His voice called out from somewhere behind me. “Of course, when you got there, the Purge really hit the institutionalized population. Two days after you showed up, three hundred were already dead. You barely even got to see what prison life is really like.”
We had reached the hospital. The front lobby’s glass doors were smashed out, so we stepped through and walked towards the main desk. It was dark inside, despite the sun and the mostly shattered windows. The building smelt like mold. Behind the front counter were three closed doors. The first one we tried led to a small bathroom, the second led to a hallway connected to several exam rooms. The third was locked, but the wood around the knob was peeling and rotting. One good shove and the door swung open, bits of wooden fragments and dust falling from around the frame. I walked in quickly, Anderson followed. We found ourselves surrounded on four sides by shelves stacked with yellow paper folders.
“Well,” started Anderson, “help yourself.”
I found my mother’s record first. Veronica Nunez, age 58 as of her last appointment. Nothing unusual, a few operations I vaguely remember her undergoing. Nothing about my birth. She had one appointment in 2001 and one in 2003, nothing for 2002, the year I was born. I found my file next to hers. Along the side of the upper tab, it read “Robert B. Nunez.” I tore open the thin folder. I was silent for several minutes.
Anderson soon poked his head back into the tiny room. “Are you alright? Found the secrets of the universe yet? Find anything yet?”
“Well…” my voice was shaky, although I didn’t notice at the time. “As it turns out, I’m adopted.”
Anderson, unimpressed, stared. “So I came all this way just to find out that you’re adopted? And that’s the answer your uncle hid for ya at the hospital?”
“I… I guess.”
“Who are your real parents?”
“Well, shit. What’s your real name?”
“Purge Initiation Prospect number 216.”
1 2 3 4