Chapter III - No Way Out...
Sterilized by Isis Daniel
Trying to find relief, I shifted, and the zip-ties cut against the raw skin of my wrists. My stomach quaked with the thought: I’m lying bound and helpless in the trunk of Mekhi’s hatchback.
The rear edge of the trunk floor obstructed my view of the gravel below. I stared off into the sea of trees, watching as the navy, velvet black night sky softened into a cool cobalt backdrop of ombre. The stars began to dim and a single, hot tear escaped, tracing a cold path down my nose onto the grimy liner.
I shifted my attention as Richard walked back into view, his restless hands fumbling through the duffle bag. At first, I assumed his restlessness was just greed as he counted his money, but then the frantic movement of his hands slowed to a deliberate stillness. I held my breath as he carefully drew out the small, locked case. His focus on it was absolute, in a chilling captivation, almost as if he could see the contents right through the box. The syringes.
Two types.
Mekhi’s venomous words echoed: ‘One represents the present… the other, the future.’
The future?
My mind flashed – disjointed images, hushed conversations at Cause meetings, the fear in my friend’s eyes when she spoke of her stillbirth after taking the VitaSpire shot. The whispers of different outcomes– different batches? A theory, cold and unwelcome, had been forming for months.
And now, Richard was potentially holding the answer.
Oh God– If I’m right, why would he need both versions? To find a cure, for the cure? But why give me up for that?
As the chilling answer began to form, my chest began to tighten with the realization. This wasn't just my capture. This was about something bigger, something tied to our desperation and to the answers The Cause—and now, clearly, others—already knew.
‘The baby is worth double, if not triple your price.’
I am not the currency.
Yes, I am terrified, but I’m mainly pissed. Richard played me for a fool. And the thing is, I was… because I’m here.
I flinched at the sound of duct tape ripping from the roll. The gravel crunched beneath Mekhi’s feet, as he walked towards me. His eyes were cut low but maintaining eye contact. A chill rushed through me and I couldn’t help trying to scoot deeper into the trunk. There was a terror about him, despite his clean and well put-together appearance. Great posture. Fitted clothes. Manicured nails… yet still slimy.
Richard watched in the distance as Mekhi slithered towards me.
A small part of me clung to who I’d grown to know Richard to be: the fixer. I hoped he would save me– that this was all some elaborate, necessary part of the plan.
But, I could see that he had grown tired of saving me.
Mekhi bent over me and covered my mouth with tape. As he draped a dark fleece over my body he whispered, “It can get cold back here. Don’t want you to get sick.” Mekhi grinned. “Just a necessary precaution,” he explained, his voice a smooth, reasonable lie. “To keep my crew, and you, safe.” With hesitation, he paused then looked behind him. I lifted my head to find him staring at Richard, who now stood wearing the closed duffle bag across his shoulder.
Fire rushed to my ears.
“I would hate him too.” Mekhi said, as he looked back at me. He then reached his hand towards my face. With his thumb, he wiped away the trace of the lone tear. I flinched inwardly, my skin crawling at his touch.
“But it’s just business. No more, no less,” he murmured, his voice a low, confidential tone meant only for me.
I watched as Richard anxiously adjusted the duffle bag. After another glance in my direction, he turned his head towards the ground, and then disappeared into the woods. Tears streamed down my warm cheeks. I tried twisting my wrists free, but my skin burned from tightly pulled zip-ties. They offered no give and I soon remembered there was no point.
I called out, but my muffled cry couldn’t reach him.
“Hush now, I know it’s hard, but you’ll be well taken care of.”
I tried to cry out again.
Nothing.
He’s not coming back–
Mekhi sat on the edge of the trunk and leaned in. He looked over me with pride, as if I was a prized buck he’d work for years trying to kill. He had done what most people couldn’t. His eyes were colder up close. Empty. A wave of revulsion, oily and cold, washed over me as he sized me up. I followed as his eyes traced each curve of my bound body.
“You’re a smart girl, so I’m confident you won’t do anything to put me, my crew, or yourself in danger. It’s a long ride, and I doubt you’ll come across anyone as kind as me. You hear? Stay quiet. Keep still. I was promised that you would be on your best behaviour," he chuckled before biting his lip again and running his fingers through a loose curl.
“I reward good behavior.”
He bent down and kissed my forehead. I squirmed to get away, but he grabbed my chin.
“Test my wrath, if you want.”
His words, cold and final, smothered the fire of my indignation, but a different resolve hardened within me. He thought he had me. He was wrong. I might be bound, but my mind was racing. I cataloged every detail: his chilling opal eyes, the set of his jaw, the subtle tells of a man unused to resistance but relishing control. I would remember. For now, direct confrontation was suicide. Patience. Observation. That had to be the strategy.
He looked down on me one last time, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, before he slammed the trunk door shut. The sudden darkness was absolute, broken only by the faint, mocking glow of the emergency release lever I’d already clocked. Immediately, the thrum of music vibrated through the metal floor of the trunk, a jarring, unwanted soundtrack to my fear, my ears ringing with the shift in pressure.
My wrists, zip-tied cruelly behind me, strained against the plastic. Useless. My feet, similarly bound, were angled awkwardly towards the back seats. I pressed my cheek against the rough trunk liner, trying to gauge our speed, our direction, listening for any clues beyond the incessant music.
Escape.
The word throbbed with my pulse. The release lever. Option one. But a moving vehicle, destination unknown, bound feet... the probability of successful escape versus severe injury or immediate recapture was high. Too risky. Not yet. Kicking out a brake light? A desperate, noisy act; it would alert them instantly, achieve little beyond shattering some plastic, and earn me nothing but more pain, perhaps worse.
The truth was stark. Mekhi was a new, unknown variable, clearly more dangerous than I’d initially processed. He wanted me alive, for now. But "they" – the Regime, and whoever else lurked in these shadows – had countless operatives. Exposing myself out here, alone and vulnerable, was a death sentence if the wrong eyes spotted me. My only viable chance lay in understanding where I was being taken, by whom, and for what ultimate purpose. Information was survival.
For now, then. For now. I let my head fall back against the liner, forcing my breathing to even out, conserving energy, every sense straining to gather intelligence. This wasn't surrender. It was a tactical retreat. A waiting game. And I would wait.
Mekhi had said it was a long ride. And after that? Butterflies and cupcakes? Not a chance.
The fear, the betrayal, this unwanted, undeniable responsibility was overwhelming – a raw, silent scream ripped through my chest, a tearing agony no one could hear over the vibrating music and the roar of the road. A sob finally broke free, but it was swallowed by the deafening thrum of this steel abyss. All I wanted was to sleep. To find oblivion, even for a few hours.
But my mind raced from thought, to fear and back in a never ending cycle that rested on one truth: I’d never pictured myself as a mother. Not in this broken world, not when the fight for simple decency, for truth, consumed my every waking moment. There was never supposed to be a time, or space, for this. My path was different – head in the clouds, yes, but always grounded by the battles right in front of me, by the injustices I felt compelled to fight. Love? That was a luxury, a complication. So how had I ended up here, with this undeniable, terrifying secret growing within me? Life happens. And sometimes it pins you to the wall with choices you never wanted to make. Memories I prayed would fade away flickered – moments of weakness, of forgetting the war for an instant.
I need to sleep.
I closed my eyes and felt my stomach contracting. Curling tighter into a ball, I tried to make myself smaller. Tried to disappear.
Sleep.
It might be the only peace I know for a long, long time.
Please, fall asleep.
Go… to…
I gasped as I was startled by the faint cry of sirens. My eyes darted around the dark abyss frantically, only having the freedom of my neck to sense what was going on.
The deafening bass dropped abruptly, swallowed by the wail of police sirens. The car rocked me forward, tapping on the brakes before pulling over into a complete stop.
No. No. No. No. No.
After a few quiet moments passed, I heard muffled talking right outside the trunk. I closed my eyes, held my breath and focused all my senses on straining to separate the muffled voices from the thrum of the engine. I listened and prayed.
Please don’t open the trunk. Please– don’t let them open the trunk.
The voices got closer; it was easier to make out the words.
“It’s no problem at all , Officer. How’s your family? Y’all made it out, alright?” Mekhi asked.
“Yeah, it’s just my daughter and me now,” the officer replied, his voice weary. “We left when I lost my wife to the god-forsaken flu– the Fulmen Flu or whatever they’re calling it these days,” he breathed with frustration then continued, “But, everyone’s been settling back in for the last few months.”
“It was a dark time for our country, but we’re picking up the pieces,” Mekhi responded smoothly.
“You lose anyone?” The police officer asked.
“Me? Not personally… we got VitaSpire early on.”
“Oh, the ‘real’ one?” The police officer chuckled. Mekhi joined in with a hearty laugh.
“Supposedly.”
‘Supposedly’?
Mekhi’s light humor sent my mind into a whirl of questions. He knows there are two different vaccines, right? I mean– what did he give to Richard, if not the two versions? Or, are these more games? Twists and turns that are simply the echo of what we think is true to get him what he really wanted–
Me.
“That girl has polluted this country and our youth with her nonsense,” the police officer continued, his tone hardening. “It’s infuriating, is what it is. She’s a menace, but she won’t be a problem for long.”
A menace? How am I a menace to society for telling the truth to people who wanted to listen? How does freedom of speech and my right to peacefully protest mark me as a terrorist? This country and all its corruption will be its own fall. Mark my words.
“Anyway, I appreciate your cooperation, son,” the officer said. “We were on her heels all night… Then our dogs lost her.”
“Absolutely, sir. Not a problem at all.” Mekhi’s voice was different, a smooth, deferential tone he hadn’t used before. It was the voice of a good son, a respectable citizen. A complete fabrication. I heard the jingle of keys, then the sickening thud of one being shoved into the trunk lock. He swung the trunk door open. I flinched at the sudden blinding flash of the officer’s flashlight. When I was able to adjust to the bright light, squinting to see the officer's face.
For a few silent moments, they both stared down at me; their faces unreadable in the glare. I squinted back in silence.
“Humph… what a shame,” the police officer said. He spat on the ground beside the car, the sound wet and final. His nose flared and the corner of his mouth flickered. I wasn’t a person to him, just contraband to be discarded.
“Yup,” Mekhi agreed. “But I wish you best of luck on your search. Would your partner like to see,” he asked, turning towards the cycling red and blue lights.
“No– No. Nothing to see here. Just turn that ruckus down. Can’t have you disturbing the peace. Attracts too much attention.”
“Yes, sir.” I saw Mekhi reach into his pocket. Then the subtle exchange– a thick brown bag, tightly wrapped, was passed from Mekhi’s hand to the officer’s.
“And I have no idea where you're finding gas for that thing,” The police officer chortled as he turned away. “I haven’t seen one of those since the late 20’s. Anyway, have a goodnight.”
Mekhi waved goodbye, as the policeman drove off, then reached towards me and snatched the tape from my mouth.
“Ahh!” I cried out, the sudden release painful against my raw skin.
“You hungry?” he asked.
Yes! The answer screamed in my mind.
“Oh come on,” he giggled, his eyes glinting. “I saved half my sandwich for you. Have a bite.”
God, I want it. My stomach churned with a mixture of hunger and revulsion.
“Don’t trust me, yet? Huh– ” He took a small bite of the corner, then placed it near my mouth. I couldn’t help it; my body betrayed me again. I started biting away large chunks of the dry, flaky sandwich.The scent of processed turkey and stale bread filled my nostrils, but it was food.
“Slow down. Slow down. Enjoy it.” He slipped his hand into my hair, gripping it tightly. By reflex, I spat what was left of the sandwich onto his face.
He released my hair and stepped back. He slowly, deliberately, wiped a smear of bread and saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand. His expression was unreadable for a moment before a cold smile touched his lips. He picked up a water bottle, which rested by the car, and calmly began pouring it onto the ground.
“I told you to behave.”
"Go to hell." The words were out before I could stop them, low and seething.
He crossed his arms and chuckled to himself, then gestured for someone to come to him. “John, help me out here.”
The guard, John, came around, his gun already aimed at me.
“Get a little closer,” Mekhi instructed, his voice soft.
John walked closer to the trunk, pressing the cold metal barrel to my head.
“Pull the trigger,” Mekhi said, almost conversationally.
At first, I said nothing, a strange calm washing over the terror. Ready for it all to be over. Ready to stop running. Ready to end this war that I felt weighed so heavily on my shoulders. But just as quickly as I was ready to give up, an image seared through my despair: the tiny, bean I’d seen on that cold screen. I wasn't alone. The thought was a jolt, a violent rejection of surrender.
I wasn't alone.
“Wait, wait! I’m sorry! I take it back! Ok… ok!” I pleaded, the words tumbling out.
Mekhi tilted his head. “Oh, you take it… back?”
“Yes! Please. I don’t want to die.”
“You wanted to test me?”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“Yes, you were wrong. You think we need you,” he chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. “John, I won’t tell you again.”
“WAIT!”
Click…
Thank you for reading Chapter III of Sterilized! Can you believe that this release marks one month of sharing this journey with you... Crazy.
My goal in this chapter was to bring you into the mind of the protagonist. Yes, there are a lot of moving pieces and questions that you may have, but so does she. Speaking of which…
Have you noticed that you still don’t know her name? What do you know about her so far, and what are you eager to find out?
If you're enjoying the story, drop your theories in the comments below, share this with a fellow thriller-lover, and don’t forget: Chapter IV now available.
For new readers, or to revisit previous installments, you can click here to access the Start Here / Chapter Guide page.
Again, thank you for reading and see you next Tuesday. — Isis Daniel