Some of the other women are hauling heavy ladders into the field. Omega guards are barking orders. Everybody is tense, afraid to ask questions, afraid to defy the instructions.
We’re terrified.
It would be such a pity if you found yourselves in the same situation.
Who is V. Kamaneva? She comes across as strange and cruel. And I haven’t even seen this woman in action yet. Sophia and I follow the other workers into the fields, Grease keeping close to us. “You pick the oranges, put them in the sack,” he commands. Then he points to the end of the row of trees, where male prisoners are bringing out large boxes. “You put the oranges in there. Other workers will sort them. You don’t worry about that. You just pick.” To my surprise, he gives us a smile. A creepy, make-me-want-to-crawl-in-a-closet smile. Sophia pushes up next to me. “Is it just me or is he bad news?” she asks.
“He’s bad news,” I say. “And his hair is disgusting.”
Shoot. Hair.
Something I don’t have a lot of anymore. I start to get teary-eyed again but I take a deep breath, look up at the orange trees, and try to zone out. Think of something else. Something other than the fact that I’ve been forced into slave labor.
Like why Omega needs us to pick oranges.
“What’s the point of this?” Sophia states as we walk towards a group of women placing a ladder against a tree. “How does picking oranges help Omega take over the world?”
“Well…” I lower my voice, conscious of the armed Omega men standing guard on the edges of the fields. “You said you thought something big was going down on the East Coast, right? Omega has a lot of troops over there.”
“Right.”
“You said it could have even been a nuclear war.”
“Yeah, so…?”
“So Omega has got to be some kind of cover name. An organization that nobody’s ever heard of doesn’t just pop up out of the blue, nuke New York, hit the East Coast with a full frontal assault and then start taking over the country.” I run a hand through my choppy hair. “Somebody big is behind this, and you and I just aren’t getting the full story because there’s no way to communicate with people who really do know what’s going on.”