The American Gulag - Part 1

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bright and unforgiving. The world didn’t blur the way it usually did when he moved too fast, there were no streaks, no trailing edges, but he was in fact moving, pushed along on a wheeled metal gurney. He was too groggy to figure out where. His body felt wrong, heavy and slow. The sedative hadn’t fully worn off, but he tried to sit up anyway. He didn’t make it far before his head dropped back down to the table. More images came into focus, Memories were becoming clearer, the ice, the lighting, Evi collapsing in his arms. His head lolled to one side, where the asshole that shot him walked, his rifle pointed low but ready. “Motherfucker,” he croaked, even his tongue feeling slow. “Where’s Evii?”

Vas walked alongside the gurney with ease that spoke of this having become written. “Who?” He asked, not sure how lucid the boy was.

He didn't know the kid's name. Didn't ask. Want in the briefing so he figured it wasn't important.

“Don’t play dumb. Evii, short, blonde hair, braids, the other motherfucker shot with a tranq dart,” Kir snapped impatiently.

“Oh the short stack? She’s behind you on a gurney. Out like a light.” Vas said. Then chuckled at his own joke. “She's fine.”

Kir cussed him in Czech, threatening him that if one hair was out of place, he’d kill them all, despite the fact he wasn’t sure how. “Where are we?” He slurred, switching back to English.

“Oh now you're speaking English again.” Vas said with wry snort. “Well here's a hint. It ain't Russia.”

Kir jerked his arm as hard as possible, mustering what speed he could, wanting nothing more than to take out a few of the soldier’s teeth. Whatever tied down his wrists held firm. “Where?” He asked again, trying not to look as scared as he felt.

“Chill. You're not busting out.” Vas said in a tone that spoke of it like a fact. “You're at Blackridge. You'll be fine. Consider it an upgrade from the gulag in Siberia.” He said cheerfully.

“Gulag in America,” Kir predicted, judging from the Western accent and mannerisms. He snorted. “We will see if we bust out or not.” He filed ‘bust out’ as a new phrase he planned to use often. He’d learned English when he was young from watching Western television, and couldn’t believe he’d made it to America and hadn’t been welcomed by the Statue of Liberty.