His Weakness

Cold

There was no way to tell time in this place.

    I’d started calling it the Hell Hole which was ironic since this room was at arctic tundra temperatures.  No blankets, no sleeping cots.  We were literally tossed into a room and left on a dirty floor.  Some of the children were better off than others, having been brought in pants or jackets.  The group was a hodge podge of people, children ranging from ages five to seventeen based on my rough guesstimate.  The youngest was the tiny blonde girl who had been asking to “feed” which was odd terminology but she was young so maybe that’s why.  The oldest that I could see was the dark eyed boy who had acted like something of a spokesperson of the group.

    I’d tried asking more questions hoping to clarify what they knew since he had claimed that they knew something about this place but to no avail.  The children had simply gone mute and Vincent, still knocking his head back against the wall as if he were trying to leave a dent the size of his head there, was breathing funny enough for me to leave him be.  Something was wrong with him.  I wasn’t sure if it was the starvation or the cold or the fact that we were stuck in this windowless cell that was causing his odd behavior but he was definitely at a breaking point.

    The boy across the room in the big hoodie had shifted once or twice.  I’d tried to see his face under the shade of the hood and could make nothing out.  It didn’t help that I couldn’t see clearly at all without my glasses but I found myself staring at him longingly.  He must be warm in that clothing.  Comfortable.  My teeth chattered as I continued to shove my hands between my thighs for warmth, constantly rubbing my feet with the hope of winning some heat from the friction.  It worked a little bit but not enough for me to stop shaking like a leaf.

    After what felt like years of debating, I finally stood up.  Everybody’s eyes snapped to me and, rubbing my arms, I felt completely put on the spot as I stood before this group of children.  No matter how I looked at it, the boy with the dark eyes seemed to be the most reasonable of the group and he was wearing a jacket.  “I’m cold,” I muttered.  “Do you mind if I—“

    “You can sit with me,” the little blonde girl offered, showing me grabby hands.  It was cute and, thoughtlessly, I took a small step forward, ready to answer to that call.

    “Or me,” another piped in, reaching his arms out.

    “No, me,” a little boy said, shoving at another child.

    They started arguing amongst each other and, confused, I watched as the children started pushing at each other, reaching out toward me.  It was unsettling, the way they reached forward, seeming desperate for me to join them.  Taking a nervous step backwards, I was trying to grasp what I was seeing when, just as suddenly as the fights had erupted, they stopped.  Every child hit their knees, their head bent toward the ground as if an invisible force had pushed them down.  My jaw dropped, back hitting the wall again, as confusion pulled at me.

    The boy with the dark eyes gave a sharp laugh but it wasn’t a friendly sound at all.  It echoed angrily through the space and I found myself sliding down the wall, my butt hitting the ground as I huddled back up nervously.  When his laughter stopped, her just sighed.  “We all want you to sit with us but he”—her jerked his thumb toward the boy in the hoodie—“won’t let it happen.”

    Turning, I glanced at the mystery boy to find that he’d turned his head and was now looking at the children who had finally sat up looking dazed by whatever had just happened to them.  Slowly, he turned toward me but I couldn’t see his face from this distance.  I wanted to ask what was going on but something about him told me to keep my mouth shut.  Whatever had just happened had to do with him and I didn’t want to be a part of it.

    Facing the wall, I’d given in to lying on my side curled up in a ball.  It kept once side semi warm at least and, after what felt like millennia of trembling and a little bit of self-pity crying, there was a clang on the other side of the metal door.  When I saw the children rise to their feet, I did the same, trying to stand tall despite the shaking in my legs.  My feet felt numb.

    “One at a time,” the guard in the doorway said.  “You know the drill.”

    One at a time the children made their way to the door.  After almost all of the other children had left, I glanced toward the mystery guy in the hoodie who I’d decided to just call Hood Boy from now on, and he flicked his wrist toward me which I took at my cue to go.  Nervously, I stepped out of the door and was immediately flanked by a guard who pointed their assault weapon directly at the back of my head.  Glancing backwards nervously, I felt him nudge the back of my head with the barrel of his gun, barking out, “Get a move on.”  Blinking, I forced my eyes forward and realized that each child had a designated guard.  What is that about?  As if one automatic weapon couldn’t kill a group of twelve children in a matter of seconds.  This was excessive if I’d ever seen it before.

    Walking forward after the kid walking about a yard in front of me, we marched straight into a bathroom.  Males and females weren’t separated, each of us shoved into a stall to do our business.  I managed to pee but had no idea how I was going to go number two with all these other people so close in proximity.  It didn’t help that the guard hadn’t even had the decency to look away, his gun aimed directly at me the entire time.  I was careful to wipe while I remained seated, pulling my pants almost all the way up before I would even stand.  This guard wasn’t one of the men who had attacked me in the van but now that I knew what they were capable of, I had no interest in reliving that situation.

    Stepping out of the stall, they allowed us to wash our hands at least and I noticed that as Hood Boy stepped out of the stall, he was given four armed men to watch over him.  At first, I thought it was because of his size but, as Vincent who was of a fairly similar stature stepped out, I noticed that he only had one guard just like the rest of us.  What the hell?

    Another nudge from a gun had me marching back to my cell and, upon our arrival back, the guards pushed two gallon jugs of water into the room and a basket of overly ripe fruit and bread before swinging the door shut again.  I found myself gazing at the water and swallowing hard, slowly rising and looking to see how the other children were reacting. Nobody seemed interested in the food and I noticed that everybody was staring hard at the door.

    I was just about to venture closer to the water when the door creaked again.  Opening quickly, a goat was tossed into the room before it was slammed shut again.  A living goat.  Confused, I was about to ask the guy with the dark eyes what that was about when I saw the first child pounce on it.  There were loud squeals that resembled screams as the children attacked the goat, biting into every piece of flesh available.  Horrified, I turned my back to bloody scene and clamped my hands over my ears, curling in on myself again.  The screaming had stopped but there I stayed, tears running silently down my cheeks as my brain tried to work over what I’d just seen.

    It’s not real, I thought.  It can’t be real.  It was all in my imagination.

    Swallowing hard, I found the bravery to glance backwards and saw the bare carcass of the animal, noticing how two of the children were still licking at the rest of the blood on the floor.

    It’s real.

    That really just happened.

    Biting back a sob, I glanced over to find the dark eyed boy licking his fingers, this malicious smile spread across his face.  “I could always warm you up,” he offered with a low chuckle.

    Shivering, I remembered the way they’d reached for me.  The desperation of the children to bring me closer.  Shaking from something other than the cold now, I laid back down on my side, curling in on myself as I faced the wall, desperately trying to imagine myself literally anywhere else but here.