Tod lay in bed, staring absentmindedly at the upper bunk. Two weeks had already passed since he first came to this place.

  He had started to get accustomed to it. The routine—although tiring—was simple. They were woken up at exactly 5?am, then went on a short run of about a mile around the field. After that, they quickly washed up to prepare for the morning prayers. For obvious reasons, the religion here was Islamic—which meant praying five times a day.

  After the prayers, they had a quick breakfast before heading straight to class. Classes lasted until noon, after which they had a lunch break and then performed the noon prayers. This was followed by several grueling hours of lessons. At 4?pm, every trainee was ordered to the doctor’s office for daily health checkups. By that point, the day was nearly done—the remaining activities included supper and two more mandatory prayers. Curfew was a little after 9?pm, by which time everyone was expected to be in bed.

  For Tod, school felt so overwhelming. The only differences were that he had no family to return to at the end of the day and that mistakes weren’t rewarded with a slap on the hand, but instead with a bullet to the head.

  The lessons being taught weren’t that different either—except that they were a bit advanced for Tod. The main subjects were mathematics, physics, and a little chemistry, while the minor ones focused on Islam and ideologies—which Tod honestly thought was a bunch of rubbish.

  At least, the past two weeks had helped Tod answer some of his questions: where they were, why they were here, and, last but not least, who needed them here.

  The first question was answered quickly on the first day. Classes were held in a 10-story building that allowed Tod a glimpse of the outside—a large camp.

  If you were high enough and had good eyes, you could see what lay beyond: a desert. In simpler words, they were in the middle of nowhere.

  The “why” was pretty obvious: they were being made into soldiers. This answer, in turn, answered the next question—who needed them here. The answer was also self-evident: their captor was a very rich and determined jihadist group, as evidenced by the bogus teachings they received.

  Frowning, Tod sat up in bed. Although he understood more about his situation now, it felt like nothing had really changed; escaping was not even an option—nor something he was planning to attempt.

  “666, are you awake?” a voice whispered above him, loud enough to carry.

  “For Christ’s sake, can you please lower your voice? The guards will hear,” Tod replied in an angry whisper.

  The one he was speaking with was one of his roommates, No3.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault—I can’t speak any lower, okay?” No3 defended himself.

  Sighing, Tod resigned, “Fine, fine. What did you need anyway?”

  “Well… I can’t sleep.”

  “What?!” Tod exclaimed.

  “I said I can’t sleep,” No3 repeated.

  “What do you want me to help with?”

  “I was just asking if you know of any tricks—you know, something to help me sleep.”

  “Hey, guess what.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “What?”

  “I can’t sleep either.”

  “You too?” No3’s high-pitched voice rose, making Tod feel the guards would come any moment.

  “Yes, me too, No3. Now can you please lower your voice?” Tod snapped aggressively.

  Suddenly, another voice sounded across the room.

  “You know, you’re no better than him.”

  Tod turned to face the speaker.

  In an excited tone, No3 said, “You’re awake too, No7!”

  “Having sleeping problems” No7 responded.

  “Is No11 also awake?” No3 continued.

  “I don’t know…” No7 tapped on the upper bunk a few times, and, seeing no response, he gave up. “Nope—he’s already deep into the wonderl—”

  Before No7 could finish the sentence, the door to their room opened, and a guard with a leather whip entered. During his patrol, he had heard voices coming from the room. Now that he was inside, he could see that all the trainees were supposedly asleep.

  It was protocol that if a trainee was found causing disturbances during the night—depending on the severity—they should be whipped thrice. It wasn’t a surprise that sometimes some of them would fake sleep when caught.

  Smiling, the guard moved around the room. He wasn’t remarkable in any other way, but he prided himself on being able to detect the fakers. He reached the beds of No11 and No7 first. No11 didn’t need checking, as the guy was snoring loudly. Crouching down, the guard inspected No7, trying various tests. When he couldn’t confirm anything, he reluctantly moved on to the others.

  After checking each one, he found that No3 and No666 were no different—they were deeply asleep. Frustrated, the guard glanced up at the room’s camera, then left.

  …

  In the morning, Tod was seated in the cafeteria, eating the standard fare—bread with butter, tea, plus some medication issued by the doctor to every trainee.

  A boy with dark skin and buzz cut approached his table, placed his own plate of food on the table, and sat directly across from Tod.

  “Morning, 666,” the boy said.

  “Morning, No11,” Tod replied.

  No11 smiled before starting to eat as if he had spent three months without food. While they were still eating, two other boys joined them, each with their own plate.

  “Good morning to you all,” said a boy with red curly hair from the pair that had just arrived.

  “Morning to you too, No7,” Tod said, while No11 just waved—his mouth full of food.

  Then Tod suddenly turned toward the other boy with No7, the one with blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “Hey, No3, you almost got all of us killed last night.”

  Smiling sheepishly, No3 scratched his head. “Sorry, that was my bad.”

  “Last night?!” No11 blurted, food still in his mouth.

  “Can you swallow first before speaking?” No7 reprimanded.

  “We were almost caught talking,” No3 explained before taking a bite of his bread.

  Swallowing, No11 asked, “Oh! So how did you get away?”

  “What do you think? We slept, of course,” No3 replied.

  And that’s exactly what they had done. It had been a week now since Tod could force his body into deep sleep—something he had learned from No3 to cope with insomnia caused by exhaustion or nightmares. Normally, one tried to sleep naturally, but when rest was necessary, this technique worked well.

  “Hehe, you really are something,” No11 chuckled.

  They continued to chat as they ate, but before they finished, No7 suddenly grew serious. Noticing the change, Tod turned toward him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about something,” No7 said, lowering his voice so that it wouldn’t leave the table.

  “Well, go on—tell us,” No11 urged.

  “I’ve been thinking about a way to escape.” The moment he said it, everyone turned to him, staring dumbfounded.

  “What?” came the shocked response.

  “Tell us—what’s really wrong? Who hurt you?” Tod asked, his voice laced with concern.

  Turning to the others, No7 could see they all wore worried expressions.

  “Did you eat something bad?”No11 said in a worried tone.

  No7 could feel his blood rushing. “What’s wrong with you guys? I’m fine. No one hurt me, and the food I ate was fine.”

  They exhaled in relief.

  “Haaa, I almost thought something was seriously wrong since you started spouting crap,” No3 said sarcastically.

  Hearing this, No7 realized they were joking. “I’m serious, guys. I already have a plan—at least hear it before dismissing it.”

  “Well, let’s hear it then,” No11 said.

  “Let’s meet during noon prayers at ‘that’ place. I’ll tell you then.”

  Tod shrugged. “Okay, fair enough.”

  …

  Tod moved up the stairs, headed to his class on the 7th floor. The things No3 had said kept replaying in his head. Just before entering, he turned to look out the window.

  From that height, he could see the entire camp—the areas where they were imprisoned. He could even see parts that were not yet opened to them. Beyond the camp lay a scorching desert.

  Tod knew if anyone had a plan to move through that, they were one step ahead of him. And deep down, he couldn’t help but think