They even made me pee in a cup—right in front of them.
After they examined me to their satisfaction, they helped me back into the clothes I was wearing before and took me over to the gym equipment. I was told to lift weights, touch my toes, and bend in all sorts of ways while they wrote on their clipboards. I was in another place, going through the motions as they guided me through. I didn’t feel present; I didn’t feel real.
“Get on the treadmill,” one of the doctors said, pressing a few buttons on the console. I hesitated, and he glared at me, casting a glance over at Razi, who was sitting in a chair, watching with careful eyes.
I climbed up on the treadmill, my hands sliding over the smooth rails. My legs were like jelly, and I didn’t know how they expected me to run.
He started me off at a slow speed, more of a crawl, and I took careful steps forward as the conveyor belt moved, my hands locked on the handrails. He watched as I did so, making little notes on his clipboard. I wanted to grab it and crack it over his head, but I continued walking. Every few minutes or so, he would increase the speed until I finally was at a steady run.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel a stitch in my side, but the sight of all these quiet, watchful adults terrified me, and I kept the pace, focused on the bright red numbers on the console in front of me. A mile passed, then two and then three, and I wondered when he would make me stop. I was tired, oh so tired, and I didn’t want to do it anymore.
Miraculously, right before I hit the four-mile mark, he decreased the speed tremendously, and I spent the remainder of it walking slowly on my wobbly legs. The conveyor belt came to a rest, and I nearly collapsed.
“That is enough,” Razi spoke, her loud voice carrying across the large room. “Bring her back over to me.”
The doctor grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me across the room to Razi, depositing me in a chair in front of her. I collapsed in it gratefully. I watched as she flipped her way through the clipboards they had handed her, nodding and shaking her head at whatever she read there.
Finally, she looked at me, an encouraging smile on her face. “I have a very important question for you, Zoey, and I need you to answer as honestly as you possibly can. It is vital.”
I didn’t answer, and she took that as acquiesce.
“Zoey, when was your last menstrual cycle?”
I opened my mouth to reply and then immediately shut it. I hadn’t thought about that in so long, months. It wasn’t the first thing on my mind. Surviving, having enough to eat, training to be able to fight the Awakened were all things that had been more important to me. How had I not noticed? “Um, December? I think December?”
“Right around the first attacks?” she supplied and I nodded, wrinkling my brow, confused. I was steady, on a perfect 28-day cycle ever since I was fourteen years old.
Razi noticed my confused look as she made notes on the clipboard in front of her. “It’s not surprising given the circumstances. I would imagine that you have not eaten well in the past months, and I have no doubt that you’ve been under high levels of stress.”
“You could say that,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.
She ignored me. “Often times, a women will stop ovulating and skip periods because of changes in the body. An abrupt change in diet, an emotional upheaval, massive amounts of stress are all examples of what would cause your period to stop.” She paused, her pen poised on the paper. “There is no chance of you being pregnant, is there? I will not be getting that surprise when your test results come back?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Definitely not.”
She nodded, satisfied. “You’re healthy, incredibly so, given the circumstances. So many of the survivors we’ve managed to track down aren’t nearly as healthy and vital as you. You have a strong body. You will do well for us.”
I smirked. I couldn’t help it. I was scared, tired, hungry again and still thirsty. Sarcasm was my last refuge. “What am I going to be doing? Manual labor? Literally building the utopia?”
Razi smiled, oblivious to my sarcasm and attitude. “You are going to be much more important to us than that, Miss Valentine. You are very precious to us.” He turned to her lackeys. “Let’s get her started on an exercise program. I want vitamins added to her diet and a healthy amount of liquids. I want her to be ready and fertile, soon.”
I shot up in my seat, looking at her with surprise. “Excuse me? Fertile?”