Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Iexpected the bus to be as cushy as one of those nice tour buses people used to take on cross-country trips. Instead, I stepped out of the plane behind Bette to discover an Army green bus that looked even more basic than the ones kids took to school.
The other women and I filed toward it about as eagerly as children on the first day back to school, and as if expecting us to try to make a getaway, soldiers watched in stony silence, their weapons gripped tightly in their hands.
When we reached the bus, a couple even boarded before we were allowed to.
They stood in the first row, one on either side, watching as we filed on one by one.
The soldiers didn’t have their guns raised, but they did have them at their sides where they were easily accessible.
Which seemed like total overkill since we were unarmed women, all of us significantly smaller, and a portion of us pregnant.
We’d just passed the soldiers when Bette, who was directly behind me, said in a low voice, “What about our luggage? They didn’t even mention it.”
Since I wasn’t intimidated by the soldiers and wanted to make sure they were aware of it, I turned to face the man on my right. “What about our suitcases?”
Two rows separated us when he shifted his attention to me, but his glare was so hot it threatened to scorch me despite the distance. “They will be right behind us. Keep moving, please. We have a schedule to keep.”
I held his gaze a moment longer, matching his glare with one of my own, before I once again started walking, a sour taste in my mouth.
Was this how it was going to be from now on?
If so, they were going to have a difficult time convincing us that we weren’t prisoners. Not that I’d ever had any doubt.
The other women and I moved deeper into the bus, settling in row by row. We were about halfway in by the time it was my turn to take a seat, which I did without hesitation, scooting over so Bette could sit as well.
She scurried after me, and in a quiet voice said, “The soldiers aren’t very nice, are they?”
“They’re not supposed to be.” Shifting my attention to the man I’d addressed – who was watching me – I lowered my voice.
“I don’t know where we’re going, and based on what Hilary said, I don’t think it’s one of the prison hospitals, but don’t be fooled.
We aren’t free.” I looked at Bette. “And we won’t be for a while. ”
I said the last statement slowly, uttering it as much to gauge her awareness of the situation as to prepare her for what might happen after her baby was born.
If this pandemic went on – which, based on history, there was no reason to think it wouldn’t – there was no way Bette would be allowed to return home even after she had her baby.
In the eyes of the government, an unborn baby had the same rights as one that had been born, which meant they would protect them the same way.
By keeping him or her separated from the general population.
But what about the mom? What rights did she have in this new world of infertility? That was the question threatening to keep me up at night.
When all the women in the program had boarded the bus, the fertility counselors filed on, followed by the rest of the soldiers.
I zeroed in on Ramirez the second he appeared and wasn’t at all surprised when his eyes flitted around, finally stopping on me.
Even though his expression didn’t change, something flickered in the brown depths of his irises.
The hair on my scalp prickled, and I squirmed but didn’t look away as he moved to the nearest empty seat.
Only when he sat did he break our connection, but the tingling that had started in my scalp hadn’t eased and had now reached my arms, causing goose bumps to pop up on my skin.
Once everyone had taken their seats, the soldier I’d spoken to when first boarding the bus shut the door, then slid into the driver’s seat, his gun resting next to him.
No one bothered to address us, not to tell us where we were going or what was going to happen next, or even reassure us, and the interior of the bus was so quiet I actually jumped when the engine roared to life.
A few seconds later, we were on our way.
The silence hung on for a while after that, broken only by the occasional whispered comment or cough.
It was like everyone was afraid to speak.
Like we thought we would be penalized for it.
I doubted that was true, but even I couldn’t make myself start up a conversation with Bette.
I was just too tense and emotionally drained.
Close to half an hour passed before Bette finally broke the silence. “These seats are so hard.”
My first instinct was to be irritated because, on the surface, it seemed like such a silly thing to complain about.
Minor comforts were the least of my concerns at the moment.
But my annoyance quickly melted away when she started rubbing her stomach.
Of course, she was uncomfortable. She was thirty-four weeks pregnant.
“We’ll be there before you know it,” I said, trying to reassure her – and hoping it was true.
Bette gave me a grateful smile.
She and I spent most of the ride in silence, only chatting to speculate about where we were heading as the city grew farther away and the mountains closer.
Since I knew nothing about Colorado, the landmarks and small towns we passed told me nothing, but guessing where we might be staying served as a distraction to my unease.
A hospital in an abandoned town that the government had fixed up specifically for this purpose, a prison or detention center that was no longer in use, a secluded hotel.
A school, an old base, a casino in the middle of nowhere, a luxury resort.
The possibilities were endless because so many places like that had been abandoned over the last several decades as the population decreased more and more.
Despite the distraction the guessing game created, none of the options were appealing. I just wanted to be home.
I hadn’t really been paying attention to how much time had passed, but for some reason, I could tell when we were close.
It might have been that the bus had slowed – although since we were driving on some pretty mountainous roads, I didn’t think so – or it could have just been instinct.
Either way, I shifted in my seat and craned my neck as the bus drove on, eyeing the soldiers – Ramirez, especially, even though I could only see the back of his head – and the landscape in front of us.
When we rounded a bend and a stone sign that read The Stanley came into view, I knew we’d finally reached our destination.
A large white building was visible in the distance, several smaller ones around it.
To say the landscape reminded me of a horror movie was putting it mildly.
The building was clearly a hotel and old, and probably historic, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in quite a while.
The grounds were overgrown, what used to be garden areas now wild with weeds, and the red shingled roof looked more than a little worse for wear, and there were patches of black shingles beside the old, gray ones, telling me it had been recently repaired.
The exterior of the building also looked like it had seen better days, and more than one window was boarded up.
Still, there was something beautiful about the place, and not just because of the mountains behind it or how secluded it was.
“It’s a hotel,” someone on the other side of the bus said as we drove closer.
“It’s where Stephen King wrote The Shining,” someone else said.
I almost laughed, not because I didn’t believe the other woman, but because it seemed insane that the government would bring us to the hotel that inspired one of the most infamous horror novels of all time. Seriously? What were we doing here?
The bus rolled to a stop in front of the main building, but just like when the plane had landed, none of the women moved. The soldier driving, however, did, standing and opening the door but not even looking our way before he ducked out.
The other women and I waited in silence, all of us seemingly holding our breath in anticipation of what was going to happen next.
Ramirez glanced over his shoulder a minute or so after the other soldier had exited, and when our eyes locked, I had the sense he was trying to tell me something.
I didn’t know what and didn’t have time to guess, because at that moment, a man I’d never seen before stepped onto the bus.
He was also a Department of Fertility soldier, although much less imposing than the one who’d driven us here. He was even smiling behind his mask, which I could tell because his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Welcome to the Stanley Hotel,” he proclaimed, sounding like the cruise director from a movie I’d seen once.
“My name is Sergeant Collins, and I’ve been assigned as the point person for your group.
I understand all of this is overwhelming but let me assure you that the government is doing everything in its power to protect the fertile women in this country.
And we really lucked out on the location!
Let me assure you that, thanks to the reopening of this amazing historic site, you’re sure to be comfortable as you wait out the pandemic.
” A woman at the front of the bus raised her hand and the soldier said, “Yes?”
“How long will that be?”