floor. Again, I try to thrash, forcing a little more strength into my limbs, but I can’t get free.
Warm breath wafts over my face. “If you move, I’ll kill you,”a man whispers into my ear. I open my mouth and scream, but his hand tightens and holds the noise in, grinding my cheeks against my molars.
A nose prods my neck, sniffing, nuzzling. “It smells like a woman, even after living in the tunnels. Hold her tight. We’ve only got a few minutes to get her out of the camp.” The weight climbs off me and my mouth is released. I open it, ready to scream, but my head jerks to the side as something collides with my face, and pain explodes behind my eyes. My chin is pulled down, and fabric is shoved into my open mouth. I scream again, but it’s muffled.
“You grab her legs, Mac. Jerrold, you grab one arm, and I’ll grab the other.”
“How much do you think we can sell her for?” another man asks.
“Enough for all three of us to pay our way inside the wall. Governor Soneschen is always willing to let people in for the right price. She’ll bring in a bundle! On the count of three, we move her out. One … two …”
My blood surges, tightening my skin, making my breath come faster, devouring the exhaustion in my muscles and feeding them with strength. I growl and yank my arms from the men restraining them and sit up. My fingers curl into a fist and I throw all of my rage into swinging it toward the person closest to me. With an audible crunch, my fist contacts flesh, and the person plummets into the side of the tent.
The other two men curse and jump on me, slamming me back to the ground. “I knew this was a bad idea!” one man says.
I reach up and pull the wad of fabric from my mouth.
“Bowen!” My scream echoes through the quiet night before a hand is suffocating me. I wiggle against it, claw at the arm it belongs to, try to breathe.
Light flashes on the canvas roof and a pair of feet thumps outside.
“Dude! Let’s get out of here. Help me with Len,” one of the men says.
“Leave Len! This was his idea,” the other says, his voice panicked.
The hands leave my mouth and arms, and the two men scurry out of the tent. I sit again and hug my knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath. A steady noise is growing in the camp—voices. And then Bowen is in the tent, flashlight in hand, hair messed from sleep. His eyes travel over my bare shoulders. When he sees Len, unconscious at my feet, Bowen’s nostrils flare and he begins to tremble. Without a word he tugs his shirt off—a plain white T-shirt—and hands it to me. I pull the shirt over my head as Bowen crawls to Len.
“If you hurt her …” Bowen yanks Len by the front of his uniform, forcing him to sit. But Len’s head bobs like it is attached to a loose spring. Bowen drops him and presses his fingers to Len’s neck. He looks at me and says, “He’s dead. Did you do this?”
“He’s what?” I whisper, wondering if I could have possibly heard him right.
“Dead.”
I open and close my fingers, staring at them, wondering ifmy fist could have killed a man. It was just one hit. One punch. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to stop him.” The air starts rushing in and out of my lungs too fast. I press my eyes against my knees and try to calm down. I killed a man.
A hand rests on top of my head. “Fo, are you all right?” When I don’t answer he says, “Fiona?”
My name, my whole name on his lips, is like the aloe on my arms. It leeches the pain and fear from me and gives me the courage to answer. “Yeah, I’m all right,” I say without looking up.
“I’ll be right back.” The hand leaves my head and I don’t move.
Within a minute Bowen’s returned with others.
“I bloody
told
you not to leave your post!” he yells.
“Len said—”
“Len is not your superior officer! I am!” Bowen retorts.
“Bowen, man, chill. Len said you wanted us to take fifteen, to drink some caffeine.” I
Warm breath wafts over my face. “If you move, I’ll kill you,”a man whispers into my ear. I open my mouth and scream, but his hand tightens and holds the noise in, grinding my cheeks against my molars.
A nose prods my neck, sniffing, nuzzling. “It smells like a woman, even after living in the tunnels. Hold her tight. We’ve only got a few minutes to get her out of the camp.” The weight climbs off me and my mouth is released. I open it, ready to scream, but my head jerks to the side as something collides with my face, and pain explodes behind my eyes. My chin is pulled down, and fabric is shoved into my open mouth. I scream again, but it’s muffled.
“You grab her legs, Mac. Jerrold, you grab one arm, and I’ll grab the other.”
“How much do you think we can sell her for?” another man asks.
“Enough for all three of us to pay our way inside the wall. Governor Soneschen is always willing to let people in for the right price. She’ll bring in a bundle! On the count of three, we move her out. One … two …”
My blood surges, tightening my skin, making my breath come faster, devouring the exhaustion in my muscles and feeding them with strength. I growl and yank my arms from the men restraining them and sit up. My fingers curl into a fist and I throw all of my rage into swinging it toward the person closest to me. With an audible crunch, my fist contacts flesh, and the person plummets into the side of the tent.
The other two men curse and jump on me, slamming me back to the ground. “I knew this was a bad idea!” one man says.
I reach up and pull the wad of fabric from my mouth.
“Bowen!” My scream echoes through the quiet night before a hand is suffocating me. I wiggle against it, claw at the arm it belongs to, try to breathe.
Light flashes on the canvas roof and a pair of feet thumps outside.
“Dude! Let’s get out of here. Help me with Len,” one of the men says.
“Leave Len! This was his idea,” the other says, his voice panicked.
The hands leave my mouth and arms, and the two men scurry out of the tent. I sit again and hug my knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath. A steady noise is growing in the camp—voices. And then Bowen is in the tent, flashlight in hand, hair messed from sleep. His eyes travel over my bare shoulders. When he sees Len, unconscious at my feet, Bowen’s nostrils flare and he begins to tremble. Without a word he tugs his shirt off—a plain white T-shirt—and hands it to me. I pull the shirt over my head as Bowen crawls to Len.
“If you hurt her …” Bowen yanks Len by the front of his uniform, forcing him to sit. But Len’s head bobs like it is attached to a loose spring. Bowen drops him and presses his fingers to Len’s neck. He looks at me and says, “He’s dead. Did you do this?”
“He’s what?” I whisper, wondering if I could have possibly heard him right.
“Dead.”
I open and close my fingers, staring at them, wondering ifmy fist could have killed a man. It was just one hit. One punch. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to stop him.” The air starts rushing in and out of my lungs too fast. I press my eyes against my knees and try to calm down. I killed a man.
A hand rests on top of my head. “Fo, are you all right?” When I don’t answer he says, “Fiona?”
My name, my whole name on his lips, is like the aloe on my arms. It leeches the pain and fear from me and gives me the courage to answer. “Yeah, I’m all right,” I say without looking up.
“I’ll be right back.” The hand leaves my head and I don’t move.
Within a minute Bowen’s returned with others.
“I bloody
told
you not to leave your post!” he yells.
“Len said—”
“Len is not your superior officer! I am!” Bowen retorts.
“Bowen, man, chill. Len said you wanted us to take fifteen, to drink some caffeine.” I
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