Three Abel
One Year Ago
The Cult’s North Compound
Irested naked on the cold, tiled shower floor, the pain from the relentless beating I’d endured radiating through my battered body. I wasn’t sure if the taste of salt running across my lips was from tears or blood. It didn’t matter, they were the same in this shithole anyway. The punishment for not buzzing my hair had been severe, leaving me physically and emotionally drained. I didn’t forget—how could I when everyone around me was a constant reminder of what we had to do?—but I was too exhausted from our training yesterday. Lifting my arm to brush my teeth had been a chore. I felt lost in this new place; what they did seemed so foreign and hostile. The fear and loneliness were all consuming. I missed my family.
It wasn’t fair. I didn’t sign up for this shit. I missed my old friends from California. I missed the beach, the warm sand under my feet.
As I lay there, the guys approached, their faces a mix of anger and sympathy. We understood each other, sharing the same resentment for those who controlled us. Without saying a word, they kneeled beside me, offering their silent support.
They propped my weak body between them and helped me clean up, the warm water of the shower washing away evidence of the guards’ terror. They tended to my cuts and wounds, their actions speaking louder than words. In that moment, I was reminded that I wasn’t alone; I had a group of new friends who stood by my side, ready to support me during the toughest of times. And as an eighteen-year-old guy who was just taken away from my family, snatching the one beautiful thing I had, that was priceless. Who knew how much more of this would come my way?
“I can’t wait till we can stick it to them,” one of the guys said.
“Shhh. Not here,” the other one said, glancing behind him cautiously.
Once clean and dry, they helped me get dressed and led me to my bunk bed. “Are you gonna be okay?” one of the bigger guys asked. I’d only been part of the group for less than a week and I was still learning who was who.
“I think so.” I nodded, the slight movement delivering a sharp pain in my neck. “Thanks, guys.”
“We got you, buddy,” two guys said in unison.
“Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow,” the first guy said, pulling the blanket over my shaking body.
I awoke the next day to an empty bunkhouse, my head splitting in half. Did I sleep through the morning drill? I wondered, fearing the consequences of my mistake. What shocked me even more was that the guards had allowed me to sleep in. That was odd. With my aching body, I forced myself up. I couldn’t handle another punishment.
The guys began to filter into the room, their faces bearing the weight of something deeply troubling. One of them punched the wall, while others flopped onto their beds, mute, staring at the ceiling.
“What happened?” I did a mental count of the guys; a few seemed to be missing. The biggest and tallest of us—the one who tucked me in last night—wasn’t back yet. After no one answered, I asked more urgently, “Where are the rest of the guys?”
A somber silence hung in the air before one of them finally spoke with a trembling voice. “They were picked,” he replied, his words heavy with sorrow. He grabbed his pillow and pressed it against his face, muffling his scream.
“Picked for what?” I whispered, my voice filled with confusion.
Another guy whose name I couldn’t remember nodded solemnly. “They were selected and taken away by the guards early this morning. They were sent to the Restricted Zone. We don’t know what will happen to them.”
The atmosphere in the room grew even heavier, a sense of powerlessness hanging over us. We were all too aware that life in this place was a constant struggle for survival, and every day was a harsh reminder of the dangers that lurked around every corner. We could only hope that our friends would return unharmed, but the uncertainty of their fate weighed on my mind.