Chapter 9
Nat has thought about bashing her own brains out against the white subway tile of the kitchen, but she always manages to stop herself, if only just. The light swishing hum that’s been all she can hear for, well, she’s not sure how long it’s been, is maddening. People’s lips move, but no sound reaches her ears. She knows that when her lips move, no sound reaches theirs. All of the prisoners who work in the kitchens wear collars that mute all sound. The guards hear what she says, and they’re quick to deal out punishment if it’s not to their liking. But Sam and Bucky, who work in the kitchen with her, can’t hear a word. They can all use sign language to a certain extent, they’d been learning for Clint, but it isn’t enough to plot an escape. It makes certain days in the kitchen frustrating. Today, they’re making burgers and fries for the facility. Nat doesn’t even know who ends up eating it. It seems like too nice of food for prisoners, but all the food they make is too nice for prisoners. Except for the eight trays they make three times per day with the meal replacement slop. The container for the slop carries a warning for being dangerously high in calories. The eight unlucky souls get three bowls of the slop and three muffins per day. The muffins are a special recipe, high in fiber and not much else, presumably to offset the mostly liquid diet.
There used to be seven trays of the slop per day, but not too long after Nat, Sam, and Bucky were captured it switched to eight. A new person joined an exclusive and entirely unpleasant club. Nat’s in charge of the slop trays today, pouring two ladlefuls into each bowl. Whoever the eight are, they don’t get any utensils, and their bowls are made of silicon that holds its shape just well enough not to pour the meal replacement everywhere. The prospects of escape with such an item are low, and the muffin doesn’t come on a plate. The prospects of escape in general are low. Nat’s been over it hundreds of times, and she’s steadily coming to the conclusion that she won’t escape from this on her own. Hopefully Clint and Steve come and find them, but she knows the trail grows colder with each passing day.
Sam waves her attention over to him and she arches an eyebrow in greeting. Between the three of them, she regrets bringing Sam in on the investigation the most. Of course, he’d practically forced his way on, but Nat knows he’s heartbroken to be missing the birth of his first nephew. He manages well, better than Bucky, who picks fights with the guards at every opportunity and has had near constant bruises since the day the three of them were brought in.
The cuffs they wear on their wrists are what make escape near impossible. They’re incredibly tight, too tight to slip out of, even with a dislocated thumb, which Nat did try. With the click of a button, every prisoner wearing the cuffs is dragged to the nearest strip of electromagnetic metal on the wall, staying there until released. They can also administer an electric shock, which is wholly unpleasant and quite a good deterrent. Probably the worst part is that they’ll lock on to the nearest strip of metal if they pass through a door frame that they aren’t meant to pass through. Nat had been shocked that she’d been allowed such free rein of the facility, only to find herself trapped for hours on a door frame she wasn’t authorized to enter. A guard stumbled upon her, presumably laughed raucously, and released her. The facility is built like a maze and situated underground, so the only light cycles are the ones perpetuated by the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The point is, escape is a slim prospect. To make matters worse, Nat doesn’t know who eats what food, so some kind of mass poisoning would likely kill as many prisoners as it would guards. And there are plenty of prisoners. Nat’s seen them in the hall, usually mangled and being taken to the hospital, which is near the massive room that houses everyone who works in the kitchens or as custodial staff.
One prisoner in particular stands out in her mind because he’d looked somewhat like her nephew, Peter. Of course, Peter would have no reason to be at the facility. The boy had white clumps in his hair and his arm had been mangled in a way that looked beyond saving. The guards were dragging him in the direction of the medical center. Nat had only been out at that time with a few other prisoners to scoop bowls of ice cream. The fact that the guards at a facility whose sole purpose is to traffick mutants and force them to fight have ice cream parties is something that hovers between comforting or disturbing. She didn’t get to see if the boy survived, but she manages to push it from her mind most days.
With the final installment of slop trays prepared, Nat cleans up and then finds herself dragged to the strip on the wall next to her. Her shoulder twinges and she twists, trying to relieve the pressure on it.
She can see a tall woman with a black bob in a pantsuit talking to one of the guards. Lipreading is much more difficult than Nat ever realized, and she can’t make out any of it. The guards nod, probably replying, although all Nat can hear is that faint, buzzing whoosh. One of the guards hands what looks like a pen to the woman and she turns to Nat, who hears her next words. “Prepare an extra tray.” And then the nothing sound is back, maddening as ever. Nat didn’t hear any of the background, only what the small microphone picked up, which was entirely the woman’s voice. She’s different from the guards or the more supervisory personnel that Nat has encountered. The way she’s dressed and the way she carries herself speaks to wealth. She could manage one of the mutants kidnapped to entertain the elites by nearly killing each other, but they don’t usually end up in the kitchens. An electric shock jolts through Nat, who falls, crying out. She can’t even hear her own voice.
Finally, it abates, and she sees the woman. She forgot to nod, so she does, more of a slight flexion of her neck than anything. It’s blatantly disrespectful and the woman crosses the distance between them, acquainting Nat’s ribs with her red bottom stilettos. By the time her cuffs release, she can feel the wheeze in her lungs rather than hear it, and there’s a thin line of blood seeping through her shirt from where the woman’s pointed heel dug through her skin. Nat pushes herself to her feet, staggering slowly back to her station. Dimly, she realizes that someone took the slop trays she’d prepared. Sam makes his way over to her slowly, discreetly, under the pretense of searching for the salt. He sets the salt on the table, blocking the move from the guards, and then makes a show of finding it. Nat gives him a pained nod, taking shallow breaths. She puts together an extra tray with fries and a burger, setting it on an empty table, and waits next to it, bracing to keep herself upright. Her shirt is stuck to the cut and it’s going to be unpleasant to give first aid to.
By the time the woman reappears, the lack of deep breaths and the crushing silence is threatening to overwhelm Nat. She expects it when the cuffs activate, and manages to maneuver so that she’s in a more comfortable position. The woman is flanked by many guards as well as a man consulting a clipboard. The two of them are in intense discussion. The woman makes a dismissive gesture toward Nat and one of the guards picks up the tray. The entire group leaves. Nat’s cuffs finally disengage and she makes her exhausted way back toward the room that’s filled with uncomfortable cots. Bucky and Sam are waiting for her, and Bucky feels her ribs, not liking what he finds. The murderous expression on his face is telling, and Nat shakes her head, forcing herself to breathe deeply a few times. She falls asleep to a sound that she can almost imagine is the breathing of her fellow prisoners, and desperately hopes Clint and Steve are making headway.