Free Rebels (John Bates) by Scott Powell, Judith Powell Page B

have to leave.” My father only nods and then turning to me, he thrusts the red backpack into my arms and hugs me tightly in his monstrous embrace.
     
    He whispers in my ear, “Remember, son, remember that I love you, remember who you are, remember that you are a patriot, remember that you are a God-fearing man, and son, remember Jesus Christ.”
     
    Just as he let go, an enormous, well-built woman dressed all in white comes down the hall. “You must leave now,” the nurse sternly instructs.
     
    My father turns to depart and as he does so, I can see a glistening teardrop in the corner of his eye. Without so much as waiting for an okay, the nurse leads me up the escalators, across a suspended walkway between the buildings, with only glass and metal between me and the road below, down a generic hospital hallway before stopping in front of a small room. “I am Nurse Garrison,” she says, pulling a device out of her pocket. “Give me your arm.” I give her my right arm. “No, the other one, with the watch.”
     
    I place my left hand inside her free one. She takes the small device and scans it over my watch, and it releases its grasp on my wrist as link by agonizing link withdraws from my skin. The pain is exquisite, and I have to bite my tongue in order not to cry out, as the chains retract back into the disk, ripping and tearing the tissue that had grown over it. It leaves a white wrinkly circle on the back of my wrist with a gash on either side that quickly fills up with my blood; the nurse wipes it with an alcohol wipe and wraps it in gauze and tape. Obviously, she is not the caring type. I can tell she and I are going to be best friends.
     
    My wrist feels strange to me, with the watch no longer attached—the watch that made sure I brushed my teeth, ate my vegetables, told on me when I had eaten too much candy, made sure I went to church and recycled. If I run out of here right now, the government will never find me. But by the looks of this place, escape would be challenging, especially if all the nurses were built like her. But for a few minutes I would be free. But then I remember my heart condition. How long would I truly last? I am going to wait and see how this plays out. These thoughts soon fade away as I return my attention to Ms. Sunshine.
     
    She hands me a set of hospital clothes and escorts me into a room where she leaves me to change into the white jumpsuit made out of a cotton fabric that looks to be quilted together. Before I dress, I take out the map of the massive hospital and study it, memorizing every useful detail. Truthfully, it isn’t a very detailed map. For example, this room is not on it. It only shows each building and how each walkway is connected to the different structures and where various exits exist throughout the facilities. I do this because you can never be too prepared. Who knows if there might be a fire or any other disaster that would mean immediate evacuation of the building. Understanding and knowing the map might be the difference between life and death. When I am done, I carefully fold the map and place it back inside my jeans pocket.
     
    I dress in the white hospital attire; it is extremely comfortable, not at all what I had expected. When I finish changing, I am told by the stern nurse that I am to leave my things and follow her. We walk down the pastel hallway as one of the overhead lights flicker, threatening to go out. We turn right and then left before going through a set of double doors that leads into a brightly lit room. The room has dull carpet and various pieces of exercise equipment in it. Sitting in an orange chair is a man with a dark complexion and a white overcoat. He is deeply engrossed in his clipboard.

Chapter 12
     
    “ Dr. Pruitt?” the nurse calls, though there is only one person in the room.
     
    “Yes,” answers the African-American man with graying hair, without looking up. He wears an orange tie that matches the dingy plastic chair, the