A Game of Colours

Chapter 4: Hide and Seek

No.

It can't be.

They can't have caught him—he must have escaped. He got away. He's Lucien; he's avoided pursuers this long--I'm sure he got away. He was able to persuade them that they have the wrong man, and they let him go.

Who am I kidding?

I rip open the sack I am concealed in, letting out a shout of protest. Maybe I can help him—maybe it's not too late. The train wagon is pitch black, and I pound on the doors of it desperately, clawing on them like a caged animal with a wild frenzy in my eye.

Open up! I think angrily, I need to help him!

I push hard on the doors, trying my hardest to get them to budge open as though my life depends on it, but my effort is futile.

I feel a cold hand on my shoulder, and I whip my head back in shock.

"Shut the hell up for the love of God, or you're going to get the rest of us killed too," growls a deep voice, and I immediately place the face to Isaac.

"I need to save him," I whisper helplessly, almost like a child.

"There's nothing more we can do for him," he sighs, "the doors are locked from the outside. You need to protect the others too, now. Get back in your sack before anyone comes to inspect the racket you've made."

I fight back the tears threatening to cascade down my face, pushing his hand off of my shoulder in defiance.

"If he dies for this, it is now his blood on your hands as much as mine," I hiss.

The chilling scream echoes in my mind, and I visibly shake my head. I never wanted anyone to get hurt for me. If Lucien had never found me in the forest, he'd be alive and it would be me in chains. It is a sacrifice I will never be able to repay. I have to stay alive and focused from now on; his capture is of my own doing. I have left a pure-hearted man, one of the only few left, in the hands of arrogant pricks, racist bastards, and money-driven backstabbers.

If he's lucky, they only arrested him. But if I'm realistic, he was more likely torn to bits by the dogs and left to an inch of his life, before a lengthy interrogation by slave catchers. Once they got what they wanted—and mark my words, they always get what they want—they would deliver him into death's greedy, waiting hands. I am no blind fool to what happens to those who disobey the white man's law. I clench my fists in anger. Who am I to say my life is worth more than his?

The train is already miles away before I let go of the fact that there is no way I can help him.

"It's all our fault," I whisper sadly.

"Pretty much," is Isaac's response.

"That doesn't help," I spit.

"Neither does thinking about it. Just be grateful you aren't Lucien right now. Or, even worse, Oscar. Reckon they've nabbed him by now, with that injured body of his. He can't outrun them," says Isaac coldly, "so if I were you, I'd imagine myself vividly being whipped to a post for hours until there ain't no blood left in you. Not so bad how you have it now, is it?"

I fall silent then. I know the punishment for escaping.

I try to let myself fall asleep to the humming of the train on the tracks, as my own escape races through my mind on replay. I am still unable to believe that just two short days ago I slapped death in the face.

I wake up to the yelling of men and screeching of metal on tracks. The train has come to a stop.

"Are we there yet?" I ask sleepily.