open.
I need sleep.
Sleep deprivation was part of my training, a way of trying to get me to break. I hadn’t then, and I won’t now.
I can survive.
I’m already missing a finger. As time passes, I know it won’t be long before they come back for me, probably to chop off more body parts to persuade Pip to give himself up in exchange, or using other methods I’d find equally unsavoury. I couldn’t risk missing them approach, as the next time, I’ll go down fighting, and hopefully take at least one of them with me.
Pip won’t give himself up for me. He knows as well as I do, now that I’ve seen their faces, they can’t leave me alive. Instead, he’ll be concentrating on finding out who took me and instigating a rescue. I’ve just got to be patient until the Satan’s Devils come. Just as when I was part of a squad in the army, the Devils will never leave a man behind. Or, a woman in my case. One thing I’ve learned since riding with them, once the brothers got over the surprise, they accepted me, judging me only on my ability to fight and ride, and to live their life. I became one of them. They’ll be coming for me.
Partly to keep myself awake, partly from needing to do anything that might see me get out of here alive, I keep working at that ring attached to the wall. While neither kicks nor tugs seem to shift it, I can’t give up, remaining optimistic that eventually it will loosen. I have to remain positive.
Without being able to hear footsteps overhead, means I don’t have any forewarning that someone is approaching. It feeds a growing fear that they’ve already gone and have forgotten all about me. Now Pip’s been given the message, I might be of no more use. I’ll die here, my body simply left to rot chained to this wall. That hadn’t been the end I’d ever envisaged. Die in battle, yes, a shot to the head by an insurgent who’d snuck up on me, even having something go wrong with a parachute or abseil line. Never had I dreamed I’d die tied up like a dog.
I’d give anything, sell my soul, to be able to hear and know what’s going on. I redouble my efforts, trying to get loose. If they’ve already gone…
When did they last feed me? The rumbling of my stomach suggests it was long ago.
They might have left the house.
I’ve gotten into a routine. Pull, kick, tug, then jerk and waggle the chain to see if it’s loosened at all, then glance at the door. Pull, kick, tug, jerk, waggle, glance. Rinse and repeat. Ten times, a hundred, a thousand perhaps. My muscles are screaming and sore. Pull, kick, tug, jerk, waggle, glance….
There’s nothing I can hear to alert me something is going to happen, but this time I glance, I see the door shudder as though something heavy has landed against it. Is it now? Have the Devils arrived?
While every fibre of my being hopes that it is, I suppress my delight just in case I’m to be disappointed. When the door opens, I find I’m half right and half wrong. The Devils, or at least one of them, has at least found me, but as a rescuer, he’s clearly failed. When Tiny, as I call the large man in my head, has finished with him, Road is trussed like a Christmas turkey, and the way he looks is as though the stuffing has already been beaten out of him. Tiny then leaves without a backward glance.
“Road?” I tentatively ask in case my eyes are deceiving me.
Hog-tied, Road rolls onto his side, and it’s only then his eyes find me. A half-smile appears on his face, then he grimaces, and if I could hear, I would suspect he’s let out a groan. He’s hurt.
It’s not hard to see why. There’s an enormous bruise on his naked sternum, one I’ve seen before, one I’ve had occasion to feel and so know how much it bloody well hurts. While body armour can save you from being killed, the punch of the bullet is a son of a bitch.
“Are the others here?” I ask eagerly. “Are they hurt, injured…” I can’t bring myself to voice the last option. Or dead. “Is Pip here?”
Road’s shaking his head. But to which question? I backtrack and ask again slowly.
“Is the team with you?”
A shake.
There must be someone. Pip