Memory of the Color Yellow 1-5 by Suzanne Jenkins

Author:Suzanne Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: s, science fiction series, science fiction short stories, doomsday prepper, segregationism, prepper fiction, apocacylptic post apocacylptic, science fiction political, suzanne jenkins, science fiction box set

Chapter 8

By the time I reached the guard house, I was panting, scared to death. Stepping out to see what the commotion was, the guard’s eyebrows were down, mouth turned down in a grimace, furious.

“Help me,” I cried. “That delivery man, Jim kidnapped me and brought me here. I live in Europe Town. I want to go home.”

“Stand back,” the guard shouted, pulling his gun out, aiming at my forehead. “Don’t get any closer. Explain to me, just how in the hell did he kidnap you?”

“He was waiting for me at my school bus stop,” I stammered. “My friends will tell you. He said he was taking me to see his daughter. But I didn’t know he’d bring inside here or that I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“Old Jim, trying to hook up his kid again,” the guard said, shaking his head.

I didn’t know what hook up meant. “I want to go home! My mother’s going to be so worried.”

“I guess you’re fucked,” the guard said. “Don’t move unless you want your brains blown out. Mommy worrying about you will be the least of your problems.”

Never taking his eyes off me, he spoke into a radio device and within minutes, vehicles full of uniformed men surrounded me. They looked like the same men who came for Mrs. Polsky. I wondered if I was going to be murdered on the spot like she was.

Bounding out of the cars, no one said anything. One of the men grabbed my wrists and roughly cuffed them behind my back. Another strong man lifted me off the ground and put me into the back of a black van, buckling my seatbelt. My stomach grumbled and I was afraid I might throw up all over him.

“Kid, if you puke on me, you’re dead,” he said.

I was too shocked and frightened to cry. I didn’t even ask where they were taking me, figuring whatever was going to happen to me, it couldn’t be good. I kept my eyes on the window and was surprised that we were heading out of the gate in a caravan of cars. I thought they’d take me somewhere inside. It took another five minutes before I realized there were other people in the van; a woman in scrubs held on to a counter until the road smoothed out. With precision, she drew something up in a syringe and came at me with a vengeance.

First, grabbing ahold of my face, she squeezed my cheeks together so hard with her fingers that it brought tears to my eyes. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she hissed. “You could’ve ruined your life. How could you be so stupid?”

I couldn’t answer her because I couldn’t move my mouth. I drew air in through my nostrils, the pain in my face intense. She let go at last, clutching my upper arm, pulling the sleeve of my t-shirt up. “Don’t look,” she said, grabbing the needle cover off with her teeth and jabbing my arm with the needle.

The pain shot up into my neck and I yelped involuntarily.

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