I should be dead. I would’ve been. If Twelve hadn’t saved me. Second time playing hero for me. he jumped at her, knocking her arm off aim. She missed and shot beside me. the man with one hand. He cried out and was dead in seconds.
Her eyes are wild now. She pushes Twelve off and takes aim.
“Enough!” Jack had the courage to say. Although he is definitely frightened. Terribly afraid. It’s obvious by the way his voice quivers as he tries to look strong.
“You can't know that for sure, Em.” He says to the woman. Em. Is it an initial? Her full name? A nickname?
“Twelve knows!” she says.
“Who says he’ll say?”
I look at Twelve. It looks like he would say. From his position on the floor. He looks weak. by Em’s feet.
“Take them,” the man says, “both.”
My leg has numbed off. When the man motions for me to come I don’t object. I simply can't move.
“C’mon, move!” he says. He casts a timid eye back to where the boss stands.
“I can’t,” I say, feeling like an idiot, stating the obvious. “My leg,” I explain when he just stares.
He nods and crouches down to lift me up. It burns. Kills. He could be gentler. I make it my business not to show the pain. But ow, it hurts.
He’s taking extra care to keep his eyes on me. to not let them wander… his friend is dead on the ground. He is scared he will go the same way. one step out of line and a bullet is in his head, I bet.
He cradles me in his arms like a baby. I can't fight it. I lose what little dignity I have.
Twelve at least doesn’t follow my example. He sets his own.
“Get away from me!” he yells as a man nears him with rope to tie his arms.
The one in charge takes care of him, “Stop it, go or…”
‘Or what?” Twelve challenged. The man took a step closer to me and withdrew a small gun from his pocket. Much like the one-handed man had. He presses the cold barrel to my thigh. That is enough for Twelve. His eyes go down in surrender and his shoulders droop.
“No!” I yell at him. My voice comes out in a croak. I shouldn’t speak. But I do. “Run, Twelve. Run!”
He doesn’t.
Em watches everything. I see her staring at me out of the corner of her eye. She has so much control and poise. I am still the baby being held in someone’s arms.
The helicopter is still in the center. We head away from it. I don’t know how they knew we would be here. How they managed the ambush. And I’ll never find out.
Twelve stopped his struggles but they still had two people on him to tie him up. They tied his hands behind his back. The legs, they left. So he could walk.
I was hoping they would forget. No chance. Another person came to me and bound my arms tightly together. Her face is emotionless and ugly. And she knows how to tie a tight knot. She doesn’t do my legs because of the bullet wound. The one that keeps bleeding. The one nobody does anything about. The one that hurts. The one that would soon kill me. That slowly drains my body of blood.
They start walking. Not everyone. The leader. One carrying me. Two accompanying Twelve. Em is left behind. She doesn’t follow. Although her eyes stick to me the whole time. Until the blood loss and pain cause me to pass out.
I wake to bumps. I can tell I’m in a car on the road. A few seconds later, pain follows. I sink back into nothingness.
The next time I wake up I am not on the road. I am in a room. Instantly I can tell it’s in a basement. I musty smell and feel tells me that. the next thing I notice is my leg. Clear from blood. no longer bleeding. The bullet wound just above my knee in my leg. It is wrapped in cloth and tidied up. That cloth being the ends of my pants. Leaving me in something that resembles shorts. They might have once been jean but they are so tattered and bloodied and dirtied, it barely resembles clothes anymore. I brush my hand softly across the material that wraps the wound. Careful not to put pressure.
“Does it hurt?”
A small gasp. I jump slightly. Then look up. The gasp lets out as a sigh. One of relief. Twelve. My hero. The one I hate for saving my life. I smile at him. He grins back.
“There’s a nail sticking out from the wall. You can cut the rope. I didn’t want to wake you but…” I get up at once. With his help. and endure every second as pain shoots up my leg. Even though I lrest most my weight on Twelve. I put my back to the nail and cut the ropes loose with Twelve’s help. Then I rest my leg.
It’s an hour before anyone comes in.
The man introduces himself as Rough and I can't think of a better word to describe him. Then he looks at me with a mad star and I can tell he’s slightly crazy.
“Oh, so you that person I gotta get information from,” he does that smile that’s not really a smile. Where his lips turn up but that just makes his face look more deformed and mad. It won’t matter to him my age. He’s sick in the head. That’s probably why they called him.
“No, you’re supposed to from me,” Twelve says. I send him a glare. One that clearly says ‘shut up!’ Does he think I can't take care of myself? Does he want to live or die?
“No, it’s me,” I say.
“What do you mean, it’s me,” he sends back that same glare.
Rough is obviously confused. He looks back from Twelve to me. Sees Twelve as more of a threat. He grabs him by the arm and motions for me to follow.
“I can't,” I say.
The other man carried me when I said that. This man hits me. he slaps me across the cheek. Hard.
“You better,” he growled and pulls Twelve out. despite Twelve’s struggles. Despite his pleas to help me. my cheek stings. I know it’s red. I move feeling back into my face and then prepare myself.
I start my slow half-crawl, half-limp. After a few moments Rough threatens to break my arm. Moments after he pulls me to my feet and says I should walk. I fall as soon as he lets go. He sighs and leaves me to crawl.
The hallway is stone. Every few feet there is a light bulb hanging from a string of wire. It lets off a dim glow that illuminates a circle of light around it. Hitting off the cold ragged walls.
At the end there is a door. I hope that’s the end of it.
It is.
He pulls me in and throws me down to the ground. Twelve runs over to me. Rough punches his head before he can make it. Knocking him out. He lands with a thud onto stone floor. I hope he is okay.
“He made too much trouble,” Rough muttered, as if to himself. Then he turns to look at me.
He looks away and goes over to the door. He chains it shut. He turns to me once more.
A grin spreads over his face. A twisted smile. A true smile. On his face that scares me.
He is going to torture me. Torture till I tell.
As if to confirm that he says, “Are you ready for some pain?”
Then the chains rattle on the door.
Both out eyes shoot up to stare.
The chains rattle again.
They come loose and clatter to the floor.
The door creaks open.
And somebody comes in.