CHAPTER 2His muscles were aching and sore and he felt sick to his stomach.
His eyes wouldn’t focus at first and he stayed flat on his mattress and stared at the hazy outlines of the room. It was a funny kind of hospital. Nobody had bandaged his cuts—they were still caked with blood—and he still had on the same torn clothes that smelled of sweat and dirt.
Where had the man taken him?
He shook his head, trying to make out the details of the room, and his vision cleared a little.
The room didn’t even come close to a hospital. It was more like a jail. There was the cot that he was sitting on and the washbasin and the flush bowl and the barred door at the entrance. Nothing else. No windows, no desk, no calendar, nothing. Just a small cell of gray, featureless metal.
He stood up, holding on
