Sandwich

There were 18 of us on the bus, and They had just passed out bags of air.

The bags resembled the plastic pillows that came packed in Amazon boxes, only larger, about the size of a roast chicken. And we only got one each, unlike the chains of air pillows that protect your precious Amazon products from harm in transit. And also unlike the Amazon version, these clear plastic inflated bags had only one word printed on them, in large blue letters: AIR.

I was in the back row of the bus, by the lavatories. I had been grateful for that, during the past day and a half that we’d been on this bus. It meant I could use the restroom without passing by any other passengers, other than the Homeless-Looking Woman in the row across from me, who hadn’t even looked up the two times I’d gone to relieve myself. I had noticed that the farther away from the back of the bus people were seated, the less likely they had been to venture back to the lavatories, with the exception of the Big Man, who was seated in the first row but had confidently strolled through the aisle to the toilets on three occasions, and the Mean-Faced Woman, who was in the third row, but who had, once, bolted back to the bathroom and hadn’t even closed the door while she did her business, then darted back to her seat. Judging by the smell that had been growing steadily stronger as the hours passed, it seemed that some of the passengers in the middle and front of the bus had answered nature’s call right there in their seats.

I looked at my bag of air, and my heart, which had been punching me in the back of my throat for days without repose, somehow started beating even harder. I’m sure I wasn’t the only passenger remembering the other times. Once, it had been nondescript white pills. Of the people who chose to swallow them preemptively, several became ill, though not seriously, and many people threw their pills away after that. It wasn’t until days later, we learned the hard way that the pills were some kind of deworming medication. The fights over the surviving white pills were some of the worst there had been yet. Another time, it had been bottles of sunscreen. Anyone who had come wearing hats or long sleeves became a target, but They never even took us outside. Like those times, They didn’t explain the purpose of the bags of air, but of course, there’s the one main thing that we all need air for.

I tried to inhale deeply, counting to seven, to slow my heart rate, like I used to do in college when my professor passed out our exams, my eyes up toward the ceiling, my feet planted firmly on the ground. But I couldn’t take in more than small gasps. There was no air. Was it in my head? I looked at the Homeless-Looking Woman, but she seemed calm. Or at least, she seemed inert, indifferent, as usual. Was she dead? No, she dug crust out of her eyes and wiped her nose on her sleeve, then returned to her usual immobile state. But she wasn’t panicking, or gasping. It was in my head. The bus must still have air. I planted my feet, rolled my shoulders back, resting my bag of air gently in my lap. I looked up toward the ceiling and inhaled, slowly, counting to seven. I held it in my lungs for another count of seven, then exhaled, one, two, three, four, five–

A thick hairy army swung over the back of the seat in front of me. At the end of the arm were stubby pink fingers, and at the end of the fingers were jagged brown fingernails. By the time my brain processed the sound of hissing coming from my air bag, the arm had retracted back into the safety of the seat in front of me. Two small eyes framed by thick red eyebrows looked at me from between the headrests. Sandwich, came the taunting voice of the Man With Red Eyebrows. I tried to pinch closed the gashes in my air bag, with my fingers, with my lips, but his nails had scraped across the thin plastic and left a long streak of tiny ruptures, and I couldn’t hold them all. Forgetting, momentarily, my current situation, I almost called out, Tape, I need tape. But in all the days we’d been interned, They hadn’t answered any of our desperate pleas. So I stopped myself from calling out, but I opened my mouth anyway, releasing the bag of air from my lips. I let go of it with my fingers. As I watched the air escape the bag, I felt something escaping my body as well, a presence that had always been there, even before all of this had begun. I instantly felt calm, light. The red eyebrows still stared at me. Sandwich, he said again. I leaned back in my seat and fell asleep.

I hadn’t expected to wake up. I figured I would suffocate in my sleep, or perhaps choke on poisonous gas, but I guess this had just been some sort of trick again. But when the bus braked, rousing me, I could sense a disturbance, there had been more attacks while I slept, worse than what the Man With Red Eyebrows had done to me. Was it the smell? Maybe blood, maybe the odor of unbathed bodies intensified by brawling that had taken place while I miraculously slumbered through it. No, it was the sound, the soft groans of pain that together formed a quiet hum, a decibel lower than the hum of the bus’s engine so that you couldn’t really hear it, but rather feel it.

The presence that had left me when I let the air out of the bag was still gone, and the lightness it had left behind in my body buoyed me. At Their silent command, we filed off the bus and into a building that must have been a school at one point. They led us into a gymnasium that had 18 metal foldable chairs arranged in a circle, spaced several feet apart. In the center of the circle, there was a wooden pallet, like what they have in warehouses, it looked like it was 96 by 48 inches. I’ve never worked in a warehouse myself, but I once used pallet sizing data to optimize warehouse operational efficiency, so I knew that 96 by 48 inches was a standard size, and that’s what this pallet looked like to me. Although, this pallet was not a standard pallet, since it had some sort of leather straps attached to each corner, which wasn’t in the data I’d worked with.

We each took a seat, and then one of Them spoke. I could see from my fellow internees’ faces that I was not the only one surprised by this. None of Them had spoken to us since the first day, when They had made just one simple statement. They had told us that, in the end, the weaker half of us would be fed to the stronger half. The first few days, when They were still giving us food, there had been bloody fights, and two people had died. After the second death (a boy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen), the Tall Wide-Eyed Girl convinced us that the strong among us should not kill the weak, not yet, because that worsened their own chances of survival. We started out as a group of 24, so, she argued, the top 12 strongest were going to survive in the end. But now, because two of the weakest had already been killed, there were only 22 of us left, so only the top strongest 11 would be allowed to live, don’t you see? It’s like They said, the weaker half would be fed to the stronger half. Instead of killing each other, she argued, the strongest should focus on weakening the others, so as to clearly delineate the two populations, cementing each person’s place in the hierarchy. Someone had asked, What do you mean, weaken? You know, she said, beat them up, starve them, sleep deprive them, but don’t kill them. How do we know which of us falls into which group? Well, that will sort itself out, won’t it? She had said. Even so, there had been four more deaths, but none of them intentional. One man got pink eye from when the Bald Man threw feces in his face, and the infection spread to his brain, and he went crazy and died. Two different women got UTIs, and their bodies swelled up like balloons, and they also went crazy before they died. The last man to die, the day before they put us on the bus, didn’t have his heart medication, and he had a heart attack.

This time, when They spoke in the gym, it was another simple statement, that the final results would be decided by a vote, who was weak and who was strong. All of Them exited the gym, leaving us internees alone for our deliberations. The Tall Wide-Eyed Girl stood up. I was in the military, she said. I am a soldier. I haven’t sustained any injuries during internment, you can see that for yourself. I clearly deserve to be counted among the strong.

Another woman, the Older Woman With The Broken Arm, stood up. You were dishonorably discharged for mental instability, she said. I know, because I was your commanding officer. This pronouncement caused visible confusion around the circle, but the specific expression I saw on each face varied. For myself, I was shocked, since I thought none of us knew each other prior to internment, and I could see that about half of the others were as incredulous as I was. But for the rest, their confusion was undercut with a look of realization, which led me to believe that there were others in the circle who already knew each other but had been keeping their familiarity concealed.

That’s not true! The Tall Wide-Eyed Girl shrieked. I don’t know you!

Yeah, said the Curly-Haired Man. You could be lying to undermine her and make yourself seem stronger. How can we know you’re telling the truth?

Her name is Victoria Reynolds, she’s 26 years old, she served as Lieutenant Junior Grade in the US Naval Reserve but was deemed mentally incompetent to perform her duties.

That’s not true! Everyone turned to look at the Tall Wide-Eyed Girl. My name is… my… and even if it were true, what’s that got to do with anything? We’re talking about physical strength.

No one said anything about physical strength, said the Woman With The Twisted Ankle. Mental fortitude is a kind of strength!

What about strength of character? Said the Man With Red Eyebrows, and he pointed at the Big Man. That man molested one of his students, which I know, because I did the right thing and reported him!

What? Shouted the Big Man. He looked baffled, and I believed his confusion was genuine, since it was the same look I had seen on his face when the Older Woman With The Broken Arm first claimed to know Victoria “Tall Wide-Eyed” Reynolds. People were shouting, standing on their chairs, pointing and screaming at each other. I stood up and walked to the pallet in the middle of the circle. I realized now that the straps I had noticed earlier were adjustable restraints, that if one person lay on the pallet with their arms and legs outstretched, another person could loosen or tighten the straps, depending on how tall or short the supine person was, and fasten the restraints around their wrists and ankles. I lay down on the pallet, and said, I don’t feel well. At first, no one heard me, so I said it again. I don’t feel well. I feel weak.

Hey, are you okay? Said the Curly-Haired Man. Everyone turned to look at me. Do you need anything, a glass of water? Said the Mean-Faced woman, but then she remembered herself.

I feel weak, I said again.

Everyone stopped, silent, staring at me.

I feel weak, I repeated. Some people looked at me with horror. Some people looked anywhere but at me.

Well… shall we vote on it? Someone said.

One by one, I saw 17 hands go up around the circle. Victoria Reynolds and the Curly-Haired Man approached me. I’ll get her feet, Victoria said, avoiding my eyes. The two of them adjusted the straps and fastened the restraints. Now what? Said Victoria. The gymnasium door opened, and four of Them came through. They each grabbed a corner of the pallet and lifted it up to their shoulders like pallbearers. All I could see was the gym ceiling as they began to walk. I felt very light.

Soon, I was being lowered back to the ground. My hands and feet were freed, and I stood up. Two of Them picked up the pallet, presumably taking it back to the gym for the next vote. The other two of Them remained behind to guard me, or kill me at any moment, I suppose. I looked around. I was in a cafeteria of some kind. This must be where they’ll serve us to the strong ones, once all the votes are done. My thoughts were interrupted when one of Them suddenly spoke to me, for only the third time since this all began: Wait here for the other internees, once they all return from the gym, you will all be free to go.

I must not have heard Them right. Free to go? No, that can’t be. The lightness I had been feeling since I fell asleep on the bus began to dissipate. In its place, a heavy, painful presence. I sat at the cafeteria table and waited for the others. The next weak one brought to the cafeteria was the Woman With The Twisted Ankle. She was screaming and crying so much that They had to repeat their new message several times before she heard it. When she finally understood that she would not be slaughtered and eaten, she went into a sort of daze. After the Woman With The Twisted Ankle came the Bald Man, who behaved in much the same way as his predecessor, except when he learned that we would be freed, he started to laugh. Then came the Homeless Looking Woman, who was indifferent as usual. For a while, I stopped paying attention to the people They brought in, but the seats at the table continued to fill around me. Eventually, I became conscious of angry voices and general sounds of agreement.

Those bastards, said the Curly-Haired Man. They were going to eat us!

Just wait until they show their faces here, said the Young-Looking Woman. They’re going to pay for this.

How dare they think they’re stronger than us? Said the Woman With The Twisted Ankle.

The cafeteria doors opened, and the nine strong ones filed in. I saw shock and fear on their faces as they took in the sight of us nine weak ones, still alive.

You are all free to go, said one of Them to the cafeteria in general. Then, without any further instructions, They all filed out of the room, once again leaving us internees alone with each other.

Free… to go? Said the Mean-Faced Woman, who had come in with the strong ones.

That’s it? said the Big Man.

What, you wanted to eat us or something? Yelled the Man With Red Eyebrows, rising up from his seat at the cafeteria table. I guess he had been one of the weak ones after all. The other weak ones started to stand up, advancing towards the strong ones, who started to huddle together like a group of penguins. The newly-returned presence within me was getting heavier, harder, hotter. I sprang out of my seat and onto the table. I brought my foot down, hard, on the laminate tabletop, and screamed.

YOU ALL KILLED ME, I screamed. ONLY I DIDN’T KILL ANYONE! ONLY ME!

I screamed, and screamed, and stomped my foot on the table, over and over again. The tears pouring from my eyes were like a soothing hot shower on sore, tired muscles.

I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO DIDN’T KILLED ANYONE. ME!

The strong ones, the weak ones, looked at each other, at me. The Homeless-Looking Woman was the first to leave, but the others followed after her, their heads bowed, avoiding each other’s gaze. The Bald Man held the door open for the others, and the others thanked him politely as they exited. I stood on the table after the Bald Man had gone, no longer feeling the presence, but knowing, from my lungs satisfied with breath, from my fingertips burning with righteous anger, that it was there.