Chapter 15
I continue to receive “vitamin” shots. My heart and my chest are healing very quickly, almost miraculously, with the black stitches dissolving and my skin returning to its original color. Though I do not have a mirror, it is almost like the actual incisions are disappearing. But I figure it’s simply due to the fact that I am unable to take a really good look and that whatever those vitamins I am taking are doing more than what has been explained. Rigorous activity starts the moment I can stand the pain in my chest. It’s like they can’t wait to try out their new toy. My favorite nurse is always waking me up at the break of dawn to let me know it is my time for therapy, but what they have us do is far from therapy. For anyone to have just gone through major surgery would make it unlikely to expect them to go through such tests unless the doctors are looking for something.
I run on treadmills, which at first are at moderate speeds but soon increases. How fast, I cannot tell since all readings are kept out of sight. At points, they even raise the treadmill at an angle to make it feel like I am walking up a steep hill. Of course, the staff explains this is simply to see how the heart will react to different situations to ensure it is functioning properly. At one point, I am able to keep a pace without showing any true exhaustion, which makes no sense to me.
But the staffer will only say, “That’s good, you can stop.” Nothing more, nothing less. I will then climb one rock wall after another. They even put me into a simulator that allows them to change atmospheric pressure and the amount of oxygen that would be in the air to test my endurance while climbing. Whatever they do appears to have had no affect on me, so I assume that they run basic tests and the harder ones will come in the future.
There is a moment where I hear one of them state, “I can’t believe he is still going! Never did we ever expect such results.” I am surprised, since I don’t feel any different in this weird contraption. I am taken aback. I didn’t think they wanted me to hear anything concerning the results. At this point, I see Dr. Pruitt signal to the other staff members to be quiet, as it is evident I am hearing some of their conversation. I guess they thought I wouldn’t be able to hear them, since I was inside an environmentally controlled box with no intercom to communicate with me.
Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, since I have been locked up in this lab like a rat for too long. They test my strength against measurements and machines with weights that are hidden on the other side of the curtains where only the doctor knows the real limit of such excursions. At first, it feels like I could hardly move the bar but now things are so easy I feel like they aren’t testing me at all. They must be trying to trick me psychologically, making me feel better about myself. Surprisingly, Dr. Pruitt is glad when I do well and concerned when I’ve done too much and am in pain. Of all the staffers I come in contact with, Dr. Pruitt is the only one who truly cares about my well-being. This is different from other State figures who care only for themselves and what the State can give them.
When returning to my room, I notice I have been placed next to the other boys with white suits. I find it surprising how well-built they appear to be, but again I never really got a chance to see them that often. I guess I am the runt of the litter. They ask no questions, make no comments. It is as if they have not only taken out their hearts but their voices, too. I follow the example of my silent neighbors.
After several days have passed and as soon as Dr. Pruitt is satisfied with my rehabilitation, he has me join the others for exercise routines. We run in the same white suits. I am first every time. I notice at times the others straining to keep up with me. It reminds me of my old Young Army group where I was always the one everyone wanted to beat. I am actually surprised I am able to do so well, especially when these other guys are in tip-top shape. In many ways, they remind me of the Steel team, but I can’t even imagine us being at that level, especially in such a short time period. That type of conditioning would take years of discipline as well as special training. How fast I’m going, I have no idea. Only the doctor and the nurses with their stopwatches know, and they will not tell.
“How fast was I going?” one silly young man asks. It is the first time anyone has spoken and we all stare at him. The nurses only glare at him until he falls silent. No more questions are asked.
During swimming time, they line us up along the pool’s edge. We are to swim freestyle all the way to one end and back. We are all dressed in the same white swimming trunks, and everyone has the same scar on their chest. When the whistle is blown, I dive into the lukewarm water where I proceed to swim as I always have. But this time I feel like I am swimming through air. It is so effortless. Generally, when in the water, you feel like you are swimming in jell-o, but this time, I feel no resistance, no fatigue, no muscle cramping.
I am always the first in my own platoon, and now I swim as hard as I can in this pool with these new companions as my competition, pushing my heart and lungs to work together. Coming finally to the wall, I jump up and slap the edge, saying that I am finished. I look around, and I am aware that I am the only one standing, with the others coming just moments behind. I look at Dr. Pruitt and he smiles, giving me a thumbs-up. The others continue to write on their clipboards, always analyzing the results, never saying anything that either encourages or discourages our results. We push each other without a word, no greeting except an occasional smile; we are all good little soldiers.
As we show more and more progress, the State staffers decide to put something new in our rehab workouts. I can tell Dr. Pruitt is not pleased with this but as always, the State has the final word. Either you can comply or you will be replaced, something the State has no issue in doing.
We are all brought to gym and in the center stands a very large octagon that is covered by a large metal cage. I do not like what I am looking at. This could only mean one thing: physical combat, but why? A person that seems familiar comes forward, with clipboard in hand. As he approaches, I realize it is the same man that had come to my school to watch us compete against the Steel team. The man with the clipboard. He is a rugged man with a square jaw and cold looking brown eyes that showed no fear and no mercy.