I looked down at my shackled hands. Limited just like my feet. I didn’t like feeling helpless; it was dangerous. My eyes then found their way to Eli. His face was swollen and bruised.
How did it come to this?
Raiders walked around, casually keeping their weapons close to hand. They talked freely to each other, only taking notice of their prisoners when they made mistakes. That first morning I was inside, a woman, maybe near middle age, spilled her tray walked to one of the tables. They sentenced her to clean the dirt floor on hands and knees for days—I’m not sure how long. Tracking time became something that people lost the concept of it, at least, everyone I knew. Time is measured by distance and food and loss. Our mess hall was cobbled together, an afterthought. Tattered tarps covered a large muddy patch of leveled city. Broken tables and busted chairs of various heights and material scattered the lot. They had that poor woman literally clean dirt. It was disgusting and took all of me and some of Eli to stay out of it. “Not your fight,” he would whisper.
Regardless of where we were, I remained thankful to Eli, and I were together again. Some days it was hard not to lose hope of finding him, but I kept on looking. I finally found him in the one place that was easier to get in than out.
Now, Eli eyed the raider by the name of Tugg—part machine, part man. His temper was furious, and moral code was nonexistent. Tugg’s large hands were fists at his sides.
A smile played with the corners of his mouth.
I was having a hard time reading between the lines, but I knew enough that there was something to add.
Peters words. “It has to be soon,” passed through my mind causing my structure to flip.
Whatever was happening was happening now.