more word out of you and he dies,” one of the guards said. His rifle was aimed at McCann, who was seated in front of them with more than one bleeding wound to the head. Sam took one look at McCann and figured the young man had probably tried to fight his way through but had come out at the wrong end.
Sam nodded, looking up at Graham again. Graham tugged him into a sitting position, which he greatly appreciated since the pressure of his weight on his arms was causing them to go numb. He could now see that the truck contained all the men from their group, including Rick and Dalton, and all were handcuffed except for Graham.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” the guard yelled, and Graham immediately held them up. “He’s fine now, sit up there and keep your hands where we can see them.”
Sam wanted more than anything to know where Addy was, but as he looked around at everyone it was clear they weren’t speaking for a reason. Now and then one of them would make eye contact with him and then look down or off into their world, but no one tried even as much as a nod or to communicate in any way. He decided to follow their lead, since he didn’t understand the precarious position they now found themselves in.
He knew two things: they were traveling somewhere, given the vibration of the vehicle, and the voices of the two guards sounded more Canadian than anything foreign, so he’d bet they were not the Islamic terrorists. He couldn’t help thinking that he had known something wasn’t right at the roadblock and he’d botched communicating that to Dalton.
~ ~ ~
Everyone looked up at the guards expectantly and each other when the truck slowed with a squeak of the brakes before coming to a final stop. The guards rose and waited at the door. There were two pounds against the outside of the truck, and the guards responded with two more. The door swung open, and they stepped out. There six other men were also dressed in Tyvek and armed to the hilt, pointing their weapons at the inside of the vehicle.
“You”—the guard pointed to Graham—“step down here and help them off one by one. We’re going this way.” He pointed toward a dark gate, behind which was a doorway with minimal light. “Do anything stupid and all the women and children will be exterminated immediately along with the rest of you. No talking; no communicating. We don’t want any accidents. Any sudden moves, someone will die. Let’s go.”
Sam glanced at Dalton, who looked back at him with a stone straight face. Nothing to lead him to think they should act. These guys were obviously still susceptible to the virus. They outnumbered—and by the looks of things, outarmed—Graham and the preppers’ group. They had no options, and Sam had no idea how these men had managed to overtake them so easily.
Rick rose first after Graham, as the guard said, and stood by the back of the truck. Everyone else had their hands wrapped securely behind their backs with the plastic cuffs. Sam’s guess is that they didn’t find Graham that much of a threat with his limp: he wouldn’t get far out of shooting range if he ran.
Sam got in line behind Reuben, and once the rest were off, Graham was allowed to help McCann up off the bench. It was the first time he’d noticed that McCann not only had his hands tied behind his back but his legs were also tied at the ankles and his knees were even cuffed together.
Sam had to stifle a snicker as he watched the young man hobble forward, not at McCann’s predicament but at the thought of how he must have given them hell.
One of the guards held up his rifle and said, “One false move and that’s it, kid. I’m not putting up with your bullshit. You understand?” McCann nodded, and another guard walked over with wire cutters and pinched off the PlastiCuffs holding his legs and feet together.
Graham helped McCann climb down and guided him as they headed toward the dim gate.
“Keep walking,” the guard
Sam nodded, looking up at Graham again. Graham tugged him into a sitting position, which he greatly appreciated since the pressure of his weight on his arms was causing them to go numb. He could now see that the truck contained all the men from their group, including Rick and Dalton, and all were handcuffed except for Graham.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” the guard yelled, and Graham immediately held them up. “He’s fine now, sit up there and keep your hands where we can see them.”
Sam wanted more than anything to know where Addy was, but as he looked around at everyone it was clear they weren’t speaking for a reason. Now and then one of them would make eye contact with him and then look down or off into their world, but no one tried even as much as a nod or to communicate in any way. He decided to follow their lead, since he didn’t understand the precarious position they now found themselves in.
He knew two things: they were traveling somewhere, given the vibration of the vehicle, and the voices of the two guards sounded more Canadian than anything foreign, so he’d bet they were not the Islamic terrorists. He couldn’t help thinking that he had known something wasn’t right at the roadblock and he’d botched communicating that to Dalton.
~ ~ ~
Everyone looked up at the guards expectantly and each other when the truck slowed with a squeak of the brakes before coming to a final stop. The guards rose and waited at the door. There were two pounds against the outside of the truck, and the guards responded with two more. The door swung open, and they stepped out. There six other men were also dressed in Tyvek and armed to the hilt, pointing their weapons at the inside of the vehicle.
“You”—the guard pointed to Graham—“step down here and help them off one by one. We’re going this way.” He pointed toward a dark gate, behind which was a doorway with minimal light. “Do anything stupid and all the women and children will be exterminated immediately along with the rest of you. No talking; no communicating. We don’t want any accidents. Any sudden moves, someone will die. Let’s go.”
Sam glanced at Dalton, who looked back at him with a stone straight face. Nothing to lead him to think they should act. These guys were obviously still susceptible to the virus. They outnumbered—and by the looks of things, outarmed—Graham and the preppers’ group. They had no options, and Sam had no idea how these men had managed to overtake them so easily.
Rick rose first after Graham, as the guard said, and stood by the back of the truck. Everyone else had their hands wrapped securely behind their backs with the plastic cuffs. Sam’s guess is that they didn’t find Graham that much of a threat with his limp: he wouldn’t get far out of shooting range if he ran.
Sam got in line behind Reuben, and once the rest were off, Graham was allowed to help McCann up off the bench. It was the first time he’d noticed that McCann not only had his hands tied behind his back but his legs were also tied at the ankles and his knees were even cuffed together.
Sam had to stifle a snicker as he watched the young man hobble forward, not at McCann’s predicament but at the thought of how he must have given them hell.
One of the guards held up his rifle and said, “One false move and that’s it, kid. I’m not putting up with your bullshit. You understand?” McCann nodded, and another guard walked over with wire cutters and pinched off the PlastiCuffs holding his legs and feet together.
Graham helped McCann climb down and guided him as they headed toward the dim gate.
“Keep walking,” the guard
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