Short Hair

Chapter 5

The pounding in her skull hammered like a drill, scraping away at her head one vicious jab at a time. A thousand needles stuck to her wrists, her hands deemed weak and slow to twitch as Clem desperately tried to move them, just a little bit.

Her eyes were heavy and the blurriness took a moment to fade, but as Clem's eyes focused she could see the yellow stained ceiling above her, full of large scratch marks and torn plaster, like someone had clawed at the ceiling in despair.

Clem tried to get up, but to her dismay and frustration, her wrists were chained together with a thick, stringy rope. The rope was not only tying her wrists together but were also tied around the gray steel post of the bed she was laying in.

Huffing a sigh, Clem tugged at her wrists in hopes to relieve the pins and needles stabbing at her hands. She twisted her head around and her confused golden eyes squinted against the light of a nearby candle that sat innocently on a small wooden table.

As her eyes adjusted, Clem noticed the scratchings on the wall opposite her's, the writing looked like chicken scratch and Clem's horror grew by the second as she saw the sheer amount of hysterical writing on the wall.

She couldn't see the words from where she lay, but she saw a load of scratches clumped together by the side of another bed, they looked like a chart-

A scratch for each day someone was stuck here, Clem thought with a huff.

The other bed wasn't shoved against the wall like Clem's but stuck out, the fitted sheet and colourful, patchy quilt reminded her of her bed at home, before the dead started walking. It seemed warm and inviting. A stark contrast to the dull gray blanket thrown on her's.

Clem shuffled about, her eyes drawn to the dresser at the front of the room. The wood was rotted and looked as though it was thrown through a window, the small amount of paint coating the dresser seemed like it used to be a soft baby blue colour, but now lay cold and out of place in the lit up room.

A humble bundle of coloured pencils lay on the top, carefully placed by a tiny stack of old, worn paper. A picture frame nearby, with a small image of a woman with blonde hair and a broken flower pot sat empty on the dresser.

There was only one other thing in the small disheveled room. A small cushioned chair, placed by the other bed, in the corner of the room opposite Clem.

The cushioned chair was a vomit-green shade and the cloth was torn and ruffled, stuffing was visible and the wheels at the bottom were broken and stuck in place.

Clem fidgeted and tried to get into a better position, deciding that in her state, she wasn't going anywhere soon. She hoped that those men who took her to- where ever this place was; was friendly enough, or wouldn't harm her.

But after the look of those guns and how they were clearly, shoot first, questions later, Clem hoped that playing the act of non-threatening little girl would give her an advantage.

Clem doubted it.

Clem laid there for a moment, just taking it in. She was there, in this old, run down room, captured after being on her own for so long. So long since Lee...

Clem sniffled, her eyes starting to burn with unrelenting tears, but she held back.

No use in crying now. Clem told herself harshly. If those men see you, or anyone else, they won't care, they'll probably just tell you to shut up and stop being a baby.

Clem sighed, the urge to rub at her nose was tempting her. But as she went to raise her hand to her face, the rope tugged and she was reminded of the situation she was in.

Clem took to gazing mindlessly around the dimly lit room, there were no windows so Clem couldn't tell what time it was, but from the looks of the candle, it was late in the evening.

Clem's mind wondered, her focus drifting in and out as she just thought. Thought about where she could be, where her stuff was, Chrita and Omid's whereabouts, and Lee.

She thought about everything that had happened and what got her to this place, her determination to escape grew and all she could think of was how she couldn't let the people she cared about, the one's who died, she couldn't let them down.

Her intense thinking was interrupted and she was abruptly forced from her thoughts by heavy footsteps crunching and digging into rotten wood.

The door, directly in front of her, flew open, the old oak given no time to creak as bits of damp wood crashed into the wall.

The man, built like a mountain, or a Viking from one of Clem's old storybooks, came to a stop by her bedside. He leaned over her, making her feel small and vulnerable, looked her dead in the eye, before clicking his thick fingers together and gesturing to a woman at the door.

And then he left. No words, or reason, there was no explanation. But Clem felt a sinking feeling in her gut, he had looked her over, deciding. Like a predator gazing over it's prey before a meal, he had decided.

A sour taste erupted in her mouth, a bitter curse on her tongue. Clem held her lips together, gritting her teeth and tried to convince herself that they weren't going to kill her.

The electric blue eyes that held her own, were striking and hungry. They twitched and flew around her small frame, hard, cold and calculating.

The man's tanned skin held no glow, no inviting warmth, there was no smile, no twinkle in the eyes or raise of the eyebrows. Not even a frown, just a grim line across his face.

The clothes the man had worn were leathery and barely rippled as he moved, stoic and unflinching like the one who wore them. A dark brown tunic, black pants and a thick, long jacket. The man had his long brown hair tied into a stricked man bun, and as he trudded through the wooden door, his dirty, mud-red boots clashed the wooded floor.

The woman let out a quiet breath as the man left, she straightened up, cradling her rifle in her arms and walked into the room, to Clem she looked as though she had a stuck up her ass.

The woman had dark mocha skin, her hazel eyes darting around the room, anywhere but the bed where Clem lay, tied up. Her hair was in a messy braid and she had tattered clothes. She wore a simple black shirt with some kind of print on them, a pair of ripped jeans, a small denim jacket and trainers.

She looked nervous, clearly new. Clem smirked inwardly, surely she would help a little girl, alone and hungry with no one to save her?

Clem licked her dry lips, opened her mouth and tried to make her golden puppy eyes widen.

"H-hello?" Clem stuttered, flashing her eyes to the woman.

Said woman jumped in surprise and her gun pointed wildly in the room. The jumpy woman glared at her with unfocused eyes and trudged towards her.

"W'at?" She grumbled lowly.

Clem thought quick on her feet and tried to figure out how to convince the woman she wasn't a threat.

"Please, I'm just a little girl, I just wanna find some help!" Clem yipped to the woman.

"Erm, well you's gotta stay still, be quiet too. I migh' get in trouble or some'ing if you's too loud." She swallowed in her angst and her eyes fluttered over to Clem's, before she yanked her eyes away to look at the wall beside her.

Pushing her luck, Clem shuffled slightly and went to talk again.

"Please, Miss? The ropes really tight on my wrists, could you loosen it?" The woman looked at her, trying to understand Clem's motive. She stepped closer and gazed at the thick rope tying Clem's wrists together.

"Well, a'ight. I suppose tha' be okay. Just stay still and be quiet." The lady complied and let down her guard, putting her gun down in order to reach the rope.

Clem stared at the woman as she loosened the rope, the woman's eyes met her own and she raised her eyebrow at the blank yellow stare.

A moment of silence overcame them. However, strangely it wasn't uncomfortable, neither Clem or the woman felt the need to speak and break the quiet.

Clem smiled slightly, perhaps this woman would be willing to help her out some more.