be murdered by these men. After being walked into a shower and watched as I stripped, the hood took my clothes and left, satisfied that I wasn't going to make a naked escape. Though I considered it, the hot water was too tempting, and the stench of booze and vomit was beginning to make me nauseous. I only realized how long I'd spent beneath the falling water when a hood came to check I hadn't squeezed through the window.
I tried on the adult stuff first, but as expected the legs of the trousers went well past the end of my shoes. The rib vest was far too large, and my hands ended before the elbow in the dry-tops.
My clothes were specially made. Store bought stuff, except socks, never worked, though the children's stuff was better. A few of the kids' dry-tops and coats fit ok. I didn't bother asking for privacy after the shower, trying everything on in front of the bald hood who seemed to find it hilarious. I was used to being laughed at, and his guilty chuckle wasn't overly sadistic. Far from making me uncomfortable, it added to the feeling that I wasn't about to be tortured or murdered.
By the time one of them brought me some food, it was dark. Another one handed me some hangover pills to take when I went to sleep. Outside, lamps were alight between the houses, and several rooms shone yellow light out into the dark lane. The view was quite pretty from the window once the heating had got going. The village seemed reassuringly alive; not some ghost town used to stash people in witness protection.
My head was throbbing as if someone had been using it to beat a drum, so I ate my microwaved meal and went to bed. There was no question my body needed rest. My eyes were full of gravel, and my eye lids were lifting bags of flour, but the idea of meeting Clazran was enough to keep me awake for a century. I turned from back to side to front like a spin dryer. Every time I was close to sleep I pictured him accusing me of treason or getting lost in his palace which became a prison. Clazran was the monster on the hill, and tomorrow I was going to meet him.
*
I awoke to the sound of a gunshot and shattering glass. Within moments, one of the SP was pulling me out of bed in the dark.
"Keep your head low." He pulled my arms one at a time through a bulletproof vest. "Keep to the ground. Don't get up until I say." With that he was gone.
As the door shut behind him, the room went from dark to black. My heart was beating so fast, and the ache in my skull so severe, I thought my head might explode into a fountain of blood.
The shattering glass meant only one thing. Someone was firing into the house.
Two more shots were fired, this time much closer. I considered crawling under the bed, but I wasn't a child.
I pulled myself along on my stomach towards the door and creaked it open. The lights were off, leaving the rest of the house as dark as my bedroom. In the room with the table, I could see the faint shapes of people standing at the walls, barely more than blurs in the blackness.
With increasing frequency, the crack of pistol fire echoed around the house, but just as often the sound came from outside, followed by glass shattering or a dull pat as the bullets hit a wall. I crawled to the entrance of the living room, recognizing the black heap was a man's body. I didn't stop. Two fingers on his neck, I felt nothing. The puddle of blood seeping away from him across the floor began to wet my legs.
I was about to crawl back into the hall just as another man catapulted backward onto the table which collapsed under the force, four legs splintering outward.
The man dribbled blood as I reached him, grabbing me by the collar and breathing heavily as he attempted to speak, but his words were incoherent. His grip loosened, allowing me to ruffle through his cloak until my hands felt wetness around his abdomen. I grabbed some clothes from the pile and pressed them hard against his wound, but he spasmed upward with a look of mad panic as he punched
I tried on the adult stuff first, but as expected the legs of the trousers went well past the end of my shoes. The rib vest was far too large, and my hands ended before the elbow in the dry-tops.
My clothes were specially made. Store bought stuff, except socks, never worked, though the children's stuff was better. A few of the kids' dry-tops and coats fit ok. I didn't bother asking for privacy after the shower, trying everything on in front of the bald hood who seemed to find it hilarious. I was used to being laughed at, and his guilty chuckle wasn't overly sadistic. Far from making me uncomfortable, it added to the feeling that I wasn't about to be tortured or murdered.
By the time one of them brought me some food, it was dark. Another one handed me some hangover pills to take when I went to sleep. Outside, lamps were alight between the houses, and several rooms shone yellow light out into the dark lane. The view was quite pretty from the window once the heating had got going. The village seemed reassuringly alive; not some ghost town used to stash people in witness protection.
My head was throbbing as if someone had been using it to beat a drum, so I ate my microwaved meal and went to bed. There was no question my body needed rest. My eyes were full of gravel, and my eye lids were lifting bags of flour, but the idea of meeting Clazran was enough to keep me awake for a century. I turned from back to side to front like a spin dryer. Every time I was close to sleep I pictured him accusing me of treason or getting lost in his palace which became a prison. Clazran was the monster on the hill, and tomorrow I was going to meet him.
*
I awoke to the sound of a gunshot and shattering glass. Within moments, one of the SP was pulling me out of bed in the dark.
"Keep your head low." He pulled my arms one at a time through a bulletproof vest. "Keep to the ground. Don't get up until I say." With that he was gone.
As the door shut behind him, the room went from dark to black. My heart was beating so fast, and the ache in my skull so severe, I thought my head might explode into a fountain of blood.
The shattering glass meant only one thing. Someone was firing into the house.
Two more shots were fired, this time much closer. I considered crawling under the bed, but I wasn't a child.
I pulled myself along on my stomach towards the door and creaked it open. The lights were off, leaving the rest of the house as dark as my bedroom. In the room with the table, I could see the faint shapes of people standing at the walls, barely more than blurs in the blackness.
With increasing frequency, the crack of pistol fire echoed around the house, but just as often the sound came from outside, followed by glass shattering or a dull pat as the bullets hit a wall. I crawled to the entrance of the living room, recognizing the black heap was a man's body. I didn't stop. Two fingers on his neck, I felt nothing. The puddle of blood seeping away from him across the floor began to wet my legs.
I was about to crawl back into the hall just as another man catapulted backward onto the table which collapsed under the force, four legs splintering outward.
The man dribbled blood as I reached him, grabbing me by the collar and breathing heavily as he attempted to speak, but his words were incoherent. His grip loosened, allowing me to ruffle through his cloak until my hands felt wetness around his abdomen. I grabbed some clothes from the pile and pressed them hard against his wound, but he spasmed upward with a look of mad panic as he punched
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