I wake up back in my cell. Every part of me feels frozen stiff, and I know that as soon as I move it will be agony. I don't move. I lie still and let my eyes roam about the cell. There's a fresh bottle of water on the shelf, along with a paper-wrapped packet that contains my daily ration of dried concentrate. I realise that I'm hungry, but I'm in no shape to eat quite yet. It'll have to wait.
I lie there for a while, feeling cold and stiff. Feeling tired. You're alive, I tell myself. There's that at least.
From the next cell over there's a tapping on the wall.
"Lynch," whispers a voice. "You there, girl?" It's Syra, my neighbour. Gritting my teeth, I roll over. A wave of fire seems to roll through all my bones, but it's not too bad, and it fades down to a dull, hot ache soon enough.
"I'm here," I say. Speaking makes me realise how thirsty I am, and I long to get up and fetch the water from my shelf. Not yet though; I don't know if my legs will take me. "How you doing?"
I hear Syra hissing through her teeth. It's odd; I've never even seen her in my life. Her voice, her little habits are the only way I really know her. "Not so bad. Just tired, you know. They had me on the treadmill 'till I damn near collapsed. What about you?"
"The lab," I say. It's all I need to say, because anyone of the kids they keep here know what it means to be taken to the lab. It means a chance of coming back missing something, or not coming back at all. I've been lucky so far. Either that or Ingleman likes me and he's been saving the worst for the others.
Syra's voice is low, suddenly. "Hey," she says, "you know the new kid? Cell opposite mine?"
"Yeah?"
"I think he's dead. I been calling for him since I got back in and there ain't been a word."
"Shit, Syra."
"I know."
For a moment I feel terribly sick. Another one dead; that'd be the third this month. And I never even knew who he was; just some scared little kid a hundred miles from home. It's obscene. I wish Syra hadn't told me.
I sit up. I do it quickly, all in one motion, and then double over and groan as the pain lances through my limbs and stomach. It takes me the better part of ten minutes to get across my tiny cell to the water, practically crawling on the concrete. Finally, I'm within reach, and I grab it and gulp down a half-dozen mouthfuls of lukewarm liquid. I sit back against the wall.
"Syra?" I call. Without warning the light on the ceiling dims out. Bedtime.
"Yeah?" says Syra. She sounds sleepy, or maybe sick.
"Nothing," I say quietly. "Just checking in."
