Liberty Run

Chapter Nine

Ohhhhhh! Her aching head!

“She’s comin’ around!” a voice yelled.

Bertha slowly opened her eyes. Acute agony racked her, spreading from her forehead to her chin.

“She’s awake!”

Bertha grit her teeth and turned her head, seeking the speaker. The last thing she remembered was falling into the damn pit. She found herself on a wooden table, flat on her back, her hands and feet securely bound. A sticky sensation prickled her forehead and face.

The table was surrounded.

There were over a dozen of them, kids of varying ages, boys and girls, all dressed in rags, all filthy.

Bertha blinked several times, wondering if she was dreaming. She could see a lantern hanging on a wall next to a closed door, and she realized she must be in the cabin.

“About time you woke up!” declared the oldest boy in the room. He was about 16, and wore a crudely fashioned, torn brown shirt and shredded jeans. His hair was red, his eyes green.

Bertha went to reply, but the mere act of moving her lips sparked an intense spasm in her head.

“I told you she’s been hurt bad,” said the eldest girl, a youth of 14 or 15 with stringy brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a patched, lopsided green shift.

“So what?” the oldest boy retorted. “Hunters are scum! She deserves what she got.”

Bertha managed to elevate her head several inches from the table top.

“Who… are you?” she mumbled.

The youngsters stepped back at the sound of her voice.

“Shut your mouth, Hunter!” the oldest boy barked.

“Hunter? I’m not hunting game,” Bertha said. She closed her eyes as vertigo engulfed her.

“Game?” said one of the younger children, a girl of five or six. “Can we play a game?”

“Shut up, Milly!” the oldest boy ordered.

“Don’t talk to Milly like that, Cole!” interjected the eldest girl.

“Butt out, Libby,” Cole rejoined.

All of them began arguing at once, their commingled voices rising, filling the cabin with their clamorous dispute.

Bertha was too woozy to comprehend their squabbling. She rested her head on the table and closed her eyes. What was going on here? she asked herself. She’d been captured by a bunch of kids!

Someone prodded her on the left shoulder.

Bertha twisted to her left.

A young boy, not much over ten years of age, with long blond hair and big blue eyes, smiled at her. “Are you a Hunter?” he inquired in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m a Warrior,” Bertha answered.

“What’s a Warrior?” he wanted to know.

Bertha tried to answer, but her mouth refused to open. She grimaced as a throbbing twinge pierced her skull.

“What’s a Warrior?” the boy repeated.

Bertha’s eyelids fluttered, and she sank back, unconscious.