Suddenly the tears are streaming down my face. I make no attempt to stop them. Part of me hopes that they will see that I am nothing more than a weak sobbing woman, and maybe, just maybe, they will have pity on me and let me go.
“I have to go home.” I hold my hands out, twisting my wrists at him. “You don’t understand what they’re like. He’ll hurt my family.” Just the thought of Crane punishing Sam for losing me makes my stomach churn harder. The side of my head throbs.
Mack looks at me with a blank stare. He must be expecting this. Or maybe he wasn’t expecting it to be this bad.
“You’re one of their Sovereign. You are one of the ones in charge,” Mack tells me, pointing a thick index finger in my face.
“No.” I shake my head at him. “You don’t understand what it’s like. I’m not in charge of anything.”
Feeling a large tear run down my neck, I move my hands to wipe at it. When I move my hands back in front of me, they are not wet with tears, but with streaks of blood. I panic at the sight, probing the side of my face until I touch the goose-egg at my temple. It’s then I remember standing in the night and feeling something echo off of my skull. My hair is matted to the area and I can feel warm blood trickling down my face from the wound. Moving my hands, I stare at all the blood.
“I think you need to settle down,” I hear Mack say with his deep soothing voice.
But I can’t settle down. I wipe at the side of my head again, breathing faster. More blood coats my hands. More tears pour out of my eyes. I feel the flush of saliva fill my mouth, which can only mean one thing: I’m going to puke.
Mack must sense this, as he steps aside just as I throw myself into the tall grass and let my stomach empty itself. When I am done, I stay there on my knees, crying into the tall grass.
“She’s crazy,” I hear one of the younger men whisper behind me.
“Shut it,” Mack warns him.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I don’t turn when I hear the footsteps behind me.
“You done now?” Mack asks.
“I think you gave me a concussion when you hit me in the head.”
“Sorry about that, he wasn’t supposed to hit you in the head, but it was dark.”
“I don’t usually act like this,” I tell him between breaths.
He doesn’t say anything to me, but he doesn’t need to, I can feel him judging me with his eyes.
“It must be the head injury,” I mumble to the grass.
Mack still doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands there, waiting for me to get up. Eventually I do and then I wish I were still sitting. My knees are weak and I feel the blood drain from my head.
“Think you shouldn’t be walking right now,” Mack says as he observes me. He takes my elbow and leads me back to the horse I was slung over. Before I can say a word he grasps me around the waist and lifts me onto the horse as if I weighed nothing. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?” he asks me.
“Never.”
“Swing your leg over the side and hold onto her mane. Chuck there will lead her.” Mack waits as I adjust myself and grip the horse’s thick, black mane. He pats the horse hard on its shoulder before walking ahead of me and waving to Chuck and the other man.
They walk.
“You’re pretty stupid,” the young one named Chuck tells me as he walks beside me, leading the horse. He has the same voice as the person who said they could make me talk. I notice a sling-shot hanging out of his back pocket and my head throbs at the sight of it. He must be quite the shot to hit me in the head in the dark. Even if he wasn’t supposed to hit me in the head, I get the feeling that he meant to.
I don’t talk back. Instead, I grip the horse’s mane tighter between my bloodstained fingers. It was stupid, trying to run away at night. I should have stayed with Sam. I should have tried to do something other than save my own skin. Now I’m trekking through the Virginia mountainside with a group of Survivors. They stopped our train. They stole our horses and our weapons. And now I’m their prisoner.
--
We walk all day, stopping only once at a forest stream.
The horses drink. The men relieve themselves. Mack unties the rope from around my wrists and allows me a moment of privacy behind a bush. When I step out, finished, he holds the rope out. I sigh, and holding my hands out for him I notice the red marks around my wrists from the rope rubbing. I focus on the imprint of the Phoenix on my inner wrist. We are your Sovereign. I remember telling the room full of Residents. We will take care of you. But here I am taking care of no one. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go back there, if I will ever see my children again. Maybe I could get them to untie me and then I could run again. In the daylight, without the ties, I could be faster.
Mack stares at the mark too. “If you promise not to run, I’ll leave them off for a bit,” he tells me, as though he knows what I’m thinking.
“I promise,” I tell him.
“Go get a drink from the stream.” He begins coiling the rope around his hand as I walk away.
I stretch my arms on my walk, loosening the tense muscles before crouching at the stream. It’s shallow, crystal clear and fast-moving. I rub my hands in the water to clean them. Cupping my hands, I bring some of the water to my face and smell it. It smells like nothing, just crisp, fresh water. In the calmness of the water I hold in my cupped hands, I get a glimpse at my reflection. My face is streaked with blood and dirt. I drop the water, unable to look at myself.
When we left Florida I had put a button down shirt over my tank-style blouse. Now, I unbutton it and submerge the corner of the shirt in the water. Ringing it out, I scrub my face with the shirt, try to rub the blood and dirt off. I bend down, scrubbing my neck and face until it feels clean. I lift the dry end of the shirt and dry my face on it. Then, cupping my hands, I drink.
As I drink, there is one thought that consumes my mind: I cannot stay here with these men; I cannot go wherever they are taking me.
When I am done, I stand and turn to the men. They busy themselves with the horses; talking in soothing voices, patting them, adjusting their rope harnesses. I thought Tim said they weren’t ready for riding, but these ones seem pretty tame.
The third guy-they never said what his name is-he stands with another horse. This one has sacks hanging off each side and guns tied together and slung over each side of the horse.
“Ready?” Mack asks. He’s less than a hundred yards from me.
I nod at him. Now’s my chance.
I bend to pick up my wet shirt and as I stand, I glance towards Mack, then across the stream.
One heartbeat, that’s all it took for me to decide which direction to run in. And three steps, that’s all it took for me to cross the cool crystal clear stream where I had just washed my face.
chapter nineteen
I wouldn’t recommend planning an escape with a concussion, and then actually carrying it out. I’m pretty sure I only made it five hundred yards before Chuck caught up with me. He grabbed onto the back of my shirt, effectively bringing my escape to a halt.
Swinging around, I raise one arm and smack him in the side of the neck, then I kick him in the balls. “That’s for knocking me in the skull with the slingshot, jerk!”
As Chuck groans and grabs himself, I take off running with the sound of Mack yelling. Running around trees and over the debris of the forest floor, I don’t have to turn around to know that they are following me. I can hear them, even over my labored breaths and the ringing in my ears.
A tiny bit of joy takes over the fear flooding my chest as I focus on the forest before me and see what looks like a narrow clearing filled with bright sunlight.
The tracks! It has to be the tracks.
Not even sure that I could keep running like this, or what I would do once I make it to the clearing, I continue on with hope being the only thing keeping me moving.
I can tell by the sound of hollow pings hitting the nearby trees that they are shooting at me. Three
hit my back. I weave side-to-side as I run, afraid that one more shot to the head and I’ll be too damaged to do much for Crane any longer.
As the bright light of the clearing draws nearer, I reach out with one hand, wanting to pull myself towards it, towards home. But all that hope is dashed as a hard object pings off of the back of my head.
--
This time when I wake, I can feel that they actually strapped me to the horse. A tight rope digs into my back. Blinking to clear my blurry eyes, I can see that it extends around the horse’s body.
I take in my surroundings.
This time Mack takes my horse’s reins as we walk. I stare at the back of his head, noticing that his hair reaches almost to his shoulders. It’s strange for a man. But then, I’m sure it’s not easy getting a haircut these days. I haven’t had one in years.
“What are those marks on your back?” Mack asks me. He turns, his gray eyes looking into mine.
He must have seen the marks when I was washing myself in the stream. I don’t answer. I don’t know how much he knows about the Districts and I’m definitely not going to be the one to tell him where they are. I don’t want him knowing how much I know. And I’m pissed that they hit me in the head again. So I just stare back at him.
“You put them there or someone else?” he asks.
Someone else put every single one of them there but, “I didn’t,” is all I tell him.
He nods. It’s a deliberately slow nod. One that tells me he understands my words and the tone of my voice, someone else put those marks on my back, the marks of each District, so I would never forget what I learned during my tour. Well, it looks like what I learned no longer matters, seeing how Crane no longer has control over me. Now the Survivors do.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Just up here a bit. Won’t be long now.”
I stare straight ahead, watching Chuck walk in front of us. The slingshot sways in his back pocket. Maybe if I could get a gun, or the slingshot, any weapon, maybe I could get myself out of here.
Even with all the thoughts of escape, I don’t make a move. The horse is too high for me to easily get down, plus they’ve strapped me to the animal. And I’m sure I’m not much of a match for three men. I sigh to myself in defeat. It’s a pathetic sigh, collected from deep inside my lungs. I inhale loud and blow it all back out. It doesn’t help me feel any better.
Mack must hear me. “Give up with yourself?” he asks. It’s almost like he’s been listening to me talk in my head the whole time.
I decide to change the subject. “What state are we in?” I ask him. Sam had mentioned we were almost to Pennsylvania so that leads me to believe we are in the Virginias.
“West Virginia,” he says with a nod. “One of the safest places you could be out here. Surrounded by state parks.”
“So we’re going to a state park?” I ask.
“Nope, sleepy little town in the middle of the state parks. Romney is what they call it, what the sign says anyway. There was no one left here when we came about.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.”
Hearing our conversation, Chuck turns and glares in our direction. Must be Mack isn’t supposed to tell me these things.
“What do you want with me?” I ask Mack.
“I told you. Someone wants to meet with you.”
“I don’t know anyone out here,” I tell him. “Who is it?”
“You’ll find out. Soon enough.” Mack swings his arm down and plucks a tall piece of grass from the ground, breaks it, and begins chewing on the end.
The walk continues for a few more miles until I see the break in the forest, the bright daylight shining in from a clearing. Mack stops my horse and begins untying the rope that tethers me in place.
I sit up, grasping the horse’s mane as my head spins.
“We’re almost there,” he tells me as he pulls the coil of rope out of his pocket. “Hold your hands out.” I do and watch as he coils the rope around my wrists. From another pocket I watch as he pulls out a piece of fabric and shakes it open. I recognize it, even though I never saw it in the daylight. Knowing what comes next, I bend down. He places the stiff cloth over my head and then we start moving again.
The horses’ footsteps change from the soft steps of walking on the forest floor to the hollow clomps of them walking on pavement. It’s not long before the motion stops. “Time to get down,” Mack says. He grips me by my upper arms and pulls me down from the horse. Although he is tall and obviously strong enough to be placing me up on the horse and lifting me off, I still don’t take kindly to being manhandled. Or maybe it’s that we’ve come to our final destination and I fear what comes next. Either way, I wretch my shoulders from his grasp. It seems he just takes the rope that binds my hands and pulls me in the direction we are going.
“Step up,” he tells me as my toes hit something hard. I stumble, trying to walk up the steps, unable to see. I must have made him angry, pulling away from him. Now he makes no attempt to help. He doesn’t tell me that the steps stop and I wind up taking a step onto air and stumble. Mack just pulls me along. There is the sound of a door opening and I notice the difference in flooring and smell. Wherever we are, it’s a place that hasn’t been used for a long time. No longer feeling my arms being pulled along, I stop. Someone clears their throat.
“It’s her,” I hear Chuck’s young voice announce proudly. “We’ve captured that Sovereign woman from Phoenix.”
It’s as if they’ve found someone so important, or the missing link, or a unicorn. I want to tell them that I am no one special. Nothing more than a prisoner, forced to do things I never wanted to do. I feel my wrist being twisted and inspected just like before.
“Thought she’d be bigger.” I feel someone poke at my shoulder. “More regal or something. Short. She looks like a teenager.”
I want to shout at them that I am an adult and I’ve finally reached the grand age of thirty. I have children at home waiting for me and a husband. But I don’t say any of those things, I keep my mouth shut. I feel someone brush my hair away from my neck. They grasp the chain around my neck. My necklace. The one Adam gave me, the one I hung my wedding band on. He tugs hard, pulling it off. “Take her to the penthouse.”
I turn my head, his voice suddenly sounding slightly familiar but hard to place with the disruption from the bag and the sounds of footsteps around me. Unable to place the voice, I am led away by a tight grasp on my elbow. We walk, up stairs and down long hallways. I hear a door open. The ties across my wrists are undone.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” I hear Mack’s voice.
The cloth is pulled off my head. Someone shoves my shoulder, hard. I stumble and as the door slams I open my eyes.
This is not a penthouse.
This is a windowless room with a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There is a cot in the corner, a small sink, a toilet. And that’s it. I turn around, running towards the door. There’s no handle, no window, no bars. I bang on the door with my fist.
“Hey!” I yell. “Let me out!” I pound on the door with all my might. “Mack! Mack! Let me out of here!”
My shouts are only answered with silence. I walk across the room and, running, I slam my body into the door. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t even move. I do it again and again, until my shoulder aches from the impact. Finally, I hear footsteps and voices. I watch the door, waiting for it to open, noticing a small hinge at the bottom of the door. The hinged portion pushes forward, hitting my foot. Someone has pushed through a tray with a bottle of water and a piece of bread.
Prisoner food.
chapter twenty
Time passes. Too much time. Much more time than I am comfortable with. They turn the light off. They turn the light on. This is my only judgment of time since I have no clock and no window to see the light. I wash the blood out of my hair in the rust-stained sink. I spend my days yelling at the door, trying to get someone to let me out. No on
e does. Sometimes, when I hear the footsteps of people walking down the hall I shout at them. I bang on the door. I shout for Mack and Chuck to let me out. I wish I knew that other guy’s name just so I would have another name to yell.
“Thought she was something special to them?” I hear a voice say on my fifth day. “They haven’t sent anyone for her.”
“That’s because she’s crazy,” I hear Chuck’s voice. “They were probably happy to get rid of her.”
I stop my pacing and slouch against the wall just as a tray is pushed under the door. This time it’s a boiled potato and a small bruised apple.
As I eat, I rub my fingers across the lump on my arm where Crane injected the transmitter after I completed my final task and Morris died. Crane can track me and yet, he has sent no one. With the speed of that train Sam should have been home by the next morning after the night they took me, unless something happened to him.
They turn the light off. I finish my meal in the darkness. Feeling the rough door, I move my hands until I find the hinged area at the bottom and push the tray through before I make my way to the cot in the darkness.
I don’t like this prison and all of its loneliness. I miss my old prison, The Pasture. I miss my home, my children, my husband, my long walks in the fields. That prison was much more tolerable than this one, even if I did have to deal with Crane. At least I had my family with me. At least I knew they were safe. Right now, I know nothing and it makes me think about how little I have known since The Reformation occurred.
--
Sometimes they give me what tastes like bread crumbled in some kind of milk, goat milk I think. Its thick consistency clogs my throat. It makes me wonder if they have a farm here. They must be growing their own food. This must be a settlement of some sort.
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 75