The people who used to quake before him, they spat on him now. They cheered when Gates threw him around like a bag of books. They blamed him. They thought everything that had happened after the quarantine was his fault. Idiots. For the past few food drops, Gates had brought Sam to the quad for show, but this was the first time Gates hadn’t bothered to blindfold him. This time, he got to see all the faces of the people who hated him, he got to see their glee at seeing him demoralized. He was a punching bag, a prop, a trophy. Saints held his arms, which were bound behind him with duct tape. His mouth was gagged. Sam stared at the ground. He didn’t want to look up, he couldn’t bear it. His father was up there, witnessing every second of Sam’s failure. TOTAL DOMINATION. That was his father’s favorite phrase. He’d shout it at Sam during their father-son training sessions at five a.m. They’d start with an hour of strength and conditioning in the basement. Then it was immediately on to a liquid breakfast, his father’s creation: veggies, protein powder, a mix of seven carefully chosen powdered sports supplements, water, a cup of Pedialyte, and a teaspoon of vinegar.
What do You think about Quarantine #2: The Saints?
