"Hey," he says, "You gotta pay for those!" We start running then. We hear his awkward, loping steps behind us, and put on some more speed. Mitch paces herself with me, arms pumping back and forth in tune with mine, a slight sweat glistening on her fore head. The teen gives up and runs back to call the cops. We zig zag up and down some alleys until we come to the road we walked up early. We dissapear into the rows of corn on either side of the road and slow down a bit. Every once in awhile, one of us will glance over our shoulders to make sure we're not being followed, but we know we've gotten away.
It's starting to get dark by the time we reach the truck. It's still sitting there, half on the shoulder, half in the road.
"Something's wrong," Mitch says as we start down the hill. She scans the horizon. I don't know what she senses, but I get ready for a fight.
Strong arms wrap around my neck, choking me.
"Mitch!" I manage to squeak. As she turns towards me, a man comes and tackles her. About half a dozen emerge from the cornfields. Mitch is wrestling with the man and holding her own, by I know it'll be a losing battle once the rest get here. Black spots begin to crowd my vision as the hands tighten their grip around my neck. Somehow, I know it's the same girl who dislocated my shoulder before. And now she's going to kill me. I grapple with her hands and try to pull them off my throat, digging my fingernails into her skin. The grip holds fast, even when I draw blood. Then a thought occurs to me. No one's in the truck. Silas or Charie would've come out by now if anyone was. Could they be...
Mitch is apparently has the same idea. As she jabs her sharp elbow into ont of Them's side, she starts to yell.
"Guys!" she says with barely suppressed terror," Guys!" She recieves no reply but the chortling of some of Them. Mitch doesn't cry. She just kicks harder. Anger burns in her eyes, which I can barely see now.
Everything's getting black and blurry. I can't pass out now! I have to help Mitch. I have to make it hard for Them to kill us. I have to...
********************
Some one is shaking my shoulders.
"Stop," I say. The shaking stops and the hands pull away.
"He's awake," I recognise Silas's voice. I open my eyes and see he's the one that was shaking my shoulders. Charlie comes bounding over. It's too dark to read the expression on his face.
"I thought you were dead."
"I though you were dead," I say. I sit up and ruffle his hair. We're in a cell.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"We don't know," says Silas, "And we don't know where the twins are, or where Mitch is." I lean back and thump my head against the wall, smirking.
"So it's just us boys again?" I say, "when are we gonna break out this time?" Silas's eyebrows pull together.
"Well... that's the problem," Silas says, "I can't bend them." Charlie looks down.
"Le' me try," I say. I make my way to the bars and start pulling on them. They don't move. I swear.
"Bilbo!" Charlie says.
"We're trapped, Charlie, trapped," I say, "we're as good as dead. I don't know why we're not dead already." I start pacing around the room, feeling like a caged animal. I look at Charlie and see he's trembling. I look away quickly and am careful to avoid looking at him again as I stalk from the front to the back. Silas steps in my way and starts shaking my shoulders again.
"Cut it out, man," I say, "I'm awake, if you haven't noticed."
"You might be, but your brain's not," he says, "now calm down. You're making us nervous. If we panic, we're done for."
"We're already done for," I say. I catch a gleam in his eye.
"Not neccesarily," he says. He moves to the center of the room under the frail bulb that's our only light. The walls are the same metal as the bars and as empty as the room except a corner with a door in it that I suppose goes to a bathroom. The ceiling is low and the same dark metal.
"They're probably holding us for information," Silas says, "so we don't tell Them anything. Don't even say your name. Act like you've got the cards in your hand. It'll bug 'em to death, and they'll start wondering what you've got up your sleeve."
"Which is nothing," I say. Silas smirks.
"Right." Charlie seems calmer now that we have the shadow of a plan. I realize how must I must have upset him from my tantrum and the guilt tastes like medicine. Silas talks more about strategy and I build up a frame of courage. Then we here two steps of footsteps.
Everything becomes deathly quiet besides the tap, tap, tap of the footsteps.
The footsteps seems to squabble with eachother for a few seconds, then continue on their way, less in sink.
The steel doors open and Mitch is thrown in the cell with us. She sticks her tongue out at the guard that threw her in the cell. Once he's out of sight, she closes her eyes.
She starts trembling. She doesn't look like Mitch. She looks pale and thin and fragile. It's scary, seeing her so shaken.
"Mitch," Silas says. Even he looks worried. He reaches toward her, the way you would a wounded animal. She turns away and walks to the back wall, where she crumples.
"Mitch!" I say, and rush to her, thinking she's fainted. But she hasn't.
I can't see her face. She's gasping for breath. Her shoulders are shaking.
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