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The cool grass in the shade of the bush helps to cool me off. The sun is high in the sky and I thought there would be no escaping it until Jose showed us this little section. He's an intelligent man who must have some kind of experience.

We stay in our positions, listening for any footsteps. After about half an hour we realize that they're not following us. I don't know where the hell they went, but they aren't coming our way.

Anne crawls over to each of us in the bushes and whispers, "I need someone to go check."

I volunteer.

"All you have to do is peek out," she explains. "If they're coming our way, back up immediately. If you peek out and they're close, slowly back away so they don't catch a quick movement in their vision. You have the lightest hair, hopefully they won't see you."

I stand up and slither my way towards the edge of the wall. I take in a deep breath before I peek my head out just enough to see.


No one is on the road. Not even an infected. I look back to signal the group that it's clear, but as soon as I turn around I feel rough hands grabbing me from behind. I let out a scream, but the person that's grabbing my hands switches off one of his hands to cover my mouth, preventing me from screaming anymore.

Two more hands grab my ankles. I'm being lifted up before I know it. I look over to where the group is for a split second, watching to see if they're going to help me out.

But I see no one. No heads peek out from the bushes. Nothing.

Then I see a hand, Chris's hand, pop out from a bush. He tries to crawl out, but someone pushes him back. One of the men walk in front of me and looks over to where they must have seen movement. I take that moment to kick my leg back, hitting the man behind me in the shin. He lets out a groan through his teeth.

The hands around me get tighter. The man who noticed the movement is now distracted and trying to grab the leg that I kicked free. He gets a grip on it and then twists my ankle. I scream through the mans hand in pain, wriggling as much as I can to try to get away.

"Stop moving!" The man behind me orders in my ear.

They start carrying me away from my group. I stop kicking, knowing that I'll only waste my energy. I still try to scream, but I know that it's pointless.

The group knows I was kidnapped. They watched and they did nothing. I was being attacked and they didn't do a single thing.

On one part I understand that it'll be too risky, but then again why couldn't they shoot them when they walked away?

Maybe they'll come back. Maybe they'll come back to the neighborhood to get me. But there's a chance that they'll stay bunkered there and just leave me here with these kidnappers.

I count five of them. They all have guns and knives with them. They wear mostly black outfits with bandanas around their heads to catch the sweat. They smell disgusting, probably not able to take a shower for the past weeks.

The man takes his hand off my mouth and says, "Don't scream."

"Or what," I spit at him.

"Or we'll kill you faster."

I look up at the man in disgust. His face is thin but he has a strong grip. He has dark hair and dark eyes that are reddish from what is probably lack of sleep. He looks like he's been through hell, but then again who hasn't?

The three men who have some part of my legs or arms in their grips let me go and drop me straight to the floor. The unexpected hit knocks the breath out of me as my back smacks against the hard asphalt. I gasp for breath, trying to allow oxygen into my lungs.

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