The soldiers are marching again, with the heavy sound of drums quick to follow.
Everyone in the town who knows what is coming stays silent and tries to hide, praying that they won't stop here, in Woodson.
And it's every week now that they pick a new...
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Not thinking about it twice, I sprint over to my brother's limp body, leaving Kade and Camillo behind.
"Wait -" Camillo hisses at me, but I don't care.
In less than a minute I am in front of my brother, behind Other soldier's backs, struggling to find any words or actions to define how panicked I feel.
"Andres?" I whisper against his ear, but he doesn't answer me.
I prevent myself from screaming at the bruises covering his body, only keeping quiet because there is a small voice at the back of my mind telling me that the Others are at a bonfire just a few yards away, that they will most likely find and kill me if I am caught helping my brother get away.
"Andres, please."
Ignoring the strange looks of some of the other beat up hostages, I try to remove the ropes binding my brother's hands to the flagpole with tears falling from my eyes.
I wish I never let you leave my side, Andres.
I visibly check him for serious injuries, but all I can find are an immense amount of bruises and thin knife slashes of cuts that have already stopped bleeding. But to my horror, even when I get rid of the rope that is tying him, Andres does not respond in the slightest even when I shake his shoulders aggressively.
"Wake up!" I cry quietly. "Wake up."
He can't be dead. Andres can't be dead, because then I would have done all this for nothing, and -
"He's not dead," croaks one of the other hostages.
To my right, I see a man in his late forties, his gray hair balding. The amount of relief that fills my chest almost makes me cry again.
"He's just unconscious, girl. Help him up. Help us all up."
I nod, but am too caught up in my own world to bring myself to reality. My mind swirls with memories, and possibilities. I catch Andres' lolling head into my arms and cradle it into my lap. Where on earth has the time gone? Besides the dirt smeared on his face, he looks as if he were sleeping. Little Andres used to fall asleep in my arms like a baby would in a mother's, seeking comfort and protection from the dark.
It hurts somuch knowing that I can't even give him that.
If I held him tightly enough, would we be sent back to my house in Woodson, listening to our small radio and playing in the rain?
"Need help?" A low voice murmurs in my ear. "You should have waited for me."
He appears behind me, two hands brushing against my shoulders for a millisecond that sends tingles down my spine. It's Camillo who has come after me, asking if I need help freeing my brother - help in freeing these people from their imminent grave. I vaguely remember nodding again, while he unties the rest of the group silently on his own.
