After two minutes, the image flicked over to another scene in which a woman was having a tug-of-war with a soldier, each holding the hand of a girl of maybe twelve. The mother’s swollen belly revealed the reason for the struggle.
There was image after image of Woodland cruelty. Schematic drawings of certain buildings were a welcome respite from the violence. Lists of sympathizers and another list of people particularly loyal to the Woodlands popped up, and notes were taken. Lots of the films were soldiers carrying out punishments. One incidence was particularly chilling, as it showed a soldier refusing to carry out a punishment and his superior reversing the roles and having the offender carry out the finger smashing on the soldier.
As I watched this, my eyelids started to blink for longer. Each time they closed, I waited longer to open them because there was always a new violence, a new atrocity for me to witness. Without meaning to, Joseph had clasped my hand in both of his. He took deep breaths with every new film, his chest expanding with what I imagined was heat. There was anger and shock in all of us, and it was breaking its way to the surface.
When they started showing images of the underground facility, I didn’t identify it immediately. It could have been a hospital anywhere. It was only when they showed a birth, a girl with lolling eyes in a pink room, looking confused and sweaty. There was a crowd of doctors around her, the child burst through with a scream, and then they separated them. The child was laid down on a table and was inspected, eyes poked, skin pinched. Someone said, “Pretty close,” and they swaddled the baby and left.
My lips felt dry, an uneasy, queasy feeling rising and sinking in my stomach. Joseph had released my hand, and I could feel that both his and Rash’s eyes had left the screen and were now staring intently at me. When they showed the exercise room, my whole body heaved. I gripped the sides of the chair like it was rocking in an angry sea. My vision bubbled and bulged. It was starker than I remembered. The pathetic images still flicked. The blue sky overhead was scratched, revealing grey concrete. Bedraggled girls shuffled in lines, their knotted hair falling in their eyes, their giant stomachs weighing them down, hard as boulders.
Whispering, “Oh Jesus,” I put my hand over my mouth and just stopped. I stopped breathing, stopped moving. I felt the gas drug cloud swirling around me. I heard Clara’s voice searching for me in the darkness. I felt Orry moving inside me, the hatred, the fear, and the crushing helplessness. I stood up and slowly moved towards the aisle, taking small gasps of air, but it was like the gas was everywhere. I didn’t dare breathe. When I got to the aisle, I ran, slipping on the carpet and clutching my stomach protecting the bump that was no longer there. I pulled myself up and it was like climbing a mountain, a shaking, rumbling mountain.
I could hear them behind me, but I ignored it. I couldn’t think. I slammed through the toilet doors and into a stall, making myself small and breathless like a soft stone. I tried to picture blackness, but those girls, those bodies, kept shoving me through the lines. Because there was nothing better and nothing worse than how I felt. I got out, I escaped, and with that came a flood of relief. But snagged in the raging water of that flood, were sharp stabs of guilt and grief.
I felt myself flying open and slamming shut like an errant window in a storm. I couldn’t reconcile myself.
I could hear the door open slowly, the air heavy and disturbed around two distinct bodies.
“I understand it more now, you know, why she is…”
“Yeah, well, I don’t understand how anyone could go through that and not be changed.”
Steps came closer.
“What do we do?”
“This isn’t a we thing. She needs you. Tell her I’m outside if she wants.”
The door closed and one pair of sneakers was left, peeking under the door of my stall.
*****
Relaxing my leg, I let it slide towards the gap under the door. I was exhausted and suddenly uncomfortable as the toilet smells wafted up my nose and I realized my hair was draped over the toilet seat.
A lightly freckled hand wrapped around my boot gently.
“Rosa. Are you ok?” His voice was soft and earnest, but I didn’t like the pity I thought I heard.
“Well… now you know why I’m so damaged,” I said quietly.
“I don’t think that,” Joseph said surely. I folded my arms across my chest, barricading my heart as he spoke. “I am amazed at you. You’re so strong. You survived all of that. I’m… I’m kinda humbled in your presence.” I could feel him smiling on the other side of the door, but I couldn’t quite believe him.
“I don’t feel strong,” I said, edging my way backwards. “I feel like nothing.”
“You’re not nothing.” He tightened his grip on my foot. “You’re everything,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, nothing,” I said resolutely. “How could I leave them there? I feel like I should have done something, done more.”
Joseph stood up and pushed the door open. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. I didn’t want to look at him. A warm finger slid under my chin and raised my face. His eyes opened me up like nothing else. There was fire in them, calm and heat at the same time.
“You couldn’t do anything, not then. But now you can. What do you think this is all about? We’re not watching this horror movie for fun. We are planning. This is where we get to be part of something.”
I laughed a little. “You sound like him.”
“Sorry.” He smirked.
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, kissing my forehead gently. I felt myself aching for more, but now was not the time.
“You coming?”
I nodded. “Yes, give me a minute.” He strode out, flipping back to me with a look of concern. I smiled weakly. “I won’t be long.”
I splashed some water on my face and took a deep breath. What could I do? How could I help when just the images of that place sent me spiraling and scrambling to wedge myself between the toilet bowl and the wall? I had to find some way to pull myself together.
It was funny how some things took forever to understand. Some obstacles were like mountains, they took years to climb and conquer. But I realized that what was shredding me, could also bind me. I could wrap myself up in this trauma and use it. I actually didn’t need any more time. More time was wasted.
I walked out with a flimsy sense of purpose and straight into a mess.
The film was over, and the images had not formed into some great plan. They had burned and shriveled like over-exposed film. Everyone was arguing, but mostly they seemed at a loss. What good did this all do? How could we use this information to free the people and take down the Woodland government? It seemed too big.
Members of the group swiped their arms in the air angrily, like the whip of a blade. All these surveillance videos had done was upset everyone.
One man, tall and thin as a pipe, with a hollow-sounding voice like he was shouting through one, yelled, “What if we tunnel under this building here?” He clicked the photos over to a schematic of one of the schools. We could fortify it, set it up as headquarters, and recruit citizens from there.”
Another man shook his head, his cheeks wobbling with the flurry of it. “They would just destroy the building with us in it. We have to remember who we’re dealing with. They place no value on human life. They won’t think twice about killing us all.”
Pietre, who had been sulking in the corner, yelled, “We should just blow them all to hell.”
To which some people cheered, but the majority of us found the idea deplorable.