“If you try to scream, I’ll shoot you.”
The voice was deep and gruff, but it didn’t sound old enough to be a man. I felt him grab my left wrist and hoist me to my feet. I whimpered in pain and felt physically sick.
He slammed me against the tree and held the pistol against the side of my head as he untangled the rope with his other hand. The cold ring of the barrel burned my skin and I was even afraid to breathe in case I caused it to go off. My lungs felt heavy with panic, fear, and anticipation for my impending death. Maybe he was a hostile?
He tied the ropes tight, binding me to the tree. I didn’t dare tell him it was too tight and that it was digging in to my ribs and my possibly broken arm.
The boy disappeared back into his tent and returned with a fold up chair. He rammed the chair legs into the snow in front of me and sat on it, still holding the gun in his right hand.
“Who are you? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“My name is Payton. Payton Roe – I’m from Epsilon Shelter…” I panted, suffering with the agony of my arm.
“What’s your I.D code?”
“Eight hundred and two slash sixteen. Are you a hostile?” I asked firmly, daring myself to look into his eyes.
“No, are you?”
“No! I need some help; I think my arm might be broken,” I admitted grudgingly.
“I don’t care; I’m not untying you until I know who you are.”
“I told you who I am! I’m just a market trader from Epsilon, I swear, I’m not a hostile.”
“I can’t let you go. If you tell anyone that I’m here then I’ll be dead by next week. I can’t risk it.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Not good enough. I’ll have to keep you here now.”
He disappeared into the tent for a second time and I let out a groan of pain. I looked down at my wrist and saw blood trickling onto my palm. I seriously needed some help and I had no idea if I could trust this boy. The worst he could do was kill me, right? I wanted to call him, but shouting ‘help’ just seemed pathetic. Thankfully, he backed out of the tent and returned to the chair just as thick droplets of blood hit the snow.
“Please, I’m bleeding-” I nodded towards my wrist but there was no sympathy.
“Why are you out of your shelter by yourself?” he snapped, completely ignoring my plea for help.
“I was running away.”
“Why would you run away from a Shelter?”
“I wasn’t running away from the Shelter.”
“Oh really? What was it that you were running from then?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He shot me a warning look but seemed to respect my inner strength to answer him back. If he wasn’t giving me anything about himself then I certainly wasn’t going to open up to him. He shut his eyes and pinched the skin at the top of his nose, letting out a deep sigh that turned into a cloud of mist. I remained silent, watching his hand tighten around the handle of the gun, watching his foot tap out a disjointed rhythm into the snow, watching him decide what to do with me.
“You say you were running away – where was you planning to go?” he asked me eventually after what felt like about five hours of excruciating silence.
