Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights filled the empty hallways with an electrical hum. It was quiet, and often covered by the sound of chatter, laughter and shoes against tile. This night, unlike most nights, did have quiet whispers and shuffling feet.
A girl, no older than 15 groggily wondered from her room. She could hear her father, Confederate, calling out to her from the hallway. A thick blanket wrapped around her small frame and her black curls tangled and messy.
‘What dad… It’s nearly 2am,’ she whispered out to him. The bright lights stinging her eyes as she spoke. Her father stood above her, he had a brown duffel bag over his shoulder and a crooked smile on his face. He hadn’t yet changed into his pyjamas for the night, still wearing the same button up and jeans from dinner.
‘Come on darlin’ get your shoes on, we got to get you out.’ His soft voice whispered back. That seemed to wake her up, her brown eyes widening at the realisation. Tonight? She won’t get the chance to say goodbye to the others if she leaves tonight. That was probably the point, so no one could stop her from getting out of this prison. She shuffles back into her room, slipping sneakers onto her feet and changing out her long thick blanket for a leather jacket. It looked a little silly over her pastel winter pyjamas, but there wasn’t much time to pick out a different outfit.
‘What about the others dad? Are they coming too?’ She whispers as she closes the door to her room. Confederate’s eyes droop slightly, the hurt behind them threatening to pour out. He shakes his head, and tries to hide the pain with a sweet smile. She knew the answer, it would be just her leaving tonight. Confederate reaches out his hand, waiting for a moment so she could hold his hand. He starts walking down the hospital like corridors. His eyes carefully peering around each corner before letting them move down to the next intersection. He could hear America moving around up ahead. What was he still doing up? It threw a spanner in the plan, but it wouldn't be impossible to get her out. He turns to face the girl, kneeling down and caressing her face. He slid the duffel bag onto the ground with a quiet thump.
‘Alright darlin’ you wait here while I distract him… when I say uh- asparagus, I want you to dash to the door with the bag okay? Wait for me at the door.’ He whispers quietly, once getting an understanding nod from her, he stands again. He takes in a deep breath and walks out into the corridor. Attached to the hallway via an arch was the lounge room, where America was reading a novel. America was dressed in long black sweat pants and a baggy shirt, clearly getting settled in for the night. Confederate approached, sitting on the opposite side of the arch, so America wouldn’t be facing that way. The lounge room was long and thin, the arch attached to one of the long walls. Inside was a beige L couch, facing the television that sat on a dark stained wooden cabinet. On the other side of the couch were two armchairs facing the wall with a small coffee table in the middle.
‘I thought you said you were heading to bed there Ame,’ Confederate mumbled, suddenly regretting his choice in code word. How the hell was he supposed to bring in asparagus into the conversation. America looks up at him with a soft smile. His tired eyes heavy, he wanted to sleep, he honestly did. He grabs a crinkled receipt from the coffee table and shoves it in the book before placing it down on his lap.
‘Apparently my brain didn’t get the memo, it just keeps thinking… so I’m doing some late night reading- or is it considered early morning now?’ America chuckles a little, his short blonde hair framing his pale face and deep grey eye bags. Confederate had always been slightly tanner than America, he assumed it was all the work he used to do in the sun. Now, after being locked in this sterile facility he could safely say it was just his genes.
‘Yeah… something like that. Hey you know Georgia’s little vegetable patch in the courtyard? I was thinking, what if he started growing asparagus?’ Confederate said, his nerves making his mouth dry. The girl in the hallway, Confederate’s daughter, quietly reached down to pick up the duffel bag. It was heavier than she realised, at least five to ten kilograms. She bit down on her lip to silence a grunt escaping her throat. She carried it up to the edge of the arch, her brown eyes peering into the space. She saw her dad and America talking, America was halfway through waffling on about the importance of home grown vegetables. She made eye contact with Confederate, his eyes briefly flickering over to the other side of the arch.
‘You know, you could ask Georgia to be a little more grateful for that patch. It wasn’t easy to put together,’ he started. ‘I mean, none of your children seem… happy around me.’ America murmured out the last part. He knew he wasn’t their father, but he gave them a roof over his head and food to eat. Confederate silently stared at him, the rage burning behind his eyes threatened to moved to his hands. The overwhelming desire to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze rushed over him. The only reason he didn’t was his daughter in the hallway, and the other children he didn’t have a plan for yet. Who knew what America was capable of when he was mad, and getting his daughter to escape would make him extremely mad.
‘I’ll… chat with him. Sorry.’ Confederate forces out, of course he wouldn’t, he actually was proud of his son for standing up to America in his own defiant way. His eyes flickered back up to the arch, just in time to see curly black locks and the end of a duffel bag disappear on the other side. Now, to escape this conversation. He was hoping that America would just put himself to bed, then he’d head deeper into the facility towards his bed room. Something told him he wouldn’t be that lucky. Confederate lets out a soft sigh and stretches out his back, it was late and sitting like a crumpled piece of paper all day didn’t give any favours to his back. America gave a soft smile in return before lifting his book up again. His fingertips gliding across the top right corner until he finds his bookmarked page.
‘If all you wanted to talk about was Georgia growing asparagus then this conversation is over, and I’d like to get back to my book please.’ America finally said after a moment of silence. His eyes peering at Confederate over his book as he slumps deeper into the couch. His body was begging for rest, but his brain couldn't sleep. Something was nagging at him, his paranoid brain was certain that he needed to stay awake. Confederate didn’t hesitate to take the invitation to leave. He stood up from the couch, his legs feeling like jelly. Managing to will them to move without him falling over, he leaves the lounge room, heading towards the front door.
She had waited at the door like she was told, the duffel bag sat at her feet. She had unzipped it slightly while Confederate and America were talking. Inside the bag were very neatly folded clothes, toiletries, a purse with 250$USD, her ID and birth certificate. Everything she’d need to leave this place behind, the money wouldn’t go too far though. She’d have to be smart in how she spent it, food over shelter or shelter over food? If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to make that choice. As she zipped the bag up as quietly as she could, she heard footsteps approaching.
‘You should have everything you need in there darlin’. Well… I hope you do,’ Confederate whispers once he is close enough. Truth be told, he had no idea if it would be enough, but it was just about everything he could offer for her to take. He leans down and picks up the duffel bag. It was a little heavy, but not enough to slow her down to be caught. He shuffles over to the door, the sleepy girl only a step behind. Confederate pauses at the door, anxiety getting the better of him, he lets his daughter go first. If America came up from behind its more likely he’d only see Confederate, and she’d have an extra moment to escape.
The door opens via a keypad, with the correct code it beeps and swings open. The outside part of the facility was dusty. Located on a large patch of farmland in the middle of nowhere Wyoming. Around 25 metres from the door was a 4 metre high concrete wall, sat atop the wall was a curling of razor wire. There was a metal gate to the right side of the entrance, although it was decorated in cameras, motion sensors and automatic flood lights.
Confederate readjusted the duffel bag in his hand, the weight suddenly feeling heavier as they approached a lone section of the concrete wall. He places the bag down in the sun bleached grass and dirt, his eyes flicker back over to the distance entrance. It felt like he had swallowed a swarm of wasps, and that they were stinging him repeatedly in the stomach. He gently places his hand on her shoulder.
‘Wait here by the bag… try to stay covered by your jacket, it’ll be harder to spot in the dark over those bright pyjamas,’ His gentle voice fills the cold air, not loud enough to draw attention. Once receiving another quick nod, he gives her a soft reassuring smile. He doubted it gave her much comfort, yet its all he had. He pulls away from her shoulder and turns to head towards the outside of the main building’s wall. Confederate had been planning this for a few months now, so he had thought of a way to get over the wall. A few weeks ago he had sneaked out to hide a ladder and a rope. It was hard to find again in the dark, although a few minutes of stumbling later, his hand reached the metal handle of the ladder.
Loosely putting the coil of rope around his neck, freed his hands to carry the ladder. It was heavy in his arms. It had to have been 3, possibly 4 am now. His eyes were drooping lower, his muscles were aching. He felt his feet dragging more with each step. He puts the ladder down by his feet for a moment, shaking his head to try force himself to stay awake. Once he was mildly more focused than before, he picks the ladder back up.
The ladder clattered slightly against the concrete wall, Confederate bit his lip, silently praying it wasn't loud enough to be heard from inside. He climbed up the latter first, the duffel bag now strung over his shoulder. It was a little difficult with the weight pulling him down, but that's why he was doing it, so she didn't have too. Confederate reaches out to the razor wire, making sure to not cut himself on the long blades. He pulls the duffel bag off of his shoulder and holds it over the edge of the wall, his first thought was 'what if something breaks?' only to remember that nothing in there could break. He drops it, watching it fall on the ground on the opposite side of the wall. A small thump escaping as the canvas bag hits the dirt. He then pulls the rope from around his neck, tying it to the top rung of the ladder and draping it over the side of the wall. Confederate looks back to the young girl staring at him from the bottom of the ladder, he shoots her a quick smile before climbing down.
'Alright darlin', your turn. I'll be right behind you okay?' Confederate whispered. The girl peered up the ladder at the razor wire, it looked so sharp from from where she stood. She gently tucked her long black locks behind her ears before climbing up the ladder. The extra footsteps assured her that her dad really was right behind her. Her eyes looked at the razor wire, this time face to face. It was sharp, that fact alone made her hesitate climbing over, which she assumed was the reason it was up here in the first place. Her dad reached over and separated the wire with his hands, she could see the blood begin to drip from his palms. The hesitation wore off, she pulled herself over the wall, abseiling down using the rope. She looked up to see her father with bloody hands and the biggest smile across his face.
'I want you to forget about ol' me and this place, I want you to go run along the mountains and valleys. To see waterfalls and sand dunes... I want you to go see the world my darlin' Texas'
And with that, Texas picked up the duffel bag, pulled her jacket tight and began her life outside that prison.