Chapter 15
Sweat dripped across Stefen’s face, as he felt his arms and legs start to shake. Only a matter of a few more minutes and he would have to give it up. The rebels had searched the room around him, even throwing the clothing out of the tiny closet onto the bed, but it was hours before, and he was in better shape then. If lying with two broken feet and a broken arm equated to being in any kind of shape.
In the storage room, he had awakened to the sound of marching, that low, even rhythm he had heard in the camps where he had been held captive. Only here, it had a different meaning. Not drilling, but real marching. When it stopped, he decided to make whatever move he could.
He tucked himself into the sheet as best he could, leaving his legs free, and crawled off the mattress. He pulled it to the wall between shelves and folded it as best he could. Using a broom for a crutch, he managed to stand, then walk on the splint with the lesser of the two broken feet. It wasn’t easy; he almost passed out, but it couldn’t be helped. This world wasn’t big enough for a white European to be able to hide in, and the concept of ransom seemed all compelling. He had been sold twice with that as the intention, the buyer swindled each time when his home country refused to pay.
After swirling the dust around the floor as best he could, he shook the broom off over the rolled up mattress. Maybe it would look like it had been sitting there for awhile. He moved the broom to the other side of the storage room, disassociation was as important as any other means of disguise, and gave up walking. He didn’t have much time, but he had to find a much better place to hide.
He toyed with the idea of crawling outside, but had no idea if the mission was fenced in. The front had high walls; maybe the back did too. His only other option was somewhere in the building. He had seen the stairway and headed toward that, just as the first of the commotion commenced outside.
Crawling up the stairs was very difficult. He knees ached before he was half way up, and his feet were in agony. He didn’t give up, but doubted he could evade the makers of the marching and shouting for very long. Still…
The top of the stairs revealed a hallway going in both directions, to what appeared to be dead ends. He counted eight doors facing the front, six on one side, and two on the other. Four doors faced the back. He crawled to the first door facing the back, but it was locked. The second door opened into a bathroom, with a sink, toilet, and a dozen buckets lining a wall. The commode was normal looking except the top was open. He noticed no pipes led in and realized what the buckets were for. Hopefully, if they used the water to wash in, it was good enough to drink. He pulled himself to his feet and was able to look out a high window. The wall confirmed his fear, at least eight feet high and impossible for him to climb. He did note the tiny back gate, but crawling across the 100 or so feet would be both torture and a dead giveaway. He turned back to the situation at hand. What to do? Drink something.
He remembered to drink just a little, and used the commode, a relief after months of just squatting. However, he could hear the noise spread below and realized he had wasted valuable time. He would have to leave everything as was, for pouring water into the commode would most likely trigger sounds below. After giving up on finding anything that even remotely looked like a hiding place, he gave up and crawled across the hall to the center room facing the front, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The room was sparse, a bed, closet, dresser with a bowl on top, and little else. The closet was tiny and walled in all sides. No hope. The dresser was also too small to be of use. He pulled himself up to the window and immediately ducked. The front entrance was full rebels, the same uniforms of those who had been the captors previous to Tehpoe. Not good. They were the worst of the three groups, and the ones who had broken his feet.
He could hear footsteps on the stairway. It was only a matter of time now, seconds perhaps. No place to hide. No escape through the window. No point going under the bed, the most obvious place. But, also the only place.
As he tried to slip under, while trying to grip the mattress, he found an odd discovery hidden under the almost floor length sheet. Between the mattress, slightly saggy, and some of the worse looking springs ever, someone had inserted a board, about as think as plywood, but not exactly that. Must be too many sprung springs. However, it gave him an idea. Carefully, as to make as little noise as possible, he slid under the mattress, losing the sheet, but using it to help hide him. He tried to balance the mattress as evenly as possible by holding it up with his hands and feet to a point level with his chest, not easy, as it seemed to float left and right. Finally, he got it to sit still. However, his efforts had pulled more of the sheet over the edge, and ruined the perfectly made bed.
Not good. The sisters were beyond immaculate, nothing ever out of place. Even the buckets were lined up carefully, each a finger width from the wall. But, someone was opening the door. Too late to fix anything.
He could hear the sound of drawers opening, then someone dumping clothing from the closet onto the bed. He saw dirty fingers grip the bed inches from his face as the rebel looked under the bed. He held his breath, not daring to even think, and hoped he tiring arms and legs wouldn’t give up. They didn’t, and after some muttering, the rebel left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Stefen tried to relax, but couldn’t. Any second someone could reenter for a last look. Even when he could hear footsteps retreating down the stairs, he didn’t move. Making give up sounds while planting a silent spy had to be one of the best ploys in the business.
It could have been minutes or hours, he had no idea. His feet had long since given up, too tired and too much pain to continue. It meant the mattress angled slightly down toward the foot, but couldn’t be helped.
He thought about sliding out, and was almost in motion when the door opened again. He had not heard any noise, and his suspicions were rewarded. They had left a spy.
However, the spy wasn’t spying, but was hanging up the clothing, while muttering louder than the rebel had. Maybe he was wrong, and this was someone else. One of the sisters? He couldn’t even attempt to check. But, what if the sister decided it was time for bed? Other than him screaming in agony, the bed swirling around would be a giveaway.
When the sheet was pulled away, he had to make his move. He could see a bare leg, but couldn’t touch it without letting go of the mattress. He doubted his arms would move anyway, having been locked in place for who knew how long. But he had to try. His first attempt didn’t generate anything, but using his knees, he managed to move the mattress just before the sister climbed on
His worse fear was a scream, but instead he heard a gasp, and found a face looking at him, inches away. His angel.
In the storage room, he had awakened to the sound of marching, that low, even rhythm he had heard in the camps where he had been held captive. Only here, it had a different meaning. Not drilling, but real marching. When it stopped, he decided to make whatever move he could.
He tucked himself into the sheet as best he could, leaving his legs free, and crawled off the mattress. He pulled it to the wall between shelves and folded it as best he could. Using a broom for a crutch, he managed to stand, then walk on the splint with the lesser of the two broken feet. It wasn’t easy; he almost passed out, but it couldn’t be helped. This world wasn’t big enough for a white European to be able to hide in, and the concept of ransom seemed all compelling. He had been sold twice with that as the intention, the buyer swindled each time when his home country refused to pay.
After swirling the dust around the floor as best he could, he shook the broom off over the rolled up mattress. Maybe it would look like it had been sitting there for awhile. He moved the broom to the other side of the storage room, disassociation was as important as any other means of disguise, and gave up walking. He didn’t have much time, but he had to find a much better place to hide.
He toyed with the idea of crawling outside, but had no idea if the mission was fenced in. The front had high walls; maybe the back did too. His only other option was somewhere in the building. He had seen the stairway and headed toward that, just as the first of the commotion commenced outside.
Crawling up the stairs was very difficult. He knees ached before he was half way up, and his feet were in agony. He didn’t give up, but doubted he could evade the makers of the marching and shouting for very long. Still…
The top of the stairs revealed a hallway going in both directions, to what appeared to be dead ends. He counted eight doors facing the front, six on one side, and two on the other. Four doors faced the back. He crawled to the first door facing the back, but it was locked. The second door opened into a bathroom, with a sink, toilet, and a dozen buckets lining a wall. The commode was normal looking except the top was open. He noticed no pipes led in and realized what the buckets were for. Hopefully, if they used the water to wash in, it was good enough to drink. He pulled himself to his feet and was able to look out a high window. The wall confirmed his fear, at least eight feet high and impossible for him to climb. He did note the tiny back gate, but crawling across the 100 or so feet would be both torture and a dead giveaway. He turned back to the situation at hand. What to do? Drink something.
He remembered to drink just a little, and used the commode, a relief after months of just squatting. However, he could hear the noise spread below and realized he had wasted valuable time. He would have to leave everything as was, for pouring water into the commode would most likely trigger sounds below. After giving up on finding anything that even remotely looked like a hiding place, he gave up and crawled across the hall to the center room facing the front, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The room was sparse, a bed, closet, dresser with a bowl on top, and little else. The closet was tiny and walled in all sides. No hope. The dresser was also too small to be of use. He pulled himself up to the window and immediately ducked. The front entrance was full rebels, the same uniforms of those who had been the captors previous to Tehpoe. Not good. They were the worst of the three groups, and the ones who had broken his feet.
He could hear footsteps on the stairway. It was only a matter of time now, seconds perhaps. No place to hide. No escape through the window. No point going under the bed, the most obvious place. But, also the only place.
As he tried to slip under, while trying to grip the mattress, he found an odd discovery hidden under the almost floor length sheet. Between the mattress, slightly saggy, and some of the worse looking springs ever, someone had inserted a board, about as think as plywood, but not exactly that. Must be too many sprung springs. However, it gave him an idea. Carefully, as to make as little noise as possible, he slid under the mattress, losing the sheet, but using it to help hide him. He tried to balance the mattress as evenly as possible by holding it up with his hands and feet to a point level with his chest, not easy, as it seemed to float left and right. Finally, he got it to sit still. However, his efforts had pulled more of the sheet over the edge, and ruined the perfectly made bed.
Not good. The sisters were beyond immaculate, nothing ever out of place. Even the buckets were lined up carefully, each a finger width from the wall. But, someone was opening the door. Too late to fix anything.
He could hear the sound of drawers opening, then someone dumping clothing from the closet onto the bed. He saw dirty fingers grip the bed inches from his face as the rebel looked under the bed. He held his breath, not daring to even think, and hoped he tiring arms and legs wouldn’t give up. They didn’t, and after some muttering, the rebel left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Stefen tried to relax, but couldn’t. Any second someone could reenter for a last look. Even when he could hear footsteps retreating down the stairs, he didn’t move. Making give up sounds while planting a silent spy had to be one of the best ploys in the business.
It could have been minutes or hours, he had no idea. His feet had long since given up, too tired and too much pain to continue. It meant the mattress angled slightly down toward the foot, but couldn’t be helped.
He thought about sliding out, and was almost in motion when the door opened again. He had not heard any noise, and his suspicions were rewarded. They had left a spy.
However, the spy wasn’t spying, but was hanging up the clothing, while muttering louder than the rebel had. Maybe he was wrong, and this was someone else. One of the sisters? He couldn’t even attempt to check. But, what if the sister decided it was time for bed? Other than him screaming in agony, the bed swirling around would be a giveaway.
When the sheet was pulled away, he had to make his move. He could see a bare leg, but couldn’t touch it without letting go of the mattress. He doubted his arms would move anyway, having been locked in place for who knew how long. But he had to try. His first attempt didn’t generate anything, but using his knees, he managed to move the mattress just before the sister climbed on
His worse fear was a scream, but instead he heard a gasp, and found a face looking at him, inches away. His angel.
posted by John | 8:54 PM
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