The old man lay on his stomach next to him, hog tied and unconscious. A thin sheen of sweat covered his stubbled features. A straw bed sat on the other side. Bear tried to sit up but found himself too weak. He relaxed and concentrated on his left arm. He willed it to extend, to push away from his chest, to flex, to work, and shaking, it did just that. Then he let it curl back, eyes watering. It was too hard. He couldn’t do it. He’d never be able to do it.
The smell of roasted potatoes and garlic and basil and other herbs filled the air, and his mouth watered. Was she cooking for them? It made no sense, to knock them out, kidnap them, tie them up, and then feed them. His stomach growled against his will. He didn’t want her to hear him at all, as if his silence guaranteed his safety, as if
