“Hey,” said Boulder quietly from the other side of Finn. “You’re being watched.”
Sarah turned around. Sure enough, one of the guards was staring at her intently, a weird look on his face. He didn’t look away when he saw that she was looking, instead he examined her more intently, if that was even possible, a slight frown on his face. Sarah looked away, her neck prickling. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t like it. Then a sudden thought hit her, and her stomach dropped.
“Boulder?” she asked, because she knew Finn would probably lie to her about this one, but Boulder wouldn’t, “how bad is my face?” What if the man was staring at her because half her face was ripped open?
“Pretty screwed up,” came back Boulder’s unfiltered reply.
Sarah squashed down a feeling of panic. “What do you mean?” she asked, nervous about the answer, and ignoring Finn faintly swearing at Boulder.
“The bees got you pretty bad all down your left side. You’re all swollen and lumpy. The right side is mostly ok, I guess.”
“I was hit by bees?” she asked confused. She had thought her injuries were more open, like she was hit by a ton of shrapnel, although she now realised that there was a distinct lack of blood for it to be that. She thought of the round rubber bullets that were laced with poison. “But aren’t you meant to hallucinate?”
Boulder shrugged. “Maybe you got a dud batch.”
“Nah,” mumbled Finn faintly. “It wasn’t a direct hit. You kind-of got side-swiped. And then you did go nuts for a bit, that’s when Boulder carried you. You calmed down when we chucked water all over you. I think it helped wash a bit of it away.”
Sarah glanced over her shoulder again. The man was still staring. She looked back. They had made it to a dull, dreary building. They were guided down a set of stairs to basement level. Inside one entire wall was lined with cells. Guards shoved five people at a time into each cell. There were no beds inside, only benches lining three of the walls. They sat down, Finn groaning gratefully. The door slammed shut.
“Yeah,” joked Boulder, “you better run,” he said as the guard who slammed their door shut walked off. He barely mumbled the insult but the guard stopped, turning on his heels.
“What did you say?” demanded the guard.
“Uh, nothing,” replied Boulder, who was smart enough to realise that he was definitely at a disadvantage here.
“No, no I’m pretty sure you said something,” said the guard.
“He didn’t mean-” started Sarah, but the guard stopped her with a pointed finger.
“Shut up. I wasn’t talking to you.”
Sarah stopped talking.
“Hey, Martinez, we have a joker over here,” called the first guard.
A second guard, bigger than the first one, strolled over.
The first guard, who was averaged-height and wiry, with short, thick bristly hair, unlocked the door to their cell and opened it. Boulder stayed very still on his seat. The wiry guard walked over and hauled Boulder to his feet while Martinez stayed just outside the cell.
“Something about how I ‘better run’, wasn’t it?” asked the wiry guard, his face inches away from Boulders.
“Obviously,-” began Boulder, but it was the wrong choice of word, because the wiry guard seized it like lightening.
“Obviously? Obviously? Are you implying that I’m stupid because I didn’t get what you were saying?”
Boulder closed his eyes, knowing that whatever he said didn’t matter, because the guard had already decided what he wanted to do.
“No, I-”
The wiry guard punched him in the solar plexus, hard. Boulder sunk to the ground, trying desperately to bring new air into his lungs. The guard let him fall. Once on the ground the guard kicked him, hard. Boulder fell on to his side. Another kick sent Boulder skidding back against the wall. Boulder covered his face and head with his arms. The guard kept on kicking.
“Stop,” begged Sarah, “you’re going to kill him.”
The guard didn’t listen.
“Stop!” Before she realised what she was doing she had stood up and was pulling the guard away from Boulder by his shoulders.
“What the? You little bitch,” snarled the wiry guard. He turned around and slapped her in the face, the same side that was swollen from the bees. Sarah’s vision swam with the pain and she stumbled back a few paces. The guard snorted and turned back to Boulder. Sarah launched herself on his back. This time he elbowed her heavily in the stomach, sending her sprawling on the ground. He stepped away from Boulder and stood over her.
“You stupid little twat,” he spat. He raised a boot, ready it to bring it down on her head. Sarah closed her eyes.
“Douglas!” yelled a voice.
The boot didn’t come down. Sarah opened her eyes. The wiry guard was still standing over her, but he was looking at someone else approaching. Sarah glanced quickly around the rest of the cell. Boulder was still curled up against the wall. Finn was, surprisingly, also on the ground. It looked like he had tried to help one of them but had collapsed from blood loss instead. The rest of the occupants were sitting on their benches, also staring at the new man. Sarah noticed even Martinez at the door had taken a respectful step back, with a look on his face that obviously regretted getting involved.
“Sir?” asked Douglas. He took half a step back from Sarah. Sarah stayed where she was. She figured that getting up might be a poor move to make.
The man walked into the cell. Sarah could see him more clearly now. With a sickening feeling that had nothing to do with her getting knocked around she realised that it was the man who had been staring at her earlier. She had thought that he was just another one of the guards, but she was wrong. He was an officer. He looked down at her.
“Get up,” he ordered.
Sarah got up. She stood before the two of them, feeling terribly exposed.
“Which of these people came with you?” asked the officer.
Sarah bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to reply to that. On one hand she was a prisoner by the enemy who by all reports regularly tortured, experimented on, and worked to the death their prisoners. On the other hand he had just stopped her and Boulder from being beaten to death by one of his own. Would it be better or worse for the other two to be involved? She was saved by having to decide when Boulder piped up.
“I did, Sir,” he rasped, obviously still in quite a bit of pain. Clearly, he had decided that his best chance lay with the officer than the guard.
“And me,” said Finn.
The officer turned to Sarah. “Is this true?”
Sarah nodded her head and then, realising that he was expecting her to actually talk, she stuttered out a, “yes, Sir.”
The officer stared at her for a moment longer and then turned to Douglas. “You don’t touch those three. If you do, both myself and the Captain will know about it. Understood?”
The guard was obviously surprised and confused, but he replied with his own, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” The officer strode out of the cell and passed through a door.
Douglas gave them a funny look and then walked out of the cell, locking it behind him.
“What do you think that was about?” he asked Martinez, looking genuinely confused as to why anybody would stop him beating the prisoners.
Martinez shrugged. “Beats me. The officers always do weird things.”
“Yeah, true that.” Douglas and Martinez walked away from their cell, occasionally clanging on the bars of the other cells. Someone three cells down started to cry.
Sarah turned back to find Finn and Boulder staring at her. They had both managed to prop themselves up, so that although they were still sitting on the floor, their backs were resting against the bench.
“Do you know him?” asked Finn. “The officer, I mean?”
Sarah stared back at them, equally nonplussed. “No.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I have as much of an idea of what is going on as you guys do.
”
“Well, he definitely seems to know you,” replied Boulder. “Maybe he thinks you’ve got a nice ass?”
“Shut up, Boulder,” snapped Finn.
“Let’s just hope that it’s not going to get us killed,” muttered Sarah.
“You and me both,” said Boulder.
Chapter Twenty
They managed to clean out Finn’s shoulder with water from a tap that jutted out from the wall. Thankfully, the bullet appeared to have passed right thought. Sarah just hoped that there weren’t bits of cloth stuck in the wound that were at risk of festering. Boulder had somehow managed to keep his spare bandage, and they tied the fresh one around Finn’s shoulder. He had, thankfully, mostly stopped bleeding. Shortly after that Sarah fell asleep. She didn’t think that she would have been able to, but the second she closed her eyes she was out for the count. She slept so deeply that she didn’t even hear the door to their cell squeak open later that night. A hand roughly shook her awake. She jumped, letting out an embarrassing squeak.
“Get up.” It was the same officer who had stopped her from getting stomped on before.
She blinked, quickly waking up. She stood up and the man spun her around so that she was facing away from him. He snapped a set of handcuffs over her wrists, and then grabbed her by the arm, guiding her out of the cell. She glanced at the others over her shoulder. They were both still asleep, although she thought she saw Finn stir a little.
“Where are you taking her?” yelled Finn groggily as the cell door closed behind them.
The officer didn’t reply. He marched her out of the room and up two flights of stairs. She could still hear Finn yelling, although his words were now incoherent. The soldier’s fingers dug deeply into her arm. It was going to leave a bruise. Her breath came fast and heavy as her heart raced at a million miles an hour. Don’t freak out, she told herself, don’t freak out. The corridor they stepped into was carpeted. The walls were lined with pictures of distinguished military men and women. They halted outside a heavy door. The man rapped on it sharply three times and then pushed it open, dragging Sarah inside with him. The room they entered was large. On Sarah’s left were an open fireplace and a few lounge chairs. On her right, facing the fireplace, was a large desk. There were a number of bookshelves behind the desk. A middle-aged man sat there, engrossed in his work. He had a livid scar near his left eye, short dark hair, and dark eyes. He glanced up quickly, nodded to the middle of the room returned to his task.
“You may leave us, Lieutenant,” said the man behind the desk. The insignia on his uniform identified his rank as Captain.
“Sir,” said the Lieutenant. He walked forward, deposited the keys to her handcuffs on the Captain’s table, executed a salute and left, leaving Sarah standing alone, handcuffed and feeling exposed in the middle of the large room. The fireplace crackled and she jumped. She looked back at the Captain but he hadn’t shifted, his eyes still focused on whatever it was that he was reading. Sarah studied the rug she was standing on. It was a nice rug, classic Persian design. She had a sudden image of her blood splattered all over it, staining it for life. She shook herself out of it. It wasn’t helping. After ten minutes of this Sarah couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sir?” she offered, her voice sounding weak in the large room. She strengthened it. “Why am I here? I don’t know anything. I didn’t even finish basic training, I-” but she cut herself off as the Captain finally put down what he was reading and looked at her.
“You are here,” said the Captain after a long, uncomfortable moment, “because I ordered you to be.”
Sarah didn’t say anything. What could she say to that?
“And because,” continued the Captain, “the Lieutenant saw something.” He stood up suddenly and Sarah took an involuntary step backwards.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, eyeing him closely as he circled the heavy desk. He had a large knife in his hand. He took his time walking over to her, and only stopped when he was so close that she had to crane her neck to still see his face. It took all of her willpower not to step away from him. He hadn’t raised the knife yet, but Sarah was acutely aware of its presence.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Sarah did so slowly, hating to turn her back on the man. She felt his hand on the collar of her shirt and she had to correct her balance quickly as he tugged down on the collar, exposing her upper back and partially strangling her at the same time. The Captain made a noise, like a half-strangled cry, and then he grabbed Sarah’s arm violently, still holding on to the back of her shirt. He flung her around and steered her towards the desk, slamming her into it so that she was flush against the side of the desk, her torso bent slightly over the edge. Sarah cried out but he shook her roughly.
“Don’t move,” he barked.
Sarah was terrified. Her breaths were coming sharp and short now. The Captain grabbed a desk lamp and brought it over to her. He pulled down on the back of her shirt again, using the light to examine her right shoulder. She knew what he was looking at. It was the same thing that had stirred the interest of the guard on the prison ship, ultimately ending in his death. She had the insignia of the Hourglass Group burnt onto her right shoulder.
“When did you get this?” the Captain demanded.
“I don’t know,” said Sarah truthfully.
“Who did this to you? You obviously didn’t do it yourself.”
“I don’t know,” repeated Sarah.
“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” roared the Captain.
She found herself getting flung back, hitting the floor in front of the desk hard. She scrambled backwards a few paces.
“I swear I don’t know!” said Sarah, trying to show her honesty in her face for him to read.
The Captain snarled. “How can you not know? It was burnt into your skin! What are your ties with the group?”
“I don’t have any!”
The Captain picked up a nearby vase and threw it against the wall, making Sarah jump. A soldier rushed into the room on hearing the noise.
“Captain?” he asked, obviously confused.
“Take her away. Kill her.”
Sarah’s stomach dropped and she struggled to her feet, edging away from the guard who was now coming towards her.
“No, please,” she begged, “I’m telling you the truth, I swear, I wouldn’t lie to you. Just…” she thought frantically, trying to find something, anything to make him change his mind. “Just give me some time to remember. I’m sure I can remember something. I probably thought it didn’t matter at the time, but it might be what you want, not that I know what you want, but..” she knew she was babbling, that she wasn’t making much sense, but apparently she had said something useful because the Captain raised his arm, stopping the guard.
“Wait.” He paused, thinking for a second. “Go.”
The guard saluted and left. Sarah felt a moment of relief and then reined it in. She was far from out of the woods yet. The Captain pointed towards the middle of the room and Sarah moved to do as he wanted.
“You have an hour to remember something of use to me,” he said. He circled back around the desk and went back to his reading. The complete change in attitude, from stark raving crazy to quiet was unnerving.
“Are you… are you going to kill me anyway?” asked Sarah, not quite able to hide the tremor in her voice.
“That depends on what you remember.”
Sarah’s heart sank. After a moment of awkwardly standing there she slowly lowered herself down so that she was sitting cross-legged on the rug. An hour was a long time to be standing with nothing to do but think. The Captain didn’t seem to object, so she focused on what she had to do. She had to remember, or make up something good. The latter would have been a lot easier, she ruminated, if she knew what the Captain actually wanted. She tried to focus. What could she actually remember? Not much, was the honest truth. She knew that she had woken up one morning with a painful, bandaged shoulder, and that her mother had told
her she had fallen and injured it. Her mum had said that she had also knocked her head, which was why she couldn’t remember, and Sarah remembered that she thought it was strange that she didn’t seem to have a headache or mark there. She hadn’t thought much of it after that, knowing that it had scarred. It was probably a full month after it appeared, when her mother finally consented to letting her take off the bandage, that she realised that her scar was actually an image. The outline of an hourglass in a circle, to be precise. She had gotten angry then, demanding to know what had happened, and why her mother had lied to her, but her mum hadn’t told her anything, just saying that she would know one day, and for now it was best that she didn’t. Sarah had been so angry. She had hardly talked to her mum for weeks. Now that she might never see her mum again she regretted that, but at the same time now would have been the moment for that secret story to come in handy. She tried to clear her mind again and focus more on the day, rather than the subsequent events. Nothing. She had nothing. This would have been so much easier, she thought viciously, if she hadn’t been nine when it had happened. Sarah opened her eyes and glanced at an antique clock on the desk. It had been twenty minutes already. How in the world had that happened? She tried to push aside the sudden jolt of fear she felt and focused again. She could do this. She had to do this. She forced herself to relax, taking big, calming breaths of air. Her mind started to wander. Then she got an image, just a flash, but she was sure that she could make out a man. He was standing with his back turned to her, so that she couldn’t see his face, and was bending over, looking at something on the bench. He was talking to her, and she was talking back, evidently quite comfortable. Then it was over. The whole image probably lasted half a second. Sarah opened her eyes again. Who in the world was that? There hadn’t been many men in child Sarah’s life. There was her uncle, but it definitely wasn’t him. Her dad had been out of the picture long before. She tried to bring up the image again. Had the man been wearing a lab coat? But she couldn’t be sure. She spent the next twenty minutes trying to recapture the image, to coax more out of it than her half a second had allowed. When that didn’t work, she used the last ten minutes to desperately try and think of something else to tell the Captain, something good enough to save her life. She wished she knew what it was he wanted. Her thoughts strayed to Mr Wall, the guard on the prison ship who had died helping her escape because he believed that her scar meant that she would end the war. If only he had told her more. Even that might have been useful. She could barely keep her eyes off the clock now, her anxiety growing with every second that ticked away without a solution.
The Weapon (The Hourglass Series Book 2) Page 9