Prisoner of Cell 554

Chapter Twenty-Three

It didn't take long for the chill to set in. After all, our clothes were soaking wet and it had to be at least in the mid-fifties out, with steady winds whisling through the branches around and above us. Luckily, it wasn't cold enough to cause imminent hyperthermia, but it was most definitely uncomfortable.
The worse part were the shoes. I didn't have socks and the wet rubber near the mouth of the shoe and rough fabric lining the inside was rubbing painfully against my foot. It didn't help that my feet were still getting used to shoes and already had several blisters from running yesterday. I could feel the old blisters opening and new ones forming, and had to stop a couple times to rest my feet. Everytime we stopped, Riff would just wait patiently for me to continue, a grim look on his face. There wasn't much we could do about the blisters now anyway.
As I stop for the third time, Riff knits his brows together and says, "We'll pick up some bandages the next time we come across a town."
There isn't much to say to that, so I just nod and push off of the tree I had been leaning on, continuing on my sore way.

* * *

Ten minutes later, we come across the first house.
It was a tiny shack in the middle of the woods, half abused and supremely dirty. It was so downtrodden and run down that one side of the off gray roof had actually started to tilt to the side. Attached to the deck in a way that seemed almost carefree was a thin line, which my old self told me was a clothes line. It didn't look like a house that anyone lived in, and Riff was about to wave us past it when the back door suddenly swung open. Apparently, people did live there.
Riff and I crouched back down into the underbrush, watching as a little boy who couldn't be older then eight or nine stumbled out. Even from this distance, I could tell that the little boy was thin, almost too thin, as if he was malnourished. His clothes were tattered and dirty and hung from his thin frame, looking to be several sizes too big. In his hands was a big basket full of what appeared to be clothes.
A pang of sympathy went through me at the sight of him. I recognized the signs of neglect, having spent all of my remembered life looking similar. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do for the poor child, considering we didn't have very much food to eat either.
Of course, that pang of sympathy shifted hard and quick when I saw the next person that came out of the door.
The man was big and buff, but in a big boned way and not a muscled way. He was just as scruffy as the boy, his face shaggy with a thick beard and a giant beer belly almost bursting from his stained shirt. He burst through the door, making the thin metal frame bang against the side of the house.
Immediately, feelings of dread built in my stomach. Everything about this man screamed danger, from the sloshing beer in his hand to his angry stride as he crossed towards the boy. The primal fear that had built up over several years in my chest rose up, and, for a second, I imagined this man as Dr. Porter, evil personified, his menacing smile stretching his lips as he closed in on his next victim.
That image shattered when the man reached the boy and kicked him right between his shoulder blades.
The boy had been desperately trying to hang clothing on the line above him when the man kicked him. Now, he fell forward into the dirt and immediately curled into a ball, his arms over his head. The man shouted at him, his words slurred and indistinguishable from this distance, the beer sloshing everywhere as he angrily waved his arms.
Anger replaced the fear that had only a second ago filled me as the man drew back his foot to deliver another kick. My body automatically reacted, jumping up from my crouch and sprinting forward. But before I could take more then a step, Riff pounced on me from behind, yanking me back down into the underbrush and covering my mouth with his palm. I struggled against him violently, twisting my shoulders and bucking my hips, but Riff was by far a stronger opponent and held me in a grip like iron, one arm around my waist and his other hand covering my mouth. I chose a different tactic. Opening my mouth as wide as it can go, I bite down hard on his hand. With a hiss, he yanks his hand back, but his arm around my waist doesn't even slacken.
"I need to help him!" I snarl, struggles unceasing, unable to take my eyes from the scene in front of me. The boy had curled even more into himself as the man continued raining down blows. I could feel the helpless feeling that use to choke me every time something terrible happened start the rise in my throat again.
"And then what, huh?" Ruff spat in my ear. "We certainly can't afford to allow him the travel with us. He will be homeless, or stuck right back into a situation that's just as bad as this!" Desperation filled me, making my eyes fill with water, and my body began to still. Riff sighed, his breath whooshing past my ear, his voice soft and remorseful as he continued. "I want to help him, too, River. Desperately. But right now, the only people we're allowed to concern ourselves with is us. I wish there was another way, but we can't help him... not now."
"But I have too..." I whimpered. A part of my brain, the part that had been pushed back as soon as the man emerged, resurfaced briefly to scoff at how pathetic I was being. I didn't even know this boy. Why should I feel any sense of duty to help or protect him? The world certainly hadn't showed me the same kindness when I was being beaten and downtrodden. I ignored this part, though, and instead refocused on the boy.
As if he could hear my thoughts, the boy suddenly opened his eyes and looked right at where we were crouched. For a second that felt like an eternity, we seemed to lock eyes, his frightened and pained expression countering my despairing and hopeless one. His eyes screamed for help better then if he had shouted it, pupils wide enough to almost swallow the blue of the rest of his eyes.
When the headache came this time I welcomed it. I shuttered my eyes off from his, breaking our contact as the snap automatically sharpened my senses. My emotions fled, chased off by the power that suddenly coursed through my veins. When I opened my eyes and met the boys again, he could see the emptiness in them. He knew I wasn't going to help him. I could see his own personal snap take place in him, the last scribble of hope finally dashed, and he closed his eyes off from mine once more.
That still couldn't hide his pain as the mans foot collided with his little body again.
With my eyes still glued on the scene, forcing myself to memorize every little detail, I let Riff drag me away, leaving the boy to his doom.