The Cull - Waking in Chains

Photo by Michael Mouritz on Unsplash

I woke up in a bucket of sweat only to find myself tethered to a hospital bed. But I wasn’t in my room any longer.

I was… on the move. Confused, in a delirious state of bewilderment, I struggled to break free only to find myself staring at a pair of ocean-blue eyes upside down.

I didn’t recognise the orderly but knew he was one since he wore a red cardigan and a pair of black, loosely fit trousers. He was bald and had dark blemishes – or spots if you will – from old age on his scalp.

“What’s going on? Where you taking me?”

The orderly didn’t reply. A lopsided smile played on his thin lips. Still trying to break free, I looked around myself and couldn’t hide the surprise in my widening eyes. The basement? What were we doing in the basement? And what was up with all these people?

I wasn’t the only one tethered to a hospital bed and on the move. Several of the patients admitted to the university hospital were on the move underground.

This realisation made my blood run cold. I shifted my gaze to the orderly once more and demanded an answer.

“What’s going on? Where are you taking all these people? Did- did a fire break out? What about Amina? Did she—”

The orderly placed his hand over his non-existent lips, hushing me into silence as the surrounding patients screamed for mercy. I gulped and looked around myself again, taking my time to search every nook and cranny.

Amina wasn’t here. She must have been discharged from the psychiatric ward before—I twisted my neck as the orderly turned right and ventured into a long and narrow corridor.

Several other orderlies did the same. Like clones, they headed for the exit at the end of the drafty corridor in a bizarre beeline.

It was dark outside the massive building and the moon was high up in the night sky. The air was crisp, and the roads frozen as our beds lined up at a secluded part of the hospital vicinity.

There were no cameras or passersby here since this particular exit led to a parking lot reserved for medical staff.

Usually, the orderlies had no access to this place due to their limited authority. This wasn’t, however, half as strange as what happened next.

I turned my head in the direction of the approaching din as did the other patients. Our dismal surroundings bathed in a blinding light as the headlights approached. I couldn’t see anything at first, but then I saw it.

Emerging from the fading light, a double-decker bus made its entrance. I held my breath. As the bus parked in front of us, a brooding murmur filled the air.

The orderlies returned to the basement and left us there. No one noticed them leaving due to the growing commotion.

The chauffeur stepped out of the lofty vehicle. He was followed by two men in black caps. I couldn’t see their faces, but the chauffeur was in his mid-fifties and had grown an unkempt beard for at least two years.

His lined, hollow face was easy to read: ‘What on earth am I doing here? And who are these people?’

I wanted to ask him the same questions, but something told me he wouldn’t know the answers. He looked just as bewildered as the rest of us, to be honest.

The two men in caps unfastened the patients starting from the front row and escorted them to the double-decker bus.

Some resisted. It didn’t take long before the two men knocked out the most troublesome ones so that no one else dared to make a huge scene out of this.

I observed in silence under the moonlight, mute as always and compliant like a meek sheep. Eventually, they came for me as well.

I was one of the last ones to enter the vehicle before it drove us into the unknown ahead.

Given the circumstances and my young age, I was seated on the second deck along with a slew of other people roughly the same age as me.

There were already passengers inside the bus I noticed, but my observations did not go further than this. One of the capped strangers pushed my head down and told me to not look around.

What arrested me immediately was the fact that none of us on the second deck was a day older than thirty.

But there was something much more disturbing than our young ages. The majority were not patients. That’s when something else dawned on me. The people downstairs.

The passengers I passed by before my sight of vision was obscured were not patients at all. None of them wore hospital gowns. Some seemed to be immigrants, others physically or mentally challenged, while yet others looked as old as time.

Why were so many people, so different and unrelated people at that, crammed into this vehicle? Moreover, where were we being taken to?

No matter how hard I twisted and turned my head to come up with an answer, a reasonable one that is, I could not. All I could think of was that we weren’t supposed to be here.

I couldn’t tell how long we had been on the move even if I wanted to, perhaps for a few hours even if it felt longer than that, when the bus came to a sudden standstill in the middle of a roadway in the suburbs.

The headlights turned off. The uphill roadway itself was located in a deserted and forested vicinity so that either side of the bus was obscured by the view of tall trees and dense thickets.

We all glanced at one another. No one dared to make a single sound or move. Time stood still and so did we. This lasted for a few seconds I think, but it was bound to be broken sooner or later.

An announcement was made soon after. It was the chauffeur speaking. At least I think so. He had this slight Middle Eastern accent, which was in line with his exotic looks. It could be Hebrew as well.

His grammar was excellent though. It was apparent that one of his first languages was English.

The two other guys, on the other side, had a much thicker accent, especially the one who took me to the second deck. He had a fair complexion and blond hair. It wouldn’t surprise me if he or both of them were Scandinavian and in their late 20s.

“Dear passengers, I hope you’ve enjoyed your ride so far. Unfortunately, your journey ends here. Please discard all your belongings and put them in the grey basket before departing. Cell phones, credit cards, and other electronic devices included. Thank you for your cooperation.”

It seemed like a few couldn’t understand what was being said, so the speaker repeated himself.

It sounded like Arabic to me at first. Then he changed languages and spoke in Spanish, Urdu, and later in Chinese.

I could tell from the way he pronounced each word that he knew Urdu the best. My first thought was how strange these language-pairs were. I had never met someone who spoke such vastly different languages so fluently before.

Only an interpreter would have this much control over a foreign language and easily change between them.

But what in the world was an interpreter of this calibre and skill-set here as a chauffeur?

I reached into my pocket to grab my phone as people around me dropped everything they possessed and went downstairs.

We weren’t allowed to carry our phones with us in the psychiatric ward, but Doctor Lee made an exemption for me. He said I looked like his estranged daughter.

I used it to read books and keep up with the news, and occasionally, to look up my niece and find a trace of her in the world outside far away from the four walls I belonged to.

There was no way I would discard it – definitely not without being given a sound reason – and I wasn’t the only one having these thoughts. Only a fool would obey a command from a stranger without questioning it first.

While contemplating whether to go downstairs or stay put, a resounding disturbance broke out from the first deck.

From what I could gather from the commotion, people refused to comply unless the chauffeur told them exactly what was going on.

I could discern at least three or four different languages being spoken at once, if not more.

That was when a handgun was fired, abruptly, and by the instant silence that soon followed, undeclared. The passengers all fell into a trance-like quietude along with the first of several thudding blasts.

Then I heard another announcement. This one, however, wasn’t from the chauffeur. The eloquent voice belonged to someone much younger, someone with clear diction and great communication skills.

I watched soundlessly, rather startled, to be honest, as the passengers in my aisle descended the stairs one by one.

I was fraught with opaque terror by how quickly they were all convinced, like marionettes I thought, controllable and under the spell of a wicked wolf disguised as a sheep.

“I think there was a miscommunication, which I’m very apologetic for. We were informed that each of you, dear friends, had agreed to join a new rehabilitation programme supported by the government.

“Again, I’m very sorry. Please follow the instructions and leave all your belongings under your seats or in the metal basket by the driver’s seat. We’re collecting all electronic devices to ensure that you’ll abide by the rules and re-enter society as respectable citizens.”

I was still contemplating what to do, on the fence about whether to become a lamb for slaughter like the rest or figure a way out of this predicament.

Something about this entire situation was off. I had never agreed on anything like this. Rehabilitation programme? Was this some sick prank?

Minutes later, I found myself all alone inside the poorly lit bus. Some had left their phones and belongings under their seats as instructed, others took them downstairs.

As I was having these ruminations, a strange laughter reverberated throughout the empty bus. It came from the first deck.

Continue.