Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Planting seeds of doubt in the group is tricky, but it can be done with the right finesse and planning.
"Let me help you with that," I tell Candy when she grunts, lifting a heavy box.
Her eyes dart around, but she doesn't argue when I pull it from her hands. I don't know how long she's been a part of this group, but I can tell she has no standing in the hierarchy. It seems she knows every movement and every action she takes will be judged by someone.
"Just point me in the right direction." I nod, my eyes locked on the front of the supply building.
Hesitantly, she thanks me before walking in that direction.
Zeus follows behind me, another box of our logged belongings in his hands. I don't mind being helpful, and most days I would insist on it, but my real intention is access to the building.
My eyes dart in every direction as we step inside, and I know Zeus is logging everything he sees as well. The building is row after row of steel shelving, much like what you'd expect to see in the back area of any grocery or retail store. The bins are all labeled, and I'm not surprised to see sedatives, handcuffs, masks, and hoods indicating what's in the boxes above.
She points to an empty bin, and I place the box, turning around to grab the next one from outside.
Zeus and I both carry the boxes inside, refusing to let her help when she attempts. Over and over, we make trips, each box taking us down a separate aisle until everything is put away to her liking.
"We didn't have breakfast," I tell her when I place the final box, a case of MREs, on the shelf.
She glances down at her watch, an analog sort of thing, and I know it's intentional that she doesn't have a more modern Smartwatch. The organization would never allow her such a luxury.
"They have breakfast in the dining hall around the corner for another hour. If you hurry, you can grab something to eat," she says. They also have a meal request form at the front, but don't hold your breath on getting it anytime soon."
"Thanks," I tell her before going back out to the truck.
"Hey," she says, sounding out of breath as she stops me before I can climb inside.
"What's up?" I ask, although I already know what's coming.
"The truck," she says. "It also stays."
Zeus rumbles something under his breath, but we both ignore him.
"Right," I say, handing her the keys. "And our personal stuff?"
"I'll make sure it's sent to your cabin within the hour. Is there anything in there you need before then?"
I glance back at the duffel bags of clothing left in the back of the truck as if I'm considering it, but I know there's nothing back there we can't stand to lose.
"Nope," I respond. "Thanks, Candy."
"Dining hall is just around there," she says, pointing to the far left side of the building. "I'd avoid the scrambled eggs."
Zeus keeps his mouth shut as we walk toward the dining hall, but a quick glance in his direction tells me he's doing exactly what he should be doing—looking around and making note of everything without looking too suspicious.
Noisy chatter dies off when we step inside, all the people looking in our direction, each one analyzing us.
Some are curious.
Some, much like a chicken coop, are sizing us up to see what it will take to keep us from passing them in the pecking order.
Some hate us on sight.
Some have to be wondering why we would give up our lives in the outside world to come to a place like this.
Some wonder what might've taken us so long to get here.
Some think we're suckers and easy targets.
The kitchen is separated from the dining area by a swinging door, but it's clear where we go to get food. Like a buffet line at an all-you-can-eat place, the plates are at one end of a long counter, and a selection of drinks is at the other.
I nod to people, smiling at those I remember speaking to at the rally the first day we started this job. Others I meet eye to eye, an expected warning of sorts that they might've heard I was funny and kind, but I also shouldn't be underestimated.
Zeus snarls in every direction, causing some to sit a little straighter, a challenge of sorts. A couple of them drop their eyes as if they're not willing to go head-to-head with him in order to keep whatever flimsy standing they have in the organization.
Unsurprisingly, it's only women filtering in and out of the kitchen with fresh trays of food and walking around to make sure the guys have full cups of their drink of choice.
The women will get to eat after every man is served, and more often than not, that's more grazing and snacking in between breaking down this meal and prepping for the next. They won't have structured breaks, and I'd bet money that the same women working breakfast will be the same ones working every other meal, every calendar day that they're here. It's nothing short of slave labor. Some will be here willingly, brainwashed with warped beliefs that they're helping the group by working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Some of them are here against their will, either from day one or shortly after their arrival, with no ability to leave.