Wounded Beacon

Confronting Camp

My eyes opened to the sight of an angry snarl and twisted lips on Santos' face. Instinct told me to swing my fist and defend myself, but my wrists were bound together behind my back. Sitting on my aching knees, I jerked against the wooden pole running lengthwise along the center of my spine, keeping me in. The sun beat down on me, pulling me further from unconsciousness. And that's when an ache radiated up the side of my body, and I flinched.

"Welcome back!" Santos' raspy voice rang in my ear as he emerged from behind me. He definitely understood sarcasm as he clapped his hands in faux joy. "Good to see you awake, comrade."

Bearing the pain of my bad eye, I scanned my surroundings, trying to remember how I got into such a predicament. The wooden village that housed two dozen or so folk, the prison, and the loose gravel that dug its way into the flesh of my knees all meant I was back at camp, in the middle of the courtyard. And it hit me. I had willingly returned in a few hours' trek with Aiden and the two attackers, who I had previously helped escape from their imprisonment.

Upon returning, Santos and his friend had beaten me unconscious.

What had they done to Aiden? Where was Santos' friend now?

"Had a nice little vacation?" Santos grinned, folding his burly arms over his bloodstained shirt.

"Where's Aiden?" I didn't recognize my own voice as my dry tongue and busted lip distorted it. Many familiar faces surrounded me― some frightened with wide eyes and quivering lips― but none of them were Aiden. The dried reddish-brown blood smeared on Santos' shirt sent me to the worst conclusion. "You hurt him?"

"Who? Me?" Santos gasped, taking the sarcasm too far. "I would never." He walked toward the crowd and they backed away, keeping decent space between them and him.

So many questions cluttered my mind. How long had I been tied up and on display with the sun scorching my skin and blood seeping from the wounds I knew were there but couldn't see? What happened to me while I was out? What had the crowd witnessed that frightened them so much? What would Santos do with me now? Where was Aiden, was he okay, would I see him again?

My neck muscles strained to balance my heavy head, but it fell forward regardless. The muscles in my thighs ached and I squirmed. "I need water."

"He needs some water." The voice was familiar. I looked up to see the guy who had caused my eye injury, invaded the keeper's house, and escorted me back to camp as a bargain. "Just give him a sip, please." The lines above his brows dug into his forehead. Was he really concerned for my life?

"You wanted this," I managed to say.

"My family," the man said. "I couldn't leave my family. They need me." He pointed into the crowd, zeroing in on a frightened woman embracing two young girls.

"Back away, Jack." Santos warned the man as he puffed his chest out in an attempt to intimidate him, which seemed to work because he took a few steps backward.

"Gonna torture me?" I growled, not hiding my rage. "In front of them?"

"I'm being the leader you've failed to be." Santos' hair swayed atop his head. "Doing this is part of the job. Someone acts out and lets all the prisoners go, well, I have to punish them. They need someone who steps up and takes care of business. They respect me because of how I run things."

"They fear you." I glared, bearing the intense pain in my eye.

"Ah, same difference." Santos moved forward, so close the foul stench of his body odor acted as pungent smelling salt and accelerated my alertness. He knelt a mere foot away. "You're gonna be the example."