Survival

chapter 1.

I could tell that my arm was broken. The pain shot through my humerus with every small movement.

He did tell me to cooperate.

I felt stripped completely. Not only of my clothing, but of my dignity as well. In my mind, I was weak. I was unable to defend myself, not just once, but twice now. I completely resented this man. He has taken away everything that I am.

I wondered how hard it would be to tie the chains that lay sprawled across the room into a noose. Apparently, he knew that I was too weak now to even try to escape. Hell, I couldn't even support myself enough to sit up.

I crawled for a wall in the oblivion. I had to at least try to assess the damage done to my body. The knife that he held cut tiny laserations over what seemed like every inch of my skin. He liked to see the tears stream down my cheeks and to hear the cries of pain that slipped from my lips. He liked my misery and it made me sick.

To say the least, I lost hope in the human race at that very point.

I had to stop the bleeding on my wrists at the very least. He had cut deeper there, like he was trying to drain me. Yet, I was determined not to loose.

The footsteps. There they were again, heavy coming down the hall, although they seemed more frantic. Every fiber of my being told me to panic, and my breath became noticiablly unsteady.

I crawled deeper into the corner of the room, trying to find cover. Something. Anything to protect me. My hands hit the liquid first, it was cold and sticky and I instinctively cringed at the touch. But the small whispers and steps kept getting closer, and I had to get away. As illogical as it was, at that very moment the only way that I saw me surviving, was to shrink away.

I grit my teeth, holding back any cry of pain. Maybe he would think that I was still outcold. But the footsteps just kept coming. Closer. And closer.

My preset setting of survival had clicked on into overdrive and somehow that helped block out the pain. It made me focus. But god did that back corner seem so far away. And the boots just kept inching closer.
It made my mission seem pointless.

The sound of the clanking stopped just outside the door, and I could just make out where the monster stood. Time seemed to deliberately slow down. Maybe it was just the loss of blood, maybe it was just my delusional mind. The world may never know. But those next few seconds would be the longest seconds that I have ever endured.

I heard the soft click of the lock, and the squeal of the rusty metal being pried open. My lungs took in a shaky breath, for I knew that I had to fight. With every ounce of strength that I could muster, I had to fight.

The small glint of a muzzle pointed through the crack of the door first. My heart sunk. A gun would most likely mean certain death.

The door flung open with a violent gush, slamming into the cement wall that lay behind it. I ducked into the fetal position, shielding my bare body and, hoping, that just maybe I would be forgotten.

"Hostage secure." The words didn't quite register in my mind.

"Emma? We're here to help you it's going to be okay." The comforting sound of a female voice coaxed me out, but only slightly. I dared to peek my head up.

One of the men had already taken off their jackets, handing it down to the blonde haired woman that kneeled before me.

Was I already dead? It was too hard to believe.

The nice woman covered me, and along with an older looking man, they propped me up against the wall. The odor was foul; I just hoped it wasnt me. They tried to keep their focus on me, but their attention kept darting over to the far corner that I was so desperately trying to reach.

I dared a glance. The sight apalled me. Bones lay stacked on top of one another, a small collection of skulls were layed across the base of the wall. One of the bodies hadn't quite reached that stage of decomposition. I could see the features on her face. And they were uncanningly similar to mine.

I should have felt some kind of emotion. Empathy? But all I could feel was relief. It was selfish and I knew it, yet that didn't rid myself of it.

One of the agents knelt, to block my view of the site that was already assessed.

"Emma, are you able to stand?" It was the older man. His voice was gentle, coaxing. I knew it well, it was full of sympathy. I stared up at him, nodding my head slowly.

The stretcher rolled into the room. No one even looked into that corner. They were trained too well for that. I, however, was not and I couldn't rip myself from the sight. Given another few hours, a day at most, that could have been me.

The man and the woman whose names I had never caught helped to lift me up, keeping their strong and steady hands under my arms. They kept me supported; I was practically dead weight, my legs felt like cement blocks.

The EMTs took over once I was placed safely onto the stretcher, covering me in blankets even though I was no where near cold. I sat there, not being able to find my voice.

They had put the girl in a body bag now, and I assumed that there would be another stretcher following me out. Her family will be waiting for her to exit, alive, behind me. Yet she lay there lifeless. Her blood was still on my hands. The "sticky substance" made sense now.

They hoisted me up into the ambulance, the sirens wailing as soon as the doors were slammed shut. It seemed to me as if they were crying out to that girl.