Unbullied

Prologue3:00AM Charlie West didn't scream when the attackers grabbed her from behind. It wouldn't have done much good on the small town's empty street at three in the morning, anyway. Instead of screaming, she clenched her teeth and fought back. She thrashed wildly, straining to break free. She elbowed and kicked, lashing out as hard as she could at whomever had grabbed her. She even managed to land a few solid blows. She heard someone, a woman, cry out, and felt one pair of hands let go. But the other two attackers held on tight; they simply overpowered her. Twisting around, Charlie got a quick look at them, and understood why. They were full-grown men. Black ski masks covered their faces, but their frames under the black coveralls they wore were clearly those of adult men. As much of a fighter as Charlie was, she was only sixteen years old. And she was the opposite of a brute--skinny and kind of gawky, more of a runner than a fighter. She'd rather be reading, watching movies, or playing role-playing games than participating in any kind of sports. At least, that was how she used to be, back before Conscience started making her life miserable. Was that who was behind this attack? Even as Charlie fought to escape the men holding her, she wondered if they were working for Conscience...or even, if he was one of them. For all she knew, the third attacker, the woman, might even be Conscience. The thought of it made Charlie fight harder than ever. Wrenching one arm up, she lunged at the man's hand holding on to it and sank her teeth into his black leather glove. Jerking one leg back and up, she drove the heel of her sneaker into the same man's thigh. If she could just loosen their grip on her a little, she could snap free and run for it. She knew downtown Vichyburg, West Virginia by heart--there wasn't that much to know--and she could easily lose them in its back alleys and doorways. Charlie heaved forward, then bucked left, toward the man she'd bitten and kicked. His grip loosened ever so slightly... Then, before Charlie could make her next move, the third attacker, the woman, stormed in front of her, carrying something made of black cloth. It was a hood. Darting in close, the woman raised it with both hands over Charlie's head. But Charlie wasn't going to let the woman pull it down over her face without a fight. She redoubled her effort, thrashing like a wild animal, keeping her head out from under the hood...at least until one of the men grabbed the back of her neck and held her still. With a sudden movement, the woman plunged the hood down over Charlie's head, and everything went dark. Disoriented, Charlie stopped fighting just long enough for them to restrain her arms with some kind of plastic strap that dug into her wrists. Was it a zip tie, maybe? The next thing she knew, they were lifting her off her feet and hauling her away through the cool October night. She heard car doors open and felt her captors slide her into some kind of vehicle. Her heart pounded like the heart of a pilot on a crashing plane, jackhammering with pure terror. The whole time, one name loomed in her mind, lit up with blazing red neon in the darkness of the hood: Conscience. Were they delivering her to Conscience? If they were, this might be her last night alive.