Page 98 of Fade (Fighting Fate)

Voices murmured nearby. I pressed my eyes shut tighter, clinging to her image, panicking as I watched it flicker in and out like a poorly transmitted TV show.

The voices grew louder. Angry. Frustrated. Desperate.

She disappeared, slipping away from me yet again.

Sighing, I shifted onto my back and opened my eyes, staring up at the dirty concrete ceiling.

“Good while it lasted?”

I turned at the sound of Miguel’s voice, the Italian giving me a sad, knowing look in return. We’d been moved into the same cell about a week ago. “I’ll let you know when I figure that one out,” I said, pushing myself up to sit.

Rubbing my hand over my too-long hair, I tried to dispel the depression that lingered in my soul. I needed to move.

Struggling to my feet, I stretched my body, trying to ease the ache in my joints.

“I look forward to the day I can look up at my own sky again,” Miguel said, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. “I dream of the blue, the sun, and the scattered clouds. I dream of the grass, green and fresh in the spring, running with Armino and Carina.”

Again, my heart clenched with pain, but this time for Miguel. He was a good guy. A journalist from Italy. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Back home in Calitri, he had a wife and two children, six and four. Like Amy was to me, they were his world.

“You’ll see them again,” I said, giving him a hard stare. I had to believe that. For the both of us.

Miguel simply nodded, uncertainty clear.

Dropping down onto my hands, I stretched my body out before getting started on my push-ups.

Shuffling to the side, Miguel watched as I put myself through my usual paces. I knew my need to stay active annoyed most of the other prisoners here, but Miguel understood. My mind was the only thing I had any control over, and for me, it was strong body, strong mind. It was all I could do.

As usual, Miguel stayed quiet as I went about my routine. When I was done with push-ups, I moved on to sit-ups, then burpees and jumping jacks. Box jumps weren’t an option anymore, seeing as there was nothing I could use as a box, so I settled for doing some squats instead.

I was almost finished completing my second set when the outer door swung open. The entire cell block stilled when five or six of our captors entered, rifles in hand. We all knew what that meant. They were either bringing someone in, or they were taking someone out.

When the last one entered and no new prisoner could be seen, I tensed, wondering who it was going to be this time.

In the month I’d been there, I’d heard murmurs from other prisoners that the trades were never good for us. I’d heard recounts from new prisoners that told of payments to extremists, torture, and executions.

Miguel struggled to his feet, alert and fearful.

The guards yelled a series of incomprehensible words, banging on the bars and swiping their hands in the air to tell us to move back.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

With hard eyes, I watched them move closer, my body growing more and more tense the closer they came. Then one raised his hand and pointed. Right at Miguel.

Panic exploded inside me. Not him. They couldn’t take him. He needed to make it home to his family.

The door was unlocked, and the first two guards raised their rifles, moving into the cell. Miguel started talking, his words no longer clear to me as he spoke in his native tongue. All I knew was that he sounded like he was pleading.

Instincts drove me to step forward. To protect him. The guards barked at me, thrusting their guns into my face. My reaction was automatic. Swiping my forearm through the air, I knocked the barrel sideways, away from me, while launching my body forward, pushing the both of them backwards.

Chaos ensued. The guards all started yelling at once, their bodies lurching forward, guns raised. Survival was my only thought. Lashing out, I knocked one to the ground with a right hook to his jaw, and took another one down with a hefty kick to the side of his knee. Two of the remaining guards pounced, one attempting to tackle me to the ground, while the other one slammed the butt of his gun down hard on my head.

The sting was enough to make me lose my grip on the head that was trying to throw me down, and I found myself suddenly being pitched backwards. Fast.

I hit the concrete hard, the wind escaping me in a painful whoosh. The room spun sickeningly, my sight blurring as I desperately tried to locate Miguel in the chaos. Foggily, I caught the slight swirl of his body being dragged across the room before I was hit with another blow to the head with the butt of a gun.

The world disappeared.

Chapter 53

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