Creative Writing: The Melange

I wake to the blaring noise of screeching wheels. I am in the back of a transport vehicle. The lights burn my eyes, and they take a moment to adjust. I am weak and my head pounds with a severe ache. The truck makes sharp movements and shoves me from side to side. I turn to see someone around me but it is in vain – I am alone in the pitch-dark compartment. Am I really the only one being transferred to the Melange? It can’t be. Maybe there is another truck transporting other people. My father once told me that transports usually happen in more than one vehicle.
I place my ear to the wall, hoping to hear another set of wheels outside. The metal touches my skin and a cold sensation runs down my arms. I shiver. The walls must be bulletproof and

My back touches the cold metal wall, and a shooting pain strikes down my spine. I thought the Septem was supposed to help with that. I guess it doesn’t properly work on me.
How many times have I hit my back that it hurts this much? Did it happen while I was asleep? How long have I been unconscious?
Sharp sounds of metal doors opening, like those of an automatic gate system, rumble in my ear, shrieking throughout my head with a piercing, aggravating whimper. The truck increases its speed, making another sharp turn that throws me onto the floor again, harder this time, and I land all the way in the back. A sudden smell of rusty iron enters my nostrils, making my stomach turn. Looking closer, I notice the floor filled with a thick, red liquid. Blood. I freeze.
Is it my blood? I touch the parts of my body where I have pain. My back. My head. But there is nothing. Then I follow the trail of blood. It is coming from the seat across from me. There must have been another person here, but where are they now? Did they take them out? Did they kill them? I can’t help but think I will suffer the same fate. This could be a trap – they could be getting rid of me. Terminating me. The knot in my throat is only tightening more, threatening to suffocate