Conflict 21: Doubt

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There wasn't room to properly think, the hammering of your heart against your chest reached your ears and the blindfold the Rebel strapped on you when he pushed you inside his van didn't help ease the anxiety.

   You've been kidnapped for two, three times now, and yet there was a storm brewing in the pits of your stomach and you didn't know why. It was the same feeling you got when you waited in the airport, waiting to fly to Paris. You were new and you've never traveled alone before, you sat and stood and paced around with hopes of preventing yourself from passing out. You sweated and shook and counted the many different ways for the trip to go wrong.

   You stopped. You asked yourself, 'What... Paris?'

   You saw shoulder-length blonde hair in the darkness, but you couldn't find a name or a face.

   Heavy wood creaked and you heard two sets of feet coming inside. You heard voices, two men, Italians.

   They seemed to be arguing about something, both were whispering but one was obviously hissing, as though protesting. The other was more lax.

   They grew quiet and then, you heard their footsteps again.

   You gasped when someone caressed your cheek. You pulled back, but seeing nothing and having your hands bound to a chair reduced the number of possible movements.

   You resolved to blindly kicking instead, but they caught your ankles. You felt big hands slide up your knees and then your thighs.

   Another had reached inside your blouse. You screamed. You were no screamer, you were more of a gasper and a groaner because you hated how your voice cracked, but this situation definitely deserved a scream.

   You sensed a third and unwelcome party arrive because you heard the men swear in surprise, their fingers stopping for a brief moment. There was the ripping of fabric, bones cracking, a cut-off curse, and two painful thuds followed by a haunting silence.

   You didn't notice the way your breathing had turn into nigh-hyperventilating until your "hero" spoke.

   "They're gone now"

   "Dead, right?"

   He said nothing to answer, instead he untied your blindfold.

   The cotton rag fell down the floor and you felt the bile rise up your throat.

   Francois had cut off the ropes from your wrists and you let your knees hit the ground before you threw up.

   One man, he was probably around your grandfather's age, lay on the floor with his arms bending in the wrong way. There were three stab wounds on him, two in the chest and one in the thigh. The younger guy wasn't any less bad: he had his hands—each had defensive wounds in the form of deep slashes—on his faces, blood dripping down his fingers, and his crotch was bleeding too.

   Francois bent down to rub your back but you slapped his hand away and scooted away and into a standing position.

   You furrowed your brows, "Who are you... who are you really?"

   He said nothing.

   "I'm not joking around, tell me why you kidnapped me!" You yelled, fists clenching.

   Francois simply stared at you.

   You bit your lip, "Why you—" you were cut off by a loud and large boom, shaking the ground below you.

   Francois stumbled, the shock sending him off balance. You swiped the pistol—still inside the holster—from the dead man by your feet and shoved the door with your shoulder.

   You ran, letting the adrenaline take over your body, only slowing down to strap the gun to your thigh. You didn't bother to think which way you should take.

   However, as you went, the building shook again, more powerful than the first time. You didn't  notice that you were near a staircase until you were tumbling down the steps.

   You cried when your side hit a step, you reached down and tried to protect the fractured rib. Your blood was hot in your veins, your entire body pulsating by the time you rolled off the last few steps.

   You gritted your teeth, your limbs and skin and muscle screaming in pain. Your rib was hurting a lot.

   Just when you tried to get up, an idiot sprinted by.

   "No, wait—"

   "We can't—FUCK!" You yelped when Jason's boot hit your side, sending him collapsing on top of you and his face slamming down the stairs.

   Too busy growling and groaning, you internally called him every name in the book.

   "I tried to warn you" You looked up to find James running his hand through his hair, "Fucking idiot"

   He grabbed Jason by the collar and forced him to stand up.

   "Can you walk?"

   Jason made a face as he touched his shoulder, "Yeah"

   "Not you" James snapped. You realized he was talking to you.

   You pressed a hand on the floor and tried to push yourself up, but the pain overwhelmed both your body and mind. You collapsed again, moaning with tears pricking your eyes.

   James sighed and knelt down.

   "You" He slipped his arms behind your back and knees and then shot up, "are hopeless"

   His eyes widened. Your gun was no longer in its holster. Arm over your stomach, you let the gun hang from your hand. You were too weak and scared to actually use it.

   "Can you tell me just what the Hell is going on?" You whispered.

   James hesitated, "...it's fine, you're fine"

   You sighed and put back the gun, "Yeah... sure"

   Jason pushed James to the side and shot up the stairs. Three bodies rolled down.

   He turned to you two, "We need to go"

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