Blood gathered in his mouth as he fought to breathe. He'd allowed this to happen in hopes of living, but that hope was quickly fading. The others around him in the truck were fighting the same struggle he was. A few had already lost. He forced himself not to look at those.
He'd been lucky to get a corner of the truck. They were treated like animals just as had been promised.
"Those who follow us shall be given their lives; those who do not shall have theirs taken and shall be reduced to animals."
That's really how they were being treated. They were human beings being shipped in a truck that had once been used to transport cows. And Clark was thankful to have gotten a corner.
He coughed again and this time the blood spilled from his mouth onto the floor. The ride couldn't be that much longer, could it? The truck seemed to answer by hitting a bump and tossing him against the wall. Maybe he hadn't been so lucky to get a corner after all, although it did mean not having to lie beside more than two people.
His mind thought back to her. They'd been separated only shortly before. She'd held his hand as he'd gotten the injection. He'd held her when they'd finally been run down like dogs. They'd run a good race, but they'd been caught eventually.
He didn't think he'd ever forget the hands grabbing him, dragging him away from her, her screams, the blood, the burning corpses-he shut his mind off. He didn't want to see those images. Thinking about things like that wouldn't help him survive.
The truck hit another bump and he forced himself to sit up against the wall. More blood spilled from his mouth and he covered his mouth to try to stop it. Instead it only came out on his hands.
I don't want your blood on my hands, Chloe.
He stopped looking at his hands and glanced around the truck again. There was no one who was in good health there. They'd all been beaten mercilessly when they'd been found. Clark didn't know what his fate was to be at this point, but he'd heard rumors-oh, the rumors. He didn't want to even consider the rumors because if the rumors were right then Lana, Pete, Chloe...
He jerked his head up when the truck slowed to a stop. A few of the others in the truck-there were about thirty other people-raised their heads as well. A few of them would never raise their heads again.
There was a rattling sound that Clark knew to be the bar being lifted off the back door. A moment later light flooded the enclosure. Clark squinted to make out what was going on.
There were cries from the front of the truck and Clark realized they were pulling people out of the enclosure. Clark tried to push himself into the back corner, but he knew it was futile. They won; they always won. This time would be no different.
They were climbing into the truck and the cries were turning into screams as the people pressed towards the back of the truck. The already-dead bodies as well as those too weak to move were getting trampled. Clark forced himself to stand so as not to be crushed as he pushed himself back into the corner.
Bodies that stank of sweat and urine pressed against him. He knew he smelt the same way, but he'd made the choice years ago that he'd known would ultimately lead to this.
The sea of bodies surged against him. Clark fought the urge to laugh.
"Those who don't obey will be reduced to animals"
They were like animals now. They fought each other for the best protected spot in the group. The weakest were pushed to the front-not that it would matter. Everyone would be gotten to eventually.
The screams increased and more shoving ensued. He could see them grabbing people and hauling them from the truck. What would he do when they finally got to him as he knew they would? Time was running short for planning because the group was getting smaller.
He watched as a woman near to him, who had a baby, had the child ripped from her arms. Clark swallowed the bile in his throat as he watched them snap the child's neck. The lady screamed and became hysterical. Clark could only watch as she was forced out of the truck, her baby's dead body left behind.
The number of people dwindled until he and a few others were the only ones left. He was as tall as them, but height didn't matter and maybe they could see the fear in his eyes-could smell it on him-as they approached him.
The one that grabbed him smiled as Clark jerked against him. It didn't matter; he was carried from the truck anyway.
Bright sunlight hit his eyes and he had to blink rapidly. He began to cough again, and blood spilled from his mouth onto the ground. The one holding him didn't even stop, but simply held him away from itself as the blood dribbled from his mouth. Internal bleeding wasn't good, and he didn't suspect he'd get any medical attention.
The screams from behind him forced him to turn around and look. A few of the prisoners-mostly the ones who had been nearly dead-were being put back in the truck. The one holding him laughed softly and stopped long enough to let him watch.
Clark felt his breath catch as they dumped something over and around the truck. The others around him who were also being pulled away from the truck had also stopped to watch.
A match was lit.
The truck-with all the people inside it-went up in flames. The screams cut through the languid air. Clark turned his head away. He didn't want to see it.
The one gripping him started to move forward again. Clark kept his eyes on the ground until they reached some sort of building made of concrete blocks. The one holding him opened the door and shoved him roughly inside.
Clark immediately fell to his knees. The rumors. No, they couldn't be true, but wasn't this how they'd always started? Taken to a concrete confine, trucks burned, and then...no, they were just rumors.
He struggled forward and spotted hay around the walls, and stumbled as though he were drunk over to it then collapsed upon it. There were blankets and he drew one over himself.
His scalp itched and he knew he had lice. It didn't matter; everyone had lice now. It just mattered how much you had. You didn't want to get any of the diseases that lice carried.
Clark hadn't had to worry about that before--up until a few days ago. A few days ago he'd taken the injection to save himself--and Chloe and Pete. If they'd been found with a super-human they'd have undoubtedly been killed on the spot, just as he would have.
They were as strong as he had been. They would have overpowered him. He would have been killed without the chance to scream. His powers-the things that had always set him apart from others on earth and had always been miraculous-had failed him when he'd needed them most.
Clark curled into the hay a little more. He felt someone settle beside him and then a moment later someone on the other side of them. The one on his left was crying. She'd probably known someone in the truck.
Clark opened his eyes and scanned the room a little. The one dull light bulb on the ceiling illuminated only the concrete block walls, wet with condensation for it was mercifully cooler inside the room than it had been outside; the gray concrete floor; and the thankfully fresh straw that they were all lying on. He could see the people in the room as well, but he didn't want to focus on them. Getting to know more people only led to hurt and pain.
Clark closed his eyes again and tried to force himself to get some rest. A little more blood came up to his mouth and he let it run out, pooling in the hay next to him. He was so tired, but he saw their faces when he slept. He didn't think he'd ever stop seeing them.
He could have chosen something different, but he wouldn't-not even now-even if he were given the choice.