The Wasteland Soldier, Book 1, A Fractured World

Seventeen

Emil thrashed as they forced her into the metal chair.

It was rusty with a cushioned seat and arm rests. The fabric was worn and thick with dust. Tomas threatened to kill them all once he was free. Uncle, tired of all the yapping, threw down his tools and rooted in a drawer beneath his workbench. Finding a roll of grey tape, he tore off a strip and covered Tomas's mouth. Emil landed a punch on Mossy and tried to bite him but Sara was much stronger and held her down as the boys tied her wrists and ankles.

Grandma told her not to worry, everything was going to be okay, she shouldn't fight it, she didn't understand, she deserved it.

Caleb trotted back in with another bucket of fresh, clean looking water, once again clumsily slopping some of it on the cave floor. Grandad showed little interest in the two guests. He was far more curious about the book. His father had taught him to read. And his father had taught him but his own children refused the words and his grandchildren, well, there was no hope for them. He knew the legacy of reading would end with him. Sighing, he opened the cover, almost with reverence. There was a bad smell to the book and the pages were yellow edged, crinkled and brown spotted. He went through the first six pages, finding the wording faded. He held his place with one hand and glanced at the spine, but the title had also faded.

"Please," begged Emil. "Please, don't hurt me; we didn't hurt your boy. Mauricio? He was called Mauricio? We didn't hurt ..."

"Stop fighting," said Sara, grabbing Emil at the throat, forcing her head back.

Emil was panting, unable to move her arms and legs, chest rapidly rising and falling, shaking so hard that her teeth were rattling together.

And then she felt it. The warm water. It was Grandma, pouring from a steel pot, mixing the hot from the fire with the cold, bringing it to a delightful temperature. It gushed through her filthy hair, washing out the grime and scum, and puddled on the cave floor. Grandma poured a second and third time, and then set down the pot. A scent filled Emil's nose. She drew in her breath as deep as possible. It was the most beautiful aroma; it enticed her, lured her in, allowed her to run for miles. She felt her left eye close and a sweet darkness envelope her.

Uncle walked back to Tomas and peeled off the piece of tape. He shook his head, admonishment for the young man. Tomas stared as Sara massaged Emil's scalp with lotion.

Mossy and Caleb drifted back to their bunks, watching in fascinated silence. Emil knew it was her own mother washing her hair. She felt it with every fibre. Her childhood was no longer a faraway place; it was here, it was now, a time of laughter, of running and playing once her chores had been completed. For the tiniest of moments the world knitted back together and there was warmth in her heart. She opened her left eye, a shiver suddenly dancing her spine. Reality poured in. She focused on Tomas. He was calmer. He knew he couldn't rip the chain from the wall or break open the shackles. He would have to bide his time and if the moment never presented itself and they were to die in this gloomy cave at the hands of this oddball family then Emil would forever remember waking in his arms this morning, feeling safe, feeling protected, feeling cared for.

Sara stepped back and Grandma rinsed, over and over until the buckets were empty. She fetched a large cloth and briskly dried Emil's hair. She clutched a handful of it and sniffed, a broad smile on her face.

"Mossy, untie her. Caleb, take the chair and buckets away."

Emil stood, uncertain. She lightly touched her hair, smelt it, and couldn't help but smile at both women.

"What did you think we were going to do?" said Sara. "Torture you? Chop you up?"

"That comes later," said Uncle, chuckling.