Doctor Halt's arms swung casually at his sides, as though this were no more than a Sunday stroll for him. A smile played across his thin lips. He drew to a stop alongside the doctor that had been addressing them.
"Doctor Radly," he said, his voice like honey. "How goes training day?"
"…Good," Radly answered with hesitation. He was obviously surprised to see Halt. "How can I help you, sir?"
Soft laughter whispered from Halt's lips. "I thought I might assist." His eyes slid over the group of prisoners. "We need to advance our schedule—the Director is demanding results."
Radly bit his lips, eyeing Chris and the others uncertainly. "We have four candidates ready in this unit. We still need time to assess the remaining four. Most of the other units are on a similar progression."
Shaking his head, Halt strode down the line of prisoners. When Halt had passed, Chris risked a glance at the others. Sam and Ashley stared straight ahead, steadfastly ignoring the presence of Richard and Jasmine beside them. On Chris's other side, Liz stood with her arms folded, while beyond the two newcomers wore uncertain frowns.
The crunch of gravel warned Chris of Halt's return, and he quickly faced straight ahead again. The man stared hard at Chris as he passed, then moved on to Liz. The thud of his boots continued down the line as he went on to examine Joshua and William, before returning once again.
Scowling, Halt returned to Doctor Radly. He pointed at Liz, then to the lanky boy from the other group. "Those two." He scowled. "Pitiful creatures if ever I saw them. They won't last long."
Radly opened his mouth, then closed it. Glancing at his e-tablet, he shook his head and looked back at Halt. "Sir, we have a framework in place…" He trailed off beneath Halt's withering stare.
Silence fell across the group of doctors. Chris glanced sideways at Liz, his heart beating hard against his chest. The girl stood staring straight ahead, her brow creased, fists clenched at her side. Though she did not move an inch, Chris could sense the tension building in her tiny frame, like a cat preparing to spring.
"Well, let's see," came Halt's voice again. A second later he strode past Chris and stopped in front of Liz. "Elizabeth Flores." He looked her up and down, but Liz did nothing to acknowledge his presence. Nodding, Halt moved onto his next victim. "William Beth." He smirked. "A sorry excuse for a man."
A tremor went through the boy as he stepped back and raised his hands. "Please, sir, please, I'll do whatever you say."
Halt advanced, and the boy stumbled backwards. His feet slipped in the dust and he crashed to the ground. Towering over him, Halt sneered. "Pathetic," he spat. "Get up."
William nodded. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with terror. "Please—"
His plea was cut short as Halt's hand flashed out and caught him by the throat. Without apparent effort, the doctor hoisted the boy into the air. William gave a half-choked scream, his face paling. His hands batted at Halt's arm, his legs kicking feebly in the air, but Halt did not waver. He watched with cold grey eyes as the boy's struggles slowly grew weaker.
Chris watched in horror, his mouth open in a silent scream. A voice in his head shouted for him to help the boy, but as he shifted, an iron hand caught him by the wrist. He glanced back, opening his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. There was a cold despair in Sam's eyes, a haggard look to his face. Slowly, he shook his head.
Turning back, Chris watched as Halt tossed William aside. A low groan came from the boy as he landed, his legs collapsing beneath him. Dust billowed as he fell. Gasping for breath, he struggled to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away.
Halt followed at a casual stroll. Without taking his eyes from the boy, he spoke. "You are all here by my will. But I have no use for the weak." Apparently losing patience with his victim, he drove his boot into the small of the boy's back. William collapsed face-first into the ground.
Lifting his foot, Halt stared down at the boy. "Get up."
Arms shaking, William managed to lift himself to his hands and knees. His face beet-red, he looked up at Halt. Swaying where he crouched, a tremor shook him, but he made no move to stand.
"Wretched specimen," Halt growled. "Well, if won't get off your hands and knees, it'll have to be pushups."
A confused look came over the boy's face. "Push…pushups?"
"Yes." Halt took a step closer, his face darkening. "This is your last chance to prove yourself."
William shook his head. "I…what?"
"Now!" Halt glanced at the other doctors, who stood unmoving, their eyes on the trembling prisoner. "Radly, you can call the count."
At Halt's feet, a sharp sob came from William. Slowly, he placed his hands on the ground and spread his legs. As Radly shouted out each number, William lowered himself to within an inch of the ground and then straightened his arms again.
Chris and the others watched on as Radly continued to count. Beside him, Liz's expression was unreadable, though there was a slight sheen to her eyes.
As Radly reached fifteen, William's arms began to tremble. His breath came in ragged gasps and his face flushed red. A shudder ran through his bony body, and with a sob he collapsed to the ground. A triumphant grin spread across Halt's face.
"Sixteen," Radly repeated the call.
"Please," William coughed, lying with limbs splayed across the ground, "please, please I can't!"
"Keep going," Halt snarled.
He tried, no one could take that from him. Veins bulging in his forehead, teeth clenched, arms shaking with the effort, the boy managed half a pushup before he collapsed again. This time he didn't bother to beg, but just lay staring up at Halt, a haunted look in his eyes.
Halt glanced at Chris and the others. "In case you were wondering, this is what 'weakness' looks like." His cold eyes still on them, Halt reached down and tapped the sleek black glass of his watch.
Chris flinched as an awful scream came from the boy. He stumbled backwards as William started to thrash, half-gasped screams clawing their way up from his throat. Eyes wide and staring, William's head slammed back against the ground. His fingers bent, scrambling at the steel collar around his neck, even as another convulsion tore through him.
Panic gripped Chris and he stepped towards the boy. Sam's iron grasp stopped him again, pulling him back. Chris swore, struggling to break free, unable to stand by and watch the torture any longer. But Sam stood unyielding, though his eyes never left the convulsing boy. Ashley stood as still as a statue, her eyes fixed on William, her face expressionless. Her scarlet hair blew across her face, but she did not so much as raise a hand to brush it away.
The fight went from Chris in a rush.
"Such a shame, to see our people come to this," Halt said, his words slithering through the air. "Once upon a time we were proud, strong. Our forefathers marched to war with joy in their hearts and sent the cowards of the United States scurrying. Even then they did not stop. They followed the enemy back to their holes, and left a smoking crater in the heart of their so-called democracy."
Chris gritted his teeth. William's struggles were weakening, his eyes sliding closed. Agony contorted his features, twisting his face into an awful scowl.
And still Halt spoke. "How your ancestors would turn in their graves to know of your treachery, of your betrayal of the nation they fought to create."
Chris forced his eyes closed. The hand on his shoulder gave a gentle squeeze, but Sam stayed silent. Through the strangled screams, Halt's words dug their way into Chris's consciousness. The wrinkled, smiling face of his grandmother drifted through his mind. He remembered her telling him how her husband, Chris's grandfather, had fought and died in the American War.
In 2020, horrified at the chaos engulfing their nation, a conglomerate of Washington, Oregon and California had unilaterally ceded from the United States. Arizona and New Mexico had quickly joined them, as support poured in from Canada and Mexico.
War was quick to follow, and a decade of conflict had brought both sides to their knees. Only one last, desperate gamble by the Western Allied States had assured their victory. In one decisive nuclear strike, Washington, DC was left in ruins, the leadership of the United States decimated in a single day. The union had crumbled then, leaving a scattering of independent states who either sued for peace, or were overrun.
Many argued the values of both nations had been lost the day Washington DC fell. The Western Allied States had been left tainted, their ideals corrupted by that one act of nuclear evil. Watching Halt torture the helpless boy, Chris could not help but agree.
"Perhaps some of you will prove worthy, might one day live up to the memories of your ancestors."
Arms folded, Halt stared down at the boy. The light on William's collar still flashed red, though his twitching had slowed to little jerks of his arms and legs. He let out a long sigh. "I will give the boy this, he does not die easily." He reached for his watch.
"Halt." Halt froze as a woman's voice carried across the dirt field.
The group turned as one, staring as Doctor Fallow strode through the doorway. Chris blinked. So engrossed had he been in William and Halt, he had not heard the buzz of her entrance. Now, as she marched across the dusty ground, Fallow tapped the watch on her wrist. Beside Halt, William's convulsions came to a sudden stop.
For a moment, Chris thought the boy had finally succumbed to the collar. Then a low groan came from his twisted body, and Chris let out a sigh of relief.
Fallow drew to a stop in front of Halt, her eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she growled.