The Hostages

To Betray or to Die

In that instant with the gun aimed at my brain, my mind clears. My thoughts are moving so fast, too fast. My mind makes connections in an instant. I speak a millisecond before he squeezes the trigger all the way.

"Wait! I am NGA too! I am part of the reformation!" He looks down at me and laughs. Laughs! I think I may break, but I force myself to hold strong. It is part of the illusion I must create. I must make myself into a whole different person. It is the only way I can make it out of this alive now.

He comes around in front of me and gives me a hand. I take it.I can't think about what this means right now. When it comes down to it, I know I will do what I have to do to survive–legal or not, honorable or not, right or not.

Maybe it is the fact that my father abandoned me when I was ten, or maybe it is the knowledge that my friend Lizzy is waiting for me to text her about my day tonight. Whatever the reason, I remember that I have a life to live, and I will not let these psychopaths take that away from me, no matter how easy it might be to just surrender to death.

I remember something I read once. Where there is life, there is hope. As long as I stay alive, there is hope. I can stay alive. I have to.

Now that I am up and standing, the man looks over me. I can't help but notice that it isn't just looking me over, it is leering. I have to force myself to control my instinct to pull away and force the bile back down my throat.

It is true that I have heard of the group, but not in a good way. They are anarchists of the worst kind. They terrorize innocent civilians. They do not stage protests to get their message across. Instead, they rob banks, claiming that they give the money from the rich oppressors to the oppressed. I have no idea if they do or not, but that is beside the point. They are not good men. Not by a long shot.

I force myself to push down all of these thoughts. I will do whatever they ask to survive. It isn't hard to figure out what I am supposed to be doing. The man who was going to execute me stands at the front while all of the others stand in a line behind him. I walk all the way to the end and get in line.

I can sense the eyes of the others on me as I get in the line, but I do not let it affect me. No one speaks. I can tell they are all waiting for something, and I know better than to draw attention to myself by asking questions.

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my almost-executioner's voice. The contrast is sharp compared to the silence of the theater. The only sounds other than his voice that I can make out is the sound of my own heartbeat and the man's breathing next to me.

To my surprise, it is fast, almost edgy. Not what I would expect. None of the others seem to be feeling anything, but somehow I know this man is not comfortable in this situation like the others. He must be young, a new recruit, I decide. It bothers me that I was thinking about him at all, and I quickly force all thoughts of the young recruit out of my mind. This is no time to get lost in my thoughts. No time at all.

"This is how this is going to go down," the leader says. "You are all being held hostage until your government pays the ransom." My ears latch on to the sound of a whisper, but it is quickly extinguished. "I do not want to kill any of you, but I will not hesitate to if you do not follow the rules. They are simple. Do as I say. One more thing. Get comfortable. We're going to be here for a while." He turns his back on the crowd and walks away. He slips through a door I never noticed before and is gone. It is only for the moment. I know he will be back, but I can't help but let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.

To my annoyance, the young recruit notices. He looks over at me, and despite the fact that I can only see a shadow of his face, I think I see something there. Curiosity, maybe? I try to brush off the thought, but it continues to nag at me as the row of New Governmenters and I keep watch on the crowd. At least, that is what I assume we are doing.

I don't know how long we all stand there, silence heavy in the air. The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of someone shifting in their seats.

That is why for the second time today, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my executioner's voice. It takes me a moment and a tug on my wrist for me to realize that he is talking to me. Actually, not so much talking as ordering me to follow him back into the room he disappeared into hours–or was it minutes?–ago.

He turns around and disappears back into the room. I move to follow, but something stops me. I look back, and the young recruit with the uneasy breathing is holding my wrist and staring into my eyes. I am sure of it this time. He is studying me, splaying me open for all to see. I have no words to explain it, no air left to breathe. He stole my breath and thoughts from me. I am lost in his eyes without even really seeing his eyes. That is how I almost miss the words he speaks to me, and I have no doubt that they are true.

"Be careful. The General is dangerous." At the sound of his voice, his beautiful voice, I yank myself out of my mind. He is the enemy. He is my captor, whether or not he knows it. He may be just giving me advice, but I cannot trust him. I will trust no one, I vow to myself. If I do–if I say the wrong thing–it may just cost me everything. 

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