Chapter 19 #3
I slip under the hot water. I let it consume me.
I wash my body three times and do the same for my hair.
It isn’t until the water switches over to cool that I shut it off.
Relishing in the feel of the towel, exhaustion starts to take over my body.
Today has been a lot, and the stress from earlier doesn’t help matters.
I notice a stack of fresh clothes folded up and placed by the sink.
I put on the garments that all the women wear in The Fellowship, the standard white shirt and long white skirt.
After drying my hair, my reflection doesn’t look as scary as it did when I first saw myself.
It’s amazing what a little hot water and some soap and shampoo can do for you.
Judy is waiting outside the door with the same man from the kitchen. Judy is speaking with the guy while pointing a finger in his direction. Her face is red as though she’s fuming about something.
They turn when they notice me standing there.
“I was told to take you to building twenty-three,” the guy states, his face never showing any emotion.
“She needs to be looked after in her condition,” Judy spits out. “She needs a proper bed to sleep in and to be close in case something happens.”
“There will be someone monitoring her,” the man says. “Shepherd Walter wants her out of his sight until Mr. Sanchez comes.”
My body locks up at the thought of being down in a hole again.
“I’ll stay in my room, not coming out until told,” I plead, hating to show any weakness.
“I’m following orders,” he quips.
“Let me at least gather her a bag of her things and some food so that she and the baby are good,” Judy demands. She doesn’t wait for his response and knocks his arm with hers as she plows into my old room. I stay put, showing that I can follow directions and not cause any problems.
A few moments later, Judy reappears and we head down the stairs and back to the kitchen. She grabs everything I could possibly eat that won’t spoil. Once she’s done, she hands me both bags.
“I’ll do my best to come and check on you,” she says, swooping in and giving me a hug, careful of my baby bump. “Stay strong and try to rest the best you can, honey.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promise in her ear.
I follow the guy out the back door and to one of the utility vehicles they have around the massive farm.
I hop in the passenger side, and he radios someone about heading over to building twenty-three.
It takes a while, but we eventually stop in front of one of the small shacks that looks no bigger than an old-timey outhouse.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I step off the vehicle and watch as the guy comes around and opens the wooden door.
Inside there’s another door with stairs that lead down.
My legs stand frozen at the thought of going down in a bunker again.
How long will I be in this one? What if I’m down here and the baby comes?
Panic threatens to choke me, and I take a stride backwards.
“Don’t even think about it,” the guys says when he turns and sees me not following in behind him.
“I-I can’t do this again,” I say shaking my head.
“It’s bigger once you get down there,” is all he says before grabbing my tender arm and pulling me down underground. My legs threaten to give out once we make it to the bottom. “This one’s the nicest one we have, so you should be thankful.”
I scoff at the thought that this is what he calls nice. The underground room is much bigger than the tornado shelter, and there is an actual toilet in the far corner of the room. Two sets of bunkbeds are on the opposite side with real mattresses and a table in the center of the room.
“Someone will be stationed by the first door at all times, so don’t try anything,” he tells me as he looks around.
He doesn’t wait for a response and takes off up the stairs and out of sight.
The slam of the door and the click of the lock going into place echoes before I take a full breath.
I walk over to the table and place my two bags down then check out the bunkbeds.
I need some rest, and then I’ll come up with my next plan.
Papa had mentioned that Mr. Sanchez would be here in a few days, so I’m going to need all my energy if I’ve got a bigger battle to fight so soon.
Curling up on the bottom mattress, my body melts into the soft material. My little man gives me a swift kick, and I feel a foot or hand against the side of my tummy. I place my hand there and smile.
“Don’t worry, baby boy, I’ll figure something out,” I say reassuringly. “And if I can’t, then Daddy will bring hell with him to find us.”
My eyes and body are heavy with the weight of what the next few days will bring.
The baby must sense my anxiousness because he continues to bang on my ribs and bladder.
I wince at another shot to the side of my body and place my hand directly over the spot I feel being pressed against. Closing my eyes, I quietly sing the song my mother used to sing to me to calm me.
I’ve been doing it since he began using me as a human punching bag.
“You are my sunshine…”