Faith, Hope, and Charity

Captured

I wake up to find that my hands have been tied behind my back. I've been moved so that I'm in the middle of a much smaller tent, tied around the central pole that keeps the tent up. I take a moment to look around and find that there are others sleeping around the perimeter of the tent. I can't see Hope or Faith anywhere. Panic crushes my chest as thoughts race through my head, each more horrible than the last, imagining where they could be.

I force myself to breathe deeply and confront the thoughts. I will do everything I can to keep them from happening. And if they have already happened there will be a price to pay. I shift my focus to tugging on the ropes, but I only succeed at cutting my wrists. I can feel warm blood seep onto my palms and run down my fingers in hot, sticky droplets. I momentarily consider trying to slip my hands through, but decide against it. All I would accomplish is tearing off my skin.

It's then that I remember the knife. I draw my attention to the weight of my dress, desperately searching for the familiar weight of it in its sheath. For a moment, I can't believe it. It's there, resting up against my leg. The idiots didn't find it.

It's not very bright; the sun hasn't started its long climb to the top of the sky. But I can tell that the moon is sliding down towards the horizon. The ambient light is growing brighter. The seconds are slipping through my hands too fast, because I can't think about how to use the knife. But I have to. It's the only way.

I shake my head and try to think more clearly. First, I have to get it out of its sheath. I glance around and find that the others are still sleeping. I steeple my legs with the flats of my feet on the ground. I try to maneuver my waist to get it to fall out. It takes some doing, but eventually I see the dull sheen of the metal in the early morning light. It's laying in my lap now. Now what?

I slide so that the knife drops to the ground. I try to reach it with my arms, but its just inches from my reach. I scoot a little bit, rotating around the central pillar and seize up as the sound seems as loud as an avalanche. But no one moves. It's too close for comfort. I press my weight into my feet and walk them underneath my torso. My legs burn as I use tiny steps to maneuver myself so that my hands can reach the knife. When I think that I'm close enough, I flop down on the ground, unable to support my weight any longer. The post tips a little and the tent creaks. I hear movement and I freeze. When the sound doesn't continue, I reach for the knife and find the blade in the sand. I use my fingers first to grasp it and then pull it up, trying to maneuver it underneath my ropes. I look around, hoping no one is awake yet. I see no one.

The ropes snap and I can turn around and grab the knife. The weight of the simple wood handle floods me with calm as I slice off the remaining cuff. Without waiting a second longer, I rush outside with only the faintest whisper of the tent flaps to mark my passing.

I'm standing in a campsite pitched in a small oasis. A small pond of lapis water sits still in the sand, surrounded by grasses and bushes. Four trees stand at the corners of the pond. The one that I saw last night is bent over double and is beginning to splinter around the bend. The moon is beginning to fall and the sky beginning to brighten. Around the tent I just exited, smaller tents speckle the ground. They must have camped through the storm, otherwise they would be moving right now.

I rush to the nearest tent and peak inside. There are people sleeping, but not anyone I am looking for. I continue, going from tent to tent until I find Hope in much the same position I was. I wipe my bloody hands on the canvas before I sneak into the tent. When I reach Hope's side, I kneel down, place my hand over her mouth, and prod her awake. Her eyes flash open, but before she can scream I whisper, "Don't. Stay calm. We're getting out of here."