by Unknown
‘You can rest easy, ladies. There’s only one person we’re interested in tonight.’ one of the guards said, pointing at her.
She did nothing but lay there, but it wasn’t what she was expecting.
She was wrenched from her bunk by the lead guard, and thrown against the wall face first.
‘Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.’ he growled. ‘The doctor wants to see you.’
He kicked her legs wider apart, and again her hands were cuffed behind her back. The only thing that ran through her head was the image of what the doctor had done to David on the night of their arrival.
‘Be strong.’ one of the inmates cried out, as Janna was pulled away from the wall and led out of the hut. Knowing all too well what was going to happen to her, the others stood in terrified silence, watching tentatively as the door slammed shut.
‘We should’ve told her.’ One of the women tearfully addressed the person known as the top dog.
‘Told her what? What should we have told her?’ the top dog growled. ‘It’s better that she finds out the hard way.’
Nothing more was said.
#
A look of terror spread itself across Janna’s face as she was led, one guard on either side, into the place where she had witnessed her husband’s murder. She desperately tried to pull herself away from what might lie in store for her, but her attempts were futile. With two burly, no-nonsense guards holding fast, she resigned herself for what lay ahead beyond the plastic curtain that led to the ‘infirmary’.
The first thing that caught her eye was the bloody chopping block, and what followed was a horrific vision of what she thought was about to befall her. But that was not what the doctor had in store for her.
‘Good evening, Mrs Saracen.’ the doctor greeted her with a menacing smile. ‘You are in for a treat, my dear.’
The guards either side of her lifted her off her feet and onto a thin plank of wood that constituted a platform. Above her head hung a noose. What sick game am I about to play? They looked up at her and watched as she began to lose balance. It was going to be a sadistic game of survival, and the odds were not in her favour.
‘At least let me get the noose around that pretty little neck of yours before you decide to fall.’ the doctor screeched.
She somehow managed to regain balance, not for his sake but for her own. The guards gazed up at her with evil intent written across their faces.
One of the guards used a step ladder to place the noose over her head and tightened it around her neck, so she couldn’t attempt to wriggle her way out of it.
‘This is a game I like to play with all my new subjects, Mrs Saracen,’ said the doctor, maniacally, ‘Make sure she doesn’t try anything stupid.’ he sniggered as he made his way out of the room. He left the two guards to keep an eye on her and make sure that she didn’t try to kill herself deliberately. The doctor wanted to keep her alive to satisfy his spiteful intent.
The gods were not smiling down on Janna Saracen at the moment. The guards had been charged to lift her back on the beam if she were to fall off, but all she wanted to do was die right then. The guards had turned away for the briefest of moments, giving her the perfect opportunity to end it all then and there. She quickly stepped off the plank, jolting her neck—her body writhing. The guards had been alerted of her suicide attempt by the snapping back of the rope and ran over, grabbing her legs.
‘Oh, no you don’t, Saracen.’ One of the guards shouted as they both lifted her back on the slim platform. She was barely conscious. The only thing that would keep her on the beam was if they pulled the rope taut, making the doctor’s game even more uncomfortable for her.
#
Do you think she will survive the doctor’s little game? This was the only question that went through the minds of everybody else that occupied hut number three. It depended entirely on her. On first impressions, the answer they collectively came up with was no. She looked far too weak to withstand the doctor’s wicked brand of torture.
Over four hours had passed, but there was still no sign of Janna. Forty eager faces stared at the solid oak door that held them in, waiting for something to happen, and then it did! The door swung open with force and two guards dragged a partially-conscious Janna inside, her hands still cuffed. A collective look of relief covered the faces of the other women.
‘Her bunk is over there.’ The top dog pointed to the far left corner.
The guards had the decency to place her on her bunk, stomach down, before removing the cuffs. She slowly moved her hands to her neck and felt the rope burns that she had as a result of the doctor’s vicious game. The guards left the hut, leaving the women to tend to Janna’s wounds.
She could no longer remain stoic. Everything that she had been through over the past week had caught up with her emotionally. She let out an ear-piercing scream purely out of frustration, and nobody dared to go near her.
After a good few minutes, she finally exhausted herself to sleep as the others watched on helplessly. The one known only as ‘top dog’ had warned the others to let her be and go about their business as if nothing had happened, leaving her to sleep until morning. It would prove to be an uneasy rest, as she tossed and turned for the most part.
The one thing she wanted most of all was to meet her maker. She would have to endure another day of uncertainty and beyond under the camp’s brutal regime before she got what she wanted.
#
Janna woke up with a start and sat bolt upright after being jostled about.
‘What the hell–―’ she started.
‘You need to get up.’ the top dog barked, glancing at the number embossed on the top left of Janna’s overalls. ‘Move, prisoner 15712.’
She swung herself round and stood up uneasily, rubbing her sore, tender neck.
‘You survived this game,’ said the top dog, ‘but rest assured, the games will get worse’
Janna wasn’t sure how to respond to the top dog. She wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to speak to her! But the experiences of the last few days had left her with a thick skin, and she threw caution to the wind.
‘Worse? What do you mean, worse?’ she asked. ‘It can’t get any worse than hanging, can it?’
‘Oh, my dear. Don’t be so naïve.’ the top dog scolded. ‘He will think of something a lot worse than hanging next time. He won’t stop until you are dead, or close to it. You are now his new conquest.’
Janna’s face dropped, and her defiant streak suddenly turned to a feeling of dread.
‘Were any of you put through the first stage of the game?’ she enquired.
‘No, my dear, the sadistic wanker only targets the pretty ones.’ the top dog replied. ‘How many times did you lose balance and fall?’
‘Only once—then the guards made sure I didn’t fall again.’ she answered abruptly.
‘Once?’ the top dog blurted ‘What do you mean, they made sure you didn’t fall again?’
‘I tried to kill myself, so they made it so I couldn’t jump again.’ She snapped.
The top dog grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall.
‘Don’t ever speak to me like that again.’ she spat as she choked her.
The top dog released Janna, and pulled her away from the wall before walking away.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ she shouted hoarsely after her. But there was no response. She hadn’t expected one, anyway.
Another inmate approached her, introducing herself only as mouse.
‘Don’t talk, just listen.’ mouse said in a seemingly menacing tone. ‘I can tell you why top dog knows so much – oh, and by the way, her real name is Sandra Jones. Used to be a big deal on the outside before the witch hunts singled her out for being of non-pure blood.’
She waited for mouse’s explanation, which seemed to disappear into the abyss.
‘Go on, you were saying?’ Janna snapped.
‘Of course, where was I? Oh, yes – why do y
ou think Sandra is top dog, and not dead, like the rest of the non-pure bloods? She shags around. Sleeping with the guards to curry favour. She’s a bit of a snitch as well, so be careful what you say to her in future.’ mouse replied. ‘One of the guards told her of one of the doctor’s conquests, and what happened to her after the hanging game. I can’t remember all the details, but I know it involved being outdoors, and that is it. And that she didn’t survive.’
‘Ok.’ was the only response for what mouse had told her. She didn’t know how to react; her reference to the outdoors could mean anything.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘So, Miriam, why are you here?’ Sam couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. ‘What are you running from? I answered your question, now it’s your turn.’
Miriam took hold of his hand and gazed into his deep brown eyes.
‘We are all of non-pure blood: mostly Scottish mix, with the odd Welshman thrown in for good measure. I was a minister within the Parliament for many years before the witch hunts changed everything. All of us were, in some way, tied into the governmental machine.’ she replied. ‘If we were caught, things would’ve been dire for us—we know far too much to be kept alive.’
‘The boy’s parents were arrested for being political activists. I can’t imagine that they’ll last long in the camps.’ Sam said. ‘Neither of them is strong enough to survive.’
‘I’ve heard what goes on in the camps.’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want to be put in that position—none of us do. And that is how I want it kept.’
No more was said on the matter, and Sam stopped talking as well. He felt no need to outstay his welcome by agitating his hosts.
‘Let’s finish eating – time is getting on.’ Miriam shouted over the din. ‘We need to rest at some point.’
Sam, exhausted, couldn’t have agreed with her more. Oscar was already asleep, hardly nibbling on the food in front of him before dozing off. One and a half days of constant travelling had seen to that. Sam gathered himself up and picked Oscar up, carrying him over to a spare mattress that lay in the corner of what used to be the dining room. He put him down gently before taking his jacket and shoes off. Miriam walked towards them clutching a blanket.
‘Here, cover the boy with this.’ She handed him the blanket. ‘It can get very chilly in the evening.’
He took the blanket and gently placed it on top of Oscar.
Miriam placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘There are more blankets on the landing when you’re ready to bed down.’ Sam smiled at her as she walked away.
#
Miriam watched as Oscar tossed and turned in his fitful unrest. She sat and wondered how someone so young had endured so much over his short life. She felt the urge to nurture him and keep him safe from harm.
‘You should stay here, with us.’ she blurted.
Sam just smiled in response, although it made perfect sense when he thought about it.
‘We will take you up on your offer, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to inform my sister of the situation.’
He pulled his mobile phone from his breast pocket. Miriam quickly relieved him of it.
‘No, I can’t allow you to use this.’ she snapped, pulling it apart in front of his eyes.
A look of disbelief spread across his face. ‘What the hell, Miriam – why did you do that?’
‘Do you know how many people have been caught as a result of GPS signals from phones?’ she said angrily. ‘Well, do you?’
He shook his head sheepishly then replied in an awkward manner. ‘I can’t say that I do, no.’
‘Too bloody many, young man.’ she scolded. ‘You need to start thinking like a fugitive now. Things like phones are no longer of use to you if you want to survive.’
An awful thought began to linger in the back of her mind. Did he turn the GPS off after he’d finished with it? Did he remember to turn his phone off after speaking to his sister? He had used the GPS for directions a few days before Oscar and he began their journey. If he had left it on and forgotten to switch his phone off too, then he had placed everybody around him in danger.
#
Oscar began to stir in the midst of a nightmare, tossing and turning frantically, and finally waking himself up with his own screams. He sat up in bed, disoriented.
‘Sam, Sam! Where are you?’ he screamed.
Sam came running as fast as he could and sat down next to him, taking him in his arms and cradling him.
‘Shush now, little man, nothing can hurt you here.’ he said in a calming manner. ‘Try and go back to sleep.’ He continued to rock Oscar, and slowly he began to fall back to sleep. But it was not altogether peaceful, as the same harrowing dream would come to him again and again throughout the night. Sam was forced to wake him up repeatedly, dragging him out of the nightmare he was trapped in.
‘Maybe it’s best if you stay awake, little man.’ he whispered softly in Oscar’s ear.
The boy nodded as he wiped away a single tear and sniffed.
#
‘Miriam, I think we might have a problem.’ Robert, her cohort, reported. ‘Sam may be hiding something.’
He showed her Sam’s broken-up phone, and pointed to a specific area.
‘See that?’ he pointed at the back of the casing. ‘G.P, do you know what that stands for?’
Her face dropped and she stared at the back of the phone in disbelief. ‘Government Property? No, he can’t be one of them; he’s far too well mannered and gentle to be a patrolman.’
‘Get him away from the boy, Rob.’ she said, almost panicking. ‘Bring him to me. I want to hear what he has to say for himself, before we take any action against him.’
Robert left her side and beckoned over another comrade as backup. If Sam was in fact a patrolman, he would need the extra manpower; the man would not hesitate to kill anyone who posed a threat.
Miriam tapped the phone casing against her palm, and gazed briefly at the incriminating markings one more time. Her thought process was abruptly broken by the sound of scuffling coming from the next room. Sam was not coming as quietly as hoped, giving her the impression that he was a patrolman after all, if only a fledgling.
‘Get off of me, you bastards.’ Sam bellowed angrily as he was dragged towards her. Despite the grip of the two men hauling him, he was fighting with all his might to escape their grasp.
‘What’s going on, Sam? If your name is indeed Sam.’ Miriam scrutinised him as he was brought forward. ‘I think we might need to use extreme measures, boys. Sit the little shit down, and tie him up.’
Robert went in search of a chair while Max, the stronger of the two, held Sam firmly in a vice grip. There was nothing that he could do about it.
‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I can promise you, I haven’t done anything wrong.’ he said in a panicked manner. ‘Please, let me go!’
‘Save it, Sam.’ Miriam wasn’t buying into his ‘Mr Innocent’ act.
Robert entered the room again with a chair and some rope. He slammed the seat of the chair into the backs of Sam’s knees, forcing him to sit. He handed Max the rope, which was used to tie his hands behind the chair’s back rest. He winced, feeling the rough twine as it cut into his wrists. Max knelt on the floor behind the chair and pulled Sam’s feet towards the back, where the rest of the rope was wound. There was no chance of escape; he was as helpless as a new-born baby.
Miriam strode towards the chair and knelt down in front of him, placing her hands on his trembling knees.
‘Why are you trembling? I thought you patrolmen were supposed to be hard as nails?’ she sneered. ‘Now, don’t insult my intelligence by denying that you are a patrolman, because the back of your phone suggests otherwise. What has the government tasked you with?’ she asked in a calmer manner.
He bowed his head, knowing that no matter what came out of his mouth he would be accused of lying. He thought it best to remain silent until the threat of violence came into the equation.
#
>
Miriam tried to get Sam to open up to her for hours, but nothing came of it. Her patience was wearing thin. Anger began to replace rationality, as he became more unresponsive and the need for violence became apparent. Max was the camp’s resident torturer: his favourite implements were bamboo splinters, which he would pierce between his victim’s fingernails.
He had been filing the tips of his bamboo splinters into sharp points, to inflict as much pain and discomfort as he could to the person at the other end of the aggression. Sam remained oblivious to what was going on behind him.
‘One more time, Sam.’ Miriam whispered in his ear. ‘What is your purpose?’
He remained defiant, refusing to answer her question. She gave a singular nod in Max’s direction, prompting him to begin the torture. He grabbed hold of Sam’s fingers and placed one of the pointed bamboo splinters under a nail. He pushed on it slightly, just enough to make him wince again.
‘Max, do what you do best.’ she ordered. ‘Some much-needed brutality to get this arsehole’s tongue wagging.’
With one swift bash on the end of the splinter, the point travelled down his nail, and with it followed a gut-wrenching screech.
The scream was heard by a clueless Oscar, who appeared to investigate. He looked at Sam in his pain-racked, helpless state and said nothing, just stared blankly at him. The man turned his head to look at him, tears rolling down his face.
‘Why are you crying, Sammy?’ Oscar said falteringly, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation.
‘Oscar, go!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t want you seeing this.’
He furrowed his brow and stormed off in the direction from where he’d come, never looking back. Looking at Sam’s face, Miriam suddenly understood.
‘Oh, I see, you were tasked to string the boy along, make him feel safe before taking him back to London.’ she had twigged what his motives were, just by looking at the forlorn expression on his face as he stared at Oscar. ‘You had no intention of saving him from the patrolmen, did you?’
He bowed his head in shame and began to break down.
‘It’s true! That was my intention.’ he cried. ‘Please don’t hurt me anymore.’