Page 63 of Bosse
“Eyes on me!” the big guard ordered.
Turning back to the guard, Bosse shrugged as he finished a mouthful. “Just looking to see if I knew anyone.”
“You do not. The less you know about the others, the better for you. Just worry about yourself.”
The airplane began descending. Bosse’s stomach dropped with it. He didn’t like flying at all. The craft landed with a bump, but not enough to jolt him. With the sky brightening to a dusky light, he was torn between being ready to get out of this plane to exercise his legs and staying put to avoid the inevitable.
The chain between their handcuffs and ankles was reattached.
Kinter cupped Bosse under the arm and yanked him up to stand. Bosse still had to walk hunched over to move his feet. At the door, with no better way to descend, he hopped down from step to step, then turned around and jumped to the side.
Now he could watch the others figure out how to get to the ground.
The big guard, who appeared to be the kidnapping leader, had exited the airplane first and now held a gun on Bosse. The airport had little traffic. Just a small airplane moving around in the distance. Tall trees were bunched together a hundred yards beyond the end of the runway. He’d spend too much time in the open if he got a chance to run.
Moist heat hit him first. A humid country. He inhaled a deep breath of fresh air filled with a pine scent.
If only he could breathe air once more as a free man.
The next captive hesitated at the top of the stairs with a bewildered look.
Kinter announced from behind him, “You can all get down the same way as the first one.”
Three of the captives made it without falling, but jumping on the steps was not as easy as Bosse had made it look. The last shifter missed the second step from the plane and curled into a ball as his body bounced the rest of the way. He hit the pavement and groaned.
“Get up,” the leader snarled. He hooked the arm of the captive on the ground and yanked him to his feet. The shifter grumbled and tilted sideways, probably from the drugs. Blood dripped from the cuts on his forehead and shoulder. He wore a pair of faded jeans and looked as if he’d fallen down a rocky embankment in them.
The guard with the gun said, “Kinter. Get the kit. Clean up this one.”
“Copy that.”
A large van pulled up, driven by another shifter guard. This one wore a dark blue jumpsuit matching that of the others. He had a name on the chest of his suit. Wilson. He jumped out and opened the side door, where Bosse could see chains and hardware mounted to the floor around the inside walls. It smelled of piss and frustration.
This was not the first time they’d captured shifters.
Bosse and the other captives were herded into the van. Climbing in presented another impossible move. Bosse leaned in on his elbows, then his knees, and moved across to the closest spot to sit. Entering first provided him the advantage of choosing the simplest way to load into the van while bound up.
Kinter had stopped the bleeding on the shifter who fell, even wiping a wet rag over the man’s face before loading him last.
Bosse frowned. Why were they taking care of a shifter who would eventually heal?
Again, he believed there might be a problem delivering damaged goods.
He considered the possibilities of using that against them.
The big guard ordered Wilson in a rough Eastern European dialect, “Drive and keep mouth shut. Kinter does all talking.” When he got a sharp nod from Wilson, the leader turned to Kinter. “Call me as soon as exchange is made.”
“Got it.” Kinter took the passenger seat and held a handgun at the ready, then nodded at the driver, who took off.
Bosse could see nothing beyond the sky outside the windshield morphing into a crisp blue. Sun heated the van with no windows open. Sweat trickled down the side of Bosse’s nose.
Titan asked,Do you have ideas for escape?
Maybe, Bosse admitted.It seems these thieves need us to be healthy and not damaged to get paid.
That is why they fed you.
Yes. I think I can use that to our advantage, but not until we get where we are going.
