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He picks up a chunk of meat with his fingers and shoves it in his mouth and gives a nod in acknowledgement. I’m not a prisoner, after all.
There’s a guard in a small, raised platform on the corner of the wall. Binoculars hang from his neck. A cigarette dangles from his lips. There’s a long gun leaning against the wall near his leg. The distance is too great for me to identify make and model. He jerks his head in acknowledgement, and I wave.
One uniformed armed guard patrols the perimeter of one of the small concrete buildings. Sweat rings his light brown camo shirt, and he wipes his forehead. A gun is holstered on his waist. He places a sweat-stained hat with a brim down on his head, leans his back against the concrete wall, and pulls out a cigarette pack from his pants.
And then I see her. She steps out of the doorway, wiping her hands down the front of her dress. She shades her eyes, looking across the compound. My gaze catches on her bony wrist and sallow cheeks. The handstitched dress hangs off her shoulders like a curtain, loose all the way to her calves.
In my Wagner uniform with a shaved head, I must look like any other uniformed guard. I step past her to look inside the building she came from. My hope is I’ll look like I’m curious and simply checking things out. Inside the room there are two grimy refrigerators and a couple of coolers on the ground. Cabinets line two walls. The counter below the cabinets holds needles, clear tubes, and glass vials. Several hard plastic chairs with rusted metal legs are grouped around a table.
The guard inhales deeply on his cigarette. I step farther inside to inspect the counter. Follow me, Sloane.
A shadow darkens the doorway. “How can I help you? Are you here to donate blood?”
“Is that what you’re doing? Collecting blood donations?” Perhaps it’s my American accent, but her mouth opens slightly, and she steps farther inside.
“Are you…” She steps closer and her voice drops to a whisper. “Who are you?”
“Sam’s best friend.” I look into her eyes, searching for recognition, while my peripheral vision remains trained on the doorway.
She swallows. “I can’t go with you.”
“Why?”
“My sister. They have her.”
“No. They don’t. She’s safe.”
Her skeptical expression and narrowed eyes match the negative shake of her head. “They showed me?—”
“Whatever they showed you wasn’t real. She’s in California. Safe.”
Her hand clenches into a fist and her lips scrunch together. “I knew it!” Then she looks to the ground and shoots a furtive glance to the doorway. “Suspected it. Couldn’t be certain.”
“What do they have you doing?”
“Taking blood samples. They said they’d kill Sage.” She stares out the doorway, voice hushed and calm. “You’re here for me?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your plan? We can’t just walk out.”
“You take a pill. When it knocks you out, we call for an ambulance.”
“Where’s the pill?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the plastic wrapped white pill.
“What is it?”
A shadow darkens the doorway, and I thrust her up against the concrete wall, leg between her thighs, hands around her wrists. She pushes back against me, teeth bared like she’s going to bite me, but her gaze catches on the guard and she freezes.
The guard puffs on his cigarette, staring at us. He steps back, and her wrists relax.
Vlad pushes past the guard, cigarette dangling from his lips. “You want sex, are others. Not that one. Time go work.”
I back away with an expression I hope she interprets as a promise to return. Tomorrow we will talk further.
Her fingers curve around the pill. She’s careful to use her body to shield her hand from Vlad.
