Blood Mines

Chapter 5: Fight or Die

Water splashed into her face, shocking her awake from the dark pit of unconsciousness. She struggled against the restraints in an attempt to get away. She had a fear of water since the age of ten. That fateful day was burnt into her mind like an unwanted tattoo. She could never shake it off, no matter how hard she tried.

She had learnt to accept it and did her best to avoid water in any form except for the most necessary things: Drinking and bathing. And even then, only enough to cover her legs.

Now, she was unable to escape with her hands tied behind her back. Stinking water all over her and she could hear them laughing wildly in her face.

When she finally regained her wits, she was just outside her back door − the cold cement scratching her arms − she saw young children waving their guns in her face. They were so close that she could smell their body odour, putrid and rotten, her gag-reflexes worked over time and she swallowed hard. She could hear some of them in the process of ransacking her house.

At least an hour had passed according to her estimation. It was an hour of agonising and tortured pain. Fear's claws grabbed and shook her; now and then unconsciousness took her away in brief intervals, but for the most part she remained painfully aware of her tormentors and surroundings.

Her only reason for fighting lay still under the tree.

Steve was tied to the tree like a dog, curled in a foetal position. He was helpless as he endured relentless beatings from passing youngsters. He was so quiet that she had no idea if he was still alive.

The last time someone kicked him she had seen him cough blood. The dark puddle on the ground remained a sign of his torment. That meant his lungs were punctured. Through narrowed eyes she scanned the yard for any form of help but none was in her sight.

She had to think, she had to stay alive. If only she could get to her gun or her knife. They hadn't discovered those yet ─ and if they had they would have probably used it on one of them by now.

She had a clear view of the kitchen from where she lay. It had been turned upside-down: Every dish had been broken, every drawer had been emptied, its contents mixed with shards of glass.

Empty milk cartons were strewn all over the mess. They had descended upon their meagre supplies like vultures. When they discovered the cans of food, they had emptied the contents roughly over the wooden dining table that had once belonged to a great-aunt on her father's side – it was an heirloom like so many other things in the house.

They had gone on to carve their names into the gleaming surface and marked it as theirs: The table had been flipped on its side and used as a canvas for their handiwork. Anger boiled in her veins as she surveyed the destruction around her. Another kick in her face reminded her that it wasn't over yet and she doubled over in pain; the kick so hard that she immediately lost consciousness again.

When she awoke with a splitting headache, they started with the water treatment: An inferno erupted on her face and she screamed in fear. As if they knew exactly what her weakness was. She was drenched with poisoned water; her skin was already showing signs of a rash.

She knew she was infected by the contaminated water. Their immune systems were already compromised due to malnutrition that any contact with infections or viruses could kill them in a matter of days.

She wanted to scream from frustration, anger and fear. Instead, she balled her hands into fists and focused on the young one in front of her. Fear changed into hatred and she knew at that moment she would get away no matter what.

Water dripped down her face as she watched the bastard in front of her with intent. The moment she could get away she would kill him. His scarred face was imprinted in her mind.

She didn't flinch under his cold stare. He grinned as his fist connected against her cheekbone. She moaned as her head connected with the floor, fighting against the blackness that threatened to drag her down. Her hatred fuelled the fire even further as blood trickled down her eye. She focused and clung to the anger to stabilise herself. She had to. She was their only hope.

“Look here guys!" the bastard yelled.

“She wants to kill me!" and he laughed with glee.

“How do you know?" the one closest to him asked.

“Believe me, I know that look for sure. They all want to, but I still walk away breathing while they choke in their own blood. But this one, I am going to enjoy first. She is pretty, don't you think?" The one she came to call Douchebag checked her out as if he was buying a goat. He knelt in front of her opening her lips, staring at her teeth with a sinister smile.

“She will do, but she is old." He nonchalantly remarked. That made her furious.

“f**k you!" she yelled, and the bastard gloated, “Yes, but she has spunk."

“You will not dare to touch me," she seethed and spat him in his face.

“Really, and who will stop me? Your son?" He pointed towards the tree and burst into laughter. “Nope, not happening." he quipped.