Chapter Fourteen
Her pleas for help remained unanswered, and their faces turned predatory. If they understood Jane, they didn’t seem to care. Another man joined them. He was also armed. Were they guards? Where were the peacekeepers she’d heard about? Hell, what were peacekeepers?
With short commands and gestures, they made their orders clear. She needed to turn and walk down the aisle between the tents. Jane staggered forward.
After another minute of walking down an endless lane of identical tents, they stopped.
She sensed they were toward the center of the camp.
After a moment of heated discussion, the man without a weapon pulled the flap of a tent open.
The other man nudged her inside with the barrel of his gun.
Bile tickled the back of her throat. She tried one more time—“I need help”—before stumbling inside.
Her eyes had to adjust to the darkness—and then the bright flame when the first man struck a match. It flickered in front of his face. Jane realized that peace was the farthest thing from his mind.
The flame settled on the end of the match, and he lit a lantern.
An eerie orange glow danced on the canvas walls.
This tent was far smaller than the others she’d peeked at.
It was more like a partitioned room that held a handful of cots, a makeshift desk, and trunks.
She guessed it was some kind of officers’ quarters.
What would they do with her? Both men studied her, doing nothing to ease her panic. They exchanged a clipped conversation, then, unexpectedly, left.
She sank onto the packed dirt floor. Sand and grime coated the room. Jane waited. Time ticked. An eternity passed. Her eyes fought to close. Every part of her begged for sleep…
The tent opened, and she jerked awake. The same men returned, and as they entered the tent, she saw the sky had changed to a morning light with teases of grays and oranges. Dawn! Sunrise! The new day arrived.
Beyond this tent, Jane heard the camp coming to life. That had to be good news!
The tent flaps parted, and a new man walked inside and greeted the others.
The first man who found Jane yanked her onto her feet.
Dizzy, she wobbled and groaned. When her head stopped spinning, she realized that the new man was speaking to the others. Unhappiness coated his words.
As fast as she was jerked to her feet, she was dropped unceremoniously. The man who’d held her rushed from the tent.
No one said another word until the man returned, seemingly apologetic to their newcomer. He held up a canteen and torn flatbread.
Jane didn’t recall him offering them to her. She almost felt as though she stood next to her body, watching as she shoved the bread into her dry mouth and choked over the gritty water.
Before she could appreciate the quenching of her thirst, the newcomer reached for her. He gripped her jaw with one large hand and pinched until her jaw hinged.
She cried out, gagging as his other hand hooked inside her mouth and yanked her head back, stretching her lips apart. Jane fought the hold but was too weak. The man peered inside her mouth and then pushed his fingers under her lips, as though he wanted to see her teeth and probe her gums.
As if he was pleased to find she had teeth and a tongue, the man released her face and ran his fingers through her hair, tracing a pattern over her skull.
“Stop.” She leaned from his inspection, but he easily shifted her to the side. “What are you doing? Stop.”
He ran his across her shoulders and arms as an EMT might do while searching for an injury. He did the same to her legs. At her blistered feet, a long conversation ensued. She tried to jerk from their hold, but they held her ankles, still deeply engrossed over her raw, wounded feet.
Then they let go. Jane sprawled on her back, staring at the top of the tent. They’d avoided her breasts, between her legs, and her backside, but they’d still made her feel like an animal, rather than a person.
They conversed as though she weren’t there. Did they think she was a spy? Transporting contraband?
The conversation paused, and the men turned toward her. One shook his head. Another pursed his lips, and the others remained still.
The newcomer offered a single word. Again, the first man shook his head.
The newcomer pursed his lips and spoke quickly.
Like before, the first man shook his head.
But this time, he reached for Jane and grabbed her arm.
She felt like Gumby, putty in his hands, and didn’t pull away when he positioned her fist above her elbow and then, with his other hand, squeezed her bicep.
Each man studied her bicep. Her mouth soured. Dread rolled through Jane like a runaway locomotive. They were negotiating over her as though she were livestock.
Her knees shook, and her stomach threatened to regurgitate the dry bread and water.
But the faintest surge of adrenaline reminded her she wasn’t dead.
Her pulse jumped erratically, and even though she was weary enough to faint, she closed her eyes until her mind cleared.
Midas was coming for her. Somehow, someway, he’d harness that crazy determination that had been on his face and hunt her down.
Goosebumps spiked at the back of her neck. She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed. The heated negotiations over her sale had their complete attention, but they were blocking the exit to the tent.
Jane gripped the necklace around her neck.
No one had thought to remove it, but the little knife wouldn’t be of any help now.
It did, however, help her focus. She could picture her uncle training her in martial arts.
She could see his face and hear her complaints when she was a child.
He’d drilled her with repetition over and over again, promising her that her limbs would know what to do when her mind did not.
She rotated her torso, spotted a target, then tornadoed her body with a roundhouse kick.
The oil lantern flew across the tent. The fuel splattered over the cot and tent walls.
When the glass shattered against the trunk, the flames were instantaneous.
Jane sprinted out the tent door as the men flanked the fire with furious shouts.
She’d never been a runner, but her blistered feet covered as much ground as her legs could manage.
It only took a moment before angry cries called out behind her. She cut a corner. The voices followed. Where was she going? Every row looked identical.
Jane turned another corner and ducked into a tent. A group of women gasped and jumped away. She held up her hand, wanting help, needing them to hide her, but she could only gasp for breath.
Outside the tent, a rush of footsteps pounded by. Every woman looking at her knew what the men were after. But they didn’t call for help.
“Thank you,” Jane managed, and waited for the longest three seconds of her life. She ducked out of the tent and ran in the opposite direction.
The morning sun allowed her to see small differences in the tents, to better catch the expressions on faces and assess enemies and potential allies. Despite that, she never stopped, still having no idea how to escape.
Her heart slammed against her sternum, and its rapid beat drummed in her ears. She had to stop again, or she’d drop dead. Jane slipped into another tent. Miracle of miracles, it was empty.
Jane sagged onto her knees, too tired to continue and too scared to cry. She wiped away the sweat and dirt that coated her face. It wasn’t until a figure in a black kaftan robe stood directly in front of her that Jane realized she wasn’t alone.
Enemy or ally? Jane slowly tilted her head back and met the dark eyes of a woman. A black veil framed her face, flowing into the layers of black fabric wrapped around her body.
Jane weakly lifted her hands. “Help.”
The woman roared and peppered Jane with questions that she couldn’t understand. She had no idea how to communicate but put her finger to her lips, begging for silence.
Silence didn’t come. The woman’s voice grew louder with more authority.
Clearly, she wasn’t an ally. It was only a matter of time before the men heard her warning cries.
At any moment, Jane expected her pursuers to enter the tent.
Then the woman stopped. Her dark eyes bulged as though she were waiting for an answer.
Jane’s head dropped. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand.”
Did she have enough energy to keep running? Jane struggled to tap into her reserves which had been depleted again and again.
The woman turned, and Jane tried to stand. Her leg swayed, and she wobbled, but she wouldn’t give up. Finally, she managed to stand upright. The woman clamped a callused hand over Jane’s shoulder.
Her eyes closed. She was too weak to fight—soft fabric pressed into Jane’s hands.
Her chin dropped, and she stared at the folded black linens before snapping her gaze to the woman’s.
Their eyes met. A powerful conversation unrolled between them without a spoken worry.
Then, the woman spoke urgently but slowly.
Quietly. Jane didn’t understand, yet she did.
The woman took the fabric from Jane, unfolding the bundle, and with breathtaking carefulness, wrapped Jane from head to toe in her disguise as she remained immobile—simply, gratefully stunned.
A commotion outside the tent broke her trance. “Thank you.”
The woman assessed her with a sharp eye, then walked toward the tent entrance, pulled open the flap, and pointed down the long aisle of tents.
Each step toward the morning sunlight was harder than the one before. She hesitated, not knowing if she could blend in. Her adrenaline had dissipated, and Jane didn’t know how she could find the energy to move.
She paused next to the woman and stared into the now-bustling camp.
The woman touched her back and leaned close to Jane’s ear. “Go.”
A shiver of appreciation rolled through Jane. That single word was enough to power her again. “Thank you.” She squeezed the woman’s forearm, then stepped into broad daylight.