Mines

Chapter Fifteen

My room hasn't changed. I assumed it wouldn't because my father practically lived downstairs, near the fridge. While some of my clothes are too small, I find some that relatively fit. A pale green shirt with long sleeves, brown pants, and a black cloak to hide my identity. I head down stairs, not sparing a glance at my drunken father as he sits on a armchair, spread out with a bottle of hard whiskey in one hand. I nod at the drink.
"You better drink that quickly. I don't want you to remember me." I say coldly to him.
"Already forgotten." he tells me.
"Great." I whisper, rushing out the door before he can call me back. The dirty street is deserted, except for an old lady wearing a cloak like mine. I have a mental checklist in my mind of what I have to do before I head back to the mines. First things first, I need to see someone about my lashings, because I lost enough blood to fill a fountain by now. There's an old apothecary by the middle of the town run by an old couple. We don't have doctors here, because the British want as many of us to die as possible. But illegal apothecary's go by unnoticed.

As I knock on the door of the small house, I see a young woman, probably about five years older than me, with dark blue eyes and long black hair open the door.
"What do you want?" she whispers in a hushed voice.
"Uh... I'm looking for the Locklears?" I say uncertainly. The woman shakes her head.
     "The old couple? They died hon. Died months ago." she says with pity in her voice. Of course. I can't get a stroke of good luck around here. Not anywhere, not ever.
     "Oh okay. Sorry." I mutter, and then dash from the door. I fall into an alleyway and slump against the wall, sweat pouring down my face and blood pouring down my back. Now what am I supposed to do? I think, getting angry at myself. Continue with the plan this was just a minor setback. All you have to do is-
     "Excuse me?" a small voice breaks my thoughts. I look up to see the woman from before standing in front of the alleyway, staring at me. No it's not her, but possibly her daughter? Anyway, they look exactly alike.
     "What?" I ask groggily.
     "I heard you were asking for the Locklears. I was hiding behind my mother. I'm Lucy Locklear. My grandmother taught me the practice of healing before she died, and then I continued it on my own," she suddenly gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh my goodness, I'm sorry. I talk to much, that's what everyone says. And- oh god- your bleeding. That looks bad. Anyways I can help. What's wrong?" Okay. She does talk a lot. But this I can deal with, because she reminds of Lafayette. And she wants to help.
     "I got whipped... um... in the square? Yeah I got whipped in the square." I say, coming up with a lie on the spot. Lucy looks confused.
     "Really? We haven't had whippings recently, and judging by the blood I'd say you were whipped recently. Oh my gosh! I'm sorry, of course, it doesn't matter how it happened only it did happen, so I need to help. Okay, take off your shirt."
     "I- uh- what?" I say, my mind going blank for a second.
     "Well I need to help you some how, don't I? I can't fix your cuts unless you show me them." she smiles, as though this is a situation is be giggling in.
     "Yeah okay. You can try, but I doubt you could do anything." I say, pulling off my cloak and then my blood soaked shirt.
     "Okay crouch down, you're much taller than I am. Which makes sense because you're like what, nineteen? And you're a guy, which of course both adds up to the fact that you're taller and- sorry," I ignore her, and crouch down like she instructs. She precedes to take out a first aid kit from the folds of her jacket, and takes out bandages and some medicine I don't know the name of. "Oh wow. Gosh, what did you do? You have about forty lashings here." I dropped a pickaxe. I think harshly, but I don't respond and she gets the message and stops talking and gets to work.

     "There! Feel better?" she asks, helping me up on my feet. After inspecting my wounds, she applied some medicine, then more and more until she decided it was time to wrap up the lashes with bandages. "Oh okay, this will sound weird but- I just saved your life. Like awesome, wow. I never did that before! Also, is it weird that I don't know your name? What's your name?"
     "Uh-" I start, but then pause. Is it safe to tell this girl I just met my identity, even if she did help me? "Philip." I say the first name that comes to mind.
     "Well Mr. Philip, you're welcome! I'll see you around?" she grabs her kit, hiding it in the folds of her jacket, and turns to leave.
     "Maybe. Thank you." I say, pulling on my shirt and cloak again.
     "No problem!" and she disappears, leaving the faint scent of medicine trailing behind her. Okay, now onto phase two.

     The baker always has extra food, or so it used to be. Turns out now his business is declining, and he could only spare a loaf, cheese and water. But it should be enough. For the journey I have in mind it should be enough. I make my way to the front of the town, turning a corner, to see a truck with two British soldiers standing in front of it. Of course, they haven't left yet. It would be foolish to cross the desert with low supplies. I hide in another alleyway, watching the troops until the engine starts, and I dash across the street, and grab onto the handle bars that close the back. The force both opens the door and causes serve pain to shoot across my back. I force myself in, close the door, and hide behind boxes, shaping my cloak so I look like a harmless pile of blankets, heading back to the mines.