Radiation Point

Seven

I found the commissioner in his office. He sat in a plush leather chair, leaning his elbow on the edge of the desk. He met my eye as I opened the door and motioned for me to have a seat.

I sat across from him, taking in every detail of the office. The office screamed of elegance and wealth, despite the conditions of the camp. Dark oak bookshelves lined the walls and an exotic looking plant sat in the corner of the room. His desk was bare except for a gold name plate with the words, "Commissioner Osgaurd" etched into it.

It wasn't comforting to know his name. I simply wanted to know what he had planned for me. Judging by the smirk spread across his face, it wouldn't be anything good. A few tense moments went by, but he seemed to languish in my discomfort and remained silent.

He set two glasses on the desk with a clank, and a moment later, a half empty bottle of whiskey joined them on the table. Without asking, he filled both glasses and set one down in front of me with a thud. Only then did he speak.

"You fear me."

It wasn't a question, but he paused, waiting for a response.

I slipped my hand in my pocket, the smooth edge of my blade calming me. The seconds seemed to tick by as I formed my response.

"Should I?" I asked finally, my hoarse voice betraying me.

This response seemed to amuse him and he smirked, before drinking his whiskey and setting the empty class down with a thud. He then circled the rim of the glass with his finger as he spoke, "Fear is our best weapon. So to answer your question-yes."

I tightened my grip on my blade.

"But do I plan to harm you?" he continued. "No, we at the camp want the best for our citizens."

It was my turn to remain silent.

"You haven't touched your drink," he said, appearing greatly amused now. He looked like the cat who had trapped a mouse.

"I'm not much of a drinker."

He shot me a look which seemed to say, "Your loss," as he refilled his own glass and slammed that drink as well.

"But how could you know if you're a drinker? You're but a child. How old are you? Fourteen?"

"Sixteen."

"Ah yes, sixteen. Now, what I would like to know is how a sixteen year old could come into my camp months ago and still be as sharp as you are," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't understand what you're asking," I stuttered.

He pivoted in his chair so he was facing me head on, both his elbows on the table and his blue eyes searing me.

"You're not like the rest of the group. I want to know why."

My mouth was cotton dry as the tension in the room became palpable. He was playing a game with me-and a dangerous one.

"Because I'm afraid," I said, deciding on the truth, at least part of it. "Because it's better to be on your guard then taken off it."

He examined my face a moment, before leaning back in his chair.

"We're not so different, are we?" He said, clasping his hands in front of him. "We both have to keep our guard up, except I have to be extra careful. I have hundreds of people to keep safe. You do understand that, don' t you?"

I stared at him; calculating my next move. I had my knife gripped and ready. I could make it across the table and slit his throat, but getting out of the room alive would be the problem. Two men stood outside the door guarding it. I silently berated myself for ever coming to this sadistic camp. Mia and I would have been safer in the wild.