Afraid of Being Alive (Shane Walsh Love Story)

Chapter 7: Guns or Gold?

Chapter 7: Guns or Gold?

I had given up on trying to cry for help, for my pleading was only muffled by the duct tape and bag over my head. I had stopped trying to fight the fact I was being kidnapped. I didn’t squirm around in the back of the car. I ceased reacting to their inappropriate touching; how they glided their dirty hands over my robust thighs and the way they touched my collar bone. I ignored their loud and obnoxious chatter, wishing I could tell them to shut-up but never dared to try. I didn’t think much of it anymore and that’s the way it was supposed to be. My hands were bound together with a filthy white rope behind my back, meaning I couldn’t move and escape.

The car suddenly jerked to a rough halt, the doors being swung open and the passengers clambering out the doors. I felt someone grab the top of the potato sack on my head and pull it off, a few strands of my copper hair coming off along with it. The duct tape hadn’t been torn off from my mouth, so I was still stripped of speech. The man with the gingham shirt and bandana motioned for me to exit the car. I didn’t budge. I just sat there and stared straight ahead, tears beginning to pool in my eyes.

“I said move it, lady!” he shouted, scrambling into the car and yanking me harshly by the arm.

I let him pull me out of the car, my body falling limp onto the dirt ground.

“Now get up.” He sneered.

I indicated to the bandana man that I couldn’t due to the fact that my hands were bound together.

He rolled his eyes and strode over to me, grabbing my arms so tight that it would leave bruises and hoisting me upwards onto my feet.

The bald man walked around behind me and picked up his rifle, jabbing me in the back with it.

“Fucking move it.” Snarled the bandana man as he walked up to a brick building which I assumed to be their camp.

The building was made entirely out of red and grey small, worn out bricks. The place looked as though it used to be either a prison or a hospital, both of which were practically the same thing. It was quite big and looked old, despite the graffiti and tags that were sprayed over numerous walls. The bandana man walked up to the big, old antique looking wooden doors, pulled out a silver key and opened the doors. Out from the doors came a slightly dark, more like very tanned, man with short black hair. He resembled someone I used to go to middle school with only more Grand Theft Auto looking. He wore a navy blue tank top with a pinstriped dark blue shirt over the top, a dog chain to accessorise. His baggy trousers hung low on his hips, sagging over his olive green Vans.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as he strolled through the dark wooden doors, his arms raised in a shrugging motion.

“They got the guns,” snarled the bald man, “but we got their girl.”

I shook with his words as their leader neared closer to me.

“Who got the guns Felipe?”

The bald man now identified as Felipe shoves me forward towards their ringmaster before speaking, “Her group.”

“What should we do with her Guillermo?” asked the bandana man.

“I don’t care about her right now, where’s Miguelito?” asked the leader recognized now as Guillermo.

“The other group took him, Jorge and I are the only ones that made it back.” Said Felipe.

“He dead?” asked Guillermo.

“We don’t know, we don’t think so.” Said Jorge who just so happened to be the bandana man.

“Alright, bring her inside for questioning.” Said Guillermo.