**Broken City is FREE right now! **
Excerpt
The unspeakable pain that encases my
head is so all consuming that for the first few minutes of consciousness, all I
can do is remain completely still where I lay. By and by I manage, with my eyes
still closed, to take a rough stock of my surroundings. The surface that I am
stretched out on is hard, and there is the faint sensation of motion. Above me
I can hear the low murmur of whispered conversation, then I remember Jan.
My eyes open quickly, too quickly I
realise as my eyes react painfully to the light. I turn my head to find, with
relief, that Jan is laying beside me. Her dark eyelashes are lying peacefully
on her cheeks, so she must still be unconscious. I close my eyes again, trying
to fight the nausea welling up within me but the motion is making it worse.
“Looks like one of them is coming
round.” The voice is unfamiliar.
“Best thing you can do is turn her
lights out for her.” Comes a second, faintly aggrieved, and more familiar
voice.
I open my eyes again and blink
slowly, carefully, a few times to bring the speakers into focus. There is a row
of seats to each side of us, occupied by soldiers, four to a side. Their visors
are up, and they stare down at our hitherto inert forms interestedly.
For some moments I stare at them as
they are staring at me, before the hazy recollection that I am only wearing
pyjamas crawls into my mind. It’s immediately followed by the reassuring
secondary realisation that we have been further covered by rough woollen
blankets.
There is a sudden lurch as movement
stops, and the soldiers open the tailgate of what I now perceive is a truck. A
moan beside me signals Jan’s struggle toward consciousness.
“Come on, missy, up you get.” One of
the soldiers holds my arm, and is gently trying to encourage me to rise. “Come
on, up you get; you’ll feel better soon.”
For a second I stare at him blankly.
“I’m sorry.”
Turning abruptly I throw up, and I
hear rather than see him pull away from me.
“I’m really sorry.”
Again a wave of nausea sweeps over
me and I convulse.
“I’m so sorry!” My voice is unsteady and my whole form trembling.
“That’s alright, missy, are you
going to…” He makes a sketchy gesture.
“No, no; I’m fine now.” I can feel
moisture standing icy cold on my brow.
“Come on now, missy.” He wraps the
blanket around me more securely, and lifts me into his arms.
“James, lad, get the other one would
you?” He calls over his shoulder.
I hadn’t realised that I’d been out
of it for so long, but the sky is bright, and sunshine gives me a headache.
Closing my eyes against the harshness of the light, the sickness I’m feeling
lessens. I hear a door open, and the crunch of gravel ceases as he steps into a
noisy room. I turn my head into his shoulder away from the glaring lights.
“And to the victor goes the spoil,
hey, Simon?”
“Hello, sir, I’m glad to see you
safe,” answers my captor.
“Have a bit of a struggle with her
did you? I’d have thought…” The amused voice stops suddenly, and when he next
speaks his voice is low. “You’d better get her to a bed.”
“Yes, sir, I’m on my way to the
ward.”
“No!” His voice is harsh, and he
moderates his tone for his next words. “She isn’t as bad as all that. She just
needs some quiet; take her to a holding room.”
“But, sir, she’s had a nasty hit to
the back of her head, shouldn’t a doctor—”
“Take her to the holding room,
Simon, and be as quick as you can.” The voice commands authoritatively.
“But there’s another girl...”
“Then take them both!”
I’m only half aware of the
conversation taking place, being more concerned by my discomfort than
anything else. We begin to move
again and the hubbub gets fainter, until the only sound is that of Simon and
James footsteps.
The bed that I am placed on is hard,
and covered in a plastic that crackles when I move. I lay still listening to
the sound of my captor creeping around the room quietly. Soon he comes to stand
near the bed again.
“Here, missy; this’ll make you feel
better.”
He raises my head and shoulders, and
I sip gratefully at the water he is holding to my lips. When I’m finished he
lays me gently back down on the bed, and I open my eyes into narrow slits. My
helper is a tall man with thick gray hair and blue eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“Simon Rush at your service, missy,”
he answers promptly. “And what’s yours?”
“Deeta Richards, please could you tell
me what you’ve done with my sister?”
“She’s next door sleeping like a
baby,” he answers. “So you’re sisters are you? I thought as much. What’s your
sister’s name?”
“Jan… please sir; is she alright?”
I try to sit up at this juncture,
but he pushes me back down.
“Don’t worry; she’s fine. She’ll
have a headache like yours when she comes round, but she’ll be ok. The best
thing both of you can do is sleep.”
The plastic covering crackles as he
stands, but before he can leave I grab his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Rush, for all your
kindness; I’ll not forget it.”