Scars Bleed Gold

Death & Taxes

Ride after ride, transport after transport. It felt like they were taking me all around the world. Every time they transported me to another vehicle, helicopter, van, cargo truck, cargo ship, I was knocked out again or blindfolded, only to wake up again before we reached our destination. It was giving me the mother of all headaches.

Sitting there for hours on end did nothing but let the past events stew in my mind like a bubbling cauldron. Losing someone near and dear to you is like losing a part of yourself. Even as the dark container swayed, the stench of rust and saltwater filling my nostrils, I couldn't do anything but stare blankly. Just thinking. Thinking and thinking.

All Mal had ever wanted was a normal life, free of constantly looking over her shoulder. Maybe it could have been different. Maybe I could have saved her. Maybe I could have listened to her warning. Maybe I could have taken the bullet. Just something, anything for her to still be here. Instead I just stood there like a coward and watched it happen.

It's funny how much of an impact she had on me, how close we got in just a week. So many things went wrong during that time, but it all worked out in the end, and we were okay. Not anymore. Nothing worked out this time. Nothing went right. Mal is dead, for all I know she's buried in that damned meadow along with those three soldiers. I never should have downloaded her app. Someone else could have, and she'd be safe with them.

The sound of metallic grinding signaled the container opening. In marched a man in the same fatigues I saw invade my house, goggles flipped onto his head as he brought a bottle from his belt along with a cloth.

"Oh come on!" I screamed through the gag. The man dumped the contents of the bottle against the cloth, then forced it onto my face. I could hardly struggle with my limbs bound. I began feeling dizzy before darkness overcame once again, the man's cold glare burned into my mind.

The next time I came to, the constant rumble of an uneven road shook the entire container. Something like a sack was over my head, as if I were being taken to the desert for execution in a cheap mafia movie. The rough terrain tossed the truck around, and in turn, me. I ended up with more bruises to add to my count by the time the vehicle finally rolled to a stop, settling me on my stomach without a means to get up. A loud rattling came from my side, like a roller door. Dim sunlight peeked through the sack on my head as boots jumped up into the vehicle with me, dragging me upwards to my feet. The man spoke in an unfamiliar language with a thick accent while chuckling. Another voice pitched in, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Before I knew it I was falling through the air, landing in the icy dirt with my breath knocked out of me. Another chorus of laughter. One man hunched over me and removed the bindings along my arms and legs, leaving my hands cuffed. He dragged me to my feet and held me still as he addressed me in broken English. "Try run away, you die. Yes?"

I didn't answer. A moment passed and something blunt, most likely a fist crashed into my gut. He spoke the sentence again with more force. "Try run away, you die. Yes?"

I shakily nodded, groaning through the gag. The man shoved me forward, keeping a loose grip on my shoulder as we walked. Multiple times I stumbled or tripped, even slipping on a patch of ice. It was freezing without my jacket. My trouble just brought more and more laughs from the posse.

Finally, the ringleader tugged on my shoulder, signaling me to stop. A heavy rumbling came from in front, along with more voices from the same direction. Words were exchanged in a foreign language before the sack was ripped from my head and the gag removed from my mouth. In front of me was a hulking bunker door like a gaping maw under a rotting and decrepit building. To my side was a sizable hole in the wall, though I couldn't see much aside from the outlines of more broken buildings through the snow. A glance down told me I was in thin prison overalls, not dissimilar to those Mal had tied around her waist. No wonder the cold cut through my bones.