Barrenlands: An Odyssey (Old Work)

Chapter Seventeen.

1

THE Engineer was stirring; awakening from the shock-induced unconsciousness that the men had evoked upon her. The skin underneath her eyelids shifted ever so slightly, opting to keep her eyes closed until her mind came-to and the glare wouldn't hurt her sight. Her head remained split from an ache; a constant beep! coming from somewhere close behind her, and chirping every few seconds. It almost seemed as if it was timed impeccably with the beat of her pulse. And then she opened her eyes just a crack, the sudden influx of light making her receptors throb from the barrage. She was kept almost in the middle of a giant room, the white-washed walls illuminated by equally as bright down-lights. To add to the sterile-like ambience that she found herself in, the perimeter was curtained by metal benches topped with shining tools of all variations, some bigger than others. A number of them seemed familiar for they were her own, the butt of her trusty pulse gun glinting in the light. But there was one thing that stirred deep inside and rang into her thoughts, like a horseman riding into battle – the room was familiar; all too familiar. It was the same one from her memories.

Trying to calm her racing pulse, the Engineer tried to move her arms but there was little movement to be had. She angled her head downwards, and saw wide and thick metal cuffs holding her hands to the upright half-bed that she had been fastened to. Upon closer inspection, small scratches appeared within the bands of the cuffs – scars from ghosts past, or prisoners. They were tight, guaranteeing that escape was mostly impossible if she tried. The setup must have been designed and tested; adopted for captives to this facility. But why would they want to hold prisoners? Shaking her head and praying for a miracle of sorts, the Engineer cast a quick glance to the side where her eyes became fixed on something close to her.

Little Girl.

Just like herself, Little Girl had been strapped to an elevated bed, her eyes closed and her body limp and still. Her dress had been removed, replaced with a navy surgeon's gown that opened to the front. It was clear she hadn't moved for some time; a prisoner of the guerrillas that had eventually caught the Engineer also. Did they kill her? She didn't know. Nor did she know her own fate as it appeared that her fathers had other plans. The only problem was that those plans weren't clear or obvious. Unbeknownst what to do next, the Engineer bit her tongue and then opened her lips though still unsure if it was safe to do so.

"Little Girl," she balked in a harsh whisper. But it was to no avail, and Little Girl remained unmoved on the bed next to her not so much as a flinch of muscle showing. The Engineer watched on in quiet horror and nervousness, although her attention was fast diminished at the sudden turn of events. There was a metallic hiss like air escaping from a narrow vent and before her, a hidden panel door slid open smoothly. Only a few moments later, a rugged man with an air of authority in his step entered the room, a tight black combat vest and tshirt clinging to his frame. His hair was black and sleek, tied up into a small ponytail at the back of his head, and he held his chest tall and proud.

Without a word of acknowledgement, he walked directly towards the Engineer, only pausing within mere inches of her face. Gazing into her eyes with his cold, coal-coloured irises, the man paused and then reached past the Engineer with an outstretched arm. She watched on in silence, and heard the cluttering of wheels echo throughout the room. He quickly straddled the newly emerged computer chair, and rested his clasped palms on the top of the backrest, his chin now supported by the groove between his fingers. Abruptly and not muttering a word, he leapt from the seat and waltzed across the room, quickly pushing a mobile tool chest to where he had sat, the heavy duty wheels clinking with the gaps of the floor. And then he flicked open the top, dug around the many individual drivers, and pulled one out; now running his fingers along the corners of a flathead screwdriver, a glimmer in his eyes.

A glimmer of a madman.