My Cult Leader Boss Thought I Was a Broke Temp Medic Until My Sleeve Slipped in the Infirmary Tent
The scent of damp straw made my nose itch. The barn was mostly dark, save for a single grimy window high above that offered a sliver of gray Idaho sky. My backpack, taken by Jonas, held my phone, my wallet, everything. But I always kept a small, essential kit on my person.
I reached into my right boot. My fingers brushed against the familiar cool steel of a disassembled surgical tool—a small, flat-bladed retractor, designed for delicate tissue manipulation. It was technically a medical instrument, but the steel was strong and thin enough for other uses.
My eyes scanned the barn’s interior. A single iron pipe, thick with rust, snaked down the wall. It was the main water line, the same one I’d seen feeding into the recruit barracks. Elias kept them on a strict regimen, including mandatory water breaks from this very tap.
I moved to the pipe, my fingers tracing the cold metal. The barn was old, built years ago, and the pipe wasn’t exactly flush with the wall. A small gap, barely the width of my thumb, ran along one of its connections.
I inserted the thin blade of the retractor into the gap, twisting it carefully. A faint squeal of metal echoed in the quiet barn. The rust flaked away, revealing a small, corroded valve. Not a main shut-off, but a small access point, probably used for maintenance decades ago.
With another gentle turn, a trickle of dark, foul-smsmelling water began to leak from the valve. It wasn’t clear. It was thick and brownish, leaving a strange residue on my fingertips.
I pulled out a small, laminated test strip from a hidden pocket sewn into the cuff of my scrub pants. It was a multi-panel strip, designed for field use, capable of detecting a range of heavy metals and common toxins. Standard issue, back when.
I collected a few drops of the pipe water onto the strip. The colors began to change almost immediately. The panel for lead flared a dark, angry purple. Then the copper panel, then iron.
My stomach clenched. I compared the purple shade to the small chart printed on the strip’s packaging. Four times the legal limit. Four times. This wasn’t just old pipes; this was an active, ongoing source of contamination.
The “exhaustion” and “flu-like symptoms” the recruits exhibited, the constant weakness—it wasn’t just malnutrition or hard labor. Elias was knowingly piping toxic groundwater into their quarters, keeping them sick, docile, and completely dependent on him. The flu was a cover story. The sickness was by design.
It wasn’t just neglect. It was deliberate, systemic poisoning.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours