Escape from capture
1279 Words
Eve hung by her wrists from rusted chains bolted to the ceiling. Blood dripped slowly from her nose, her lip, her scalp. She was naked. Cold. Her body a brutal canvas of bruises, cuts, and swelling. A single flickering bulb above cast jagged shadows across the concrete floor, where stains told the stories of others who hadn’t made it out.
Hakim, the leader of the militia cell, paced in front of her like a lion circling its prey.
“You think you’re strong,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. “But you’re broken already. Your silence doesn’t protect your team. It damns them.”
He gestured. Two guards came forward, one gripping a car battery with cables. The other had a plastic bag and a water jug. They were efficient now. Rehearsed.
The waterboarding came first. Eve’s head was forced back as the wet towel was pulled over her face and the jug poured. Gasping was met with gagging. Coughing with slaps. She writhed, her body bucking against the chains. They pulled the towel off just before she passed out.
Next came the electric probes—first on her thighs, then under her arms, then between her legs.
She screamed once. Only once. More a snarl than anything human.
Hakim wiped sweat from his brow with a stained rag and stepped closer. “Enough of this. We give you chance now. One chance.” He held up a battered satellite phone. “Call your team. Tell them to stop attacking us. Tell them we have you. Or more blood will be spilled.”
Eve didn’t respond. Her mouth barely worked.
He knelt down, shoved the phone to her lips, pressed dial.
“This channel’s open. Call your commander. Speak.”
The line crackled.
Eve blinked slowly. Forced her swollen lips to part. The voice on the other end was distorted—military encoded frequency.
“Hello? Identify yourself—over.”
Hakim leaned in close, hand on her throat.
Eve inhaled. “Tell… Raven…” she rasped. Her voice was wreckage, a whisper laced with agony. “Tell… Raven… now…”
A pause. She coughed wetly. “Confirm… extraction…”
Hakim grinned. “Good girl.” He nodded and cut the call, tossing the phone aside.
But he hadn’t noticed the timing of her pauses, the strange rhythm to her words.
Not random.
Morse code.
To trained ears:
“Captured. Trap. Rescue.”
30 kilometers west — Forward Ops Van
Raven stared at the signal log. His eyes narrowed.
“Play that back,” he ordered. The tech rewound the transmission.
“Tell… Raven… now… confirm… extraction…”
Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. Pause. Long tap.
Rodriguez leaned in. “You hearing it too?”
“She’s talking in Morse.” Raven’s blood chilled. “It’s a trap. She’s giving us the location.”
Diesel loaded his mag with calm precision. “And we’re going in anyway?”
Raven gave a grim nod. “Hell yes, we are.”
The night sky erupted.
Explosions rocked the perimeter walls as the strike team moved in fast. Suppressed fire hissed through the air. Flashbangs burst through windows. Screams rose, followed by automatic fire.
Eve stirred as the blasts echoed. Pain arced through her spine. She barely had time to brace as the cell door burst inward.
“EVE!” Raven’s voice.
Two of the guards raised weapons. Raven dropped both with clean, silenced shots.
Rodriguez ran in behind him, checking corners. “Clear!”
Raven rushed to Eve, cutting the chains with bolt cutters. She collapsed into his arms, skin fever-hot, breathing shallow.
“You held out,” he murmured. “You crazy, stubborn—”
“I told you,” Eve wheezed, “not to be late.”
Raven smirked. “You’re welcome.”
Suddenly, outside the door—gunfire. Screams. Then a shout.
Diesel’s voice over comms: “Contact—north wall! We’re losing ground!”
“s**t,” Rodriguez snapped, dragging Eve to her feet. “We gotta move—now.”
The walls were burning. Black smoke filled the hallways as the militia fought back harder than expected. Bullets screamed through plaster. Civilians screamed.
Diesel was returning fire near a corridor when a hidden explosive detonated beside him.
Boom.
The concussion rocked the hallway. Rodriguez lunged forward. “Diesel!”
But Diesel was already down. Torn apart. Blood everywhere.
“Go!” Raven shouted, dragging Eve through another door.
Eve, dazed but moving, shoved past him toward the sound of screaming.
A room—caged civilians. Women and children. Some half-starved, others bleeding.
Eve looked at Raven. “We’re not leaving them.”
He cursed under his breath. “Okay. Rodriguez—cover!”
Rodriguez popped smoke grenades. “I got you!”
Eve limped forward, unlocking cages, guiding women out. “Stay low. Hold hands. Follow my voice.”
A guard came at her from the smoke—AK raised.
No time to think.
She ducked under the barrel, grabbed his wrist, twisted, and slammed her knee into his groin. As he dropped, she grabbed his own knife from his belt and buried it in his neck. He gurgled and dropped.
Blood sprayed her chest. She didn’t flinch.
Just as they reached the open, Hakim stepped into their path. Drenched in blood, teeth bared, pistol aimed directly at Eve.
Raven ducked behind wreckage. Out of ammo.
Hakim’s voice was guttural, seething: “You ruined everything.”
Eve stepped forward, limping, arms shaking. “Let the women go. You and me. That’s it.”
He laughed. “You think you’re still strong?”
Eve didn’t answer. She launched herself forward, bare hands on the pistol, knocking it aside. The shot missed by inches. She drove her elbow into his jaw, then her knee into his thigh.
Hakim slammed her into the wall, but Eve didn’t stop. She bit his shoulder, tore his ear, fought like an animal. He headbutted her. She staggered—but pivoted, wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed.
They struggled. His fingers clawed at her wounds.
Then: crack.
He dropped.
Raven stared. “Jesus Christ.”
Eve wiped blood from her mouth.
The evac chopper descended through flames and smoke.
Raven, Eve, and the surviving team loaded civilians inside first. Rodriguez followed, blood soaking his pants—he’d been hit, but stayed silent.
The helicopter lifted off.
Below, the compound burned. Screams and gunfire faded into the roar of the blades.
Eve sat slumped against the wall, wrapped in a blanket. Blood crusted her skin. Her hands trembled, though she tried to hide it.
She looked at Raven. “Diesel’s gone.”
He nodded. Said nothing.
Rodriguez stared ahead, vacant.
As the chopper hummed, Eve’s eyes drifted closed.
And the memories came.
Flashback:
A foster home kitchen. Eve, nine years old, hands trembling as a man loomed closer. His breath reeked of whiskey. “Don’t cry. Be good and I’ll be gentle.”
Flash.
Another home. A woman yelling: “Ungrateful b***h! You’re lucky we feed you!”
Flash.
Maya’s laugh echoing in a high school hallway as students passed around a phone. “You actually thought he liked you?” Maya said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “He was dared to kiss the freak.”
Flash.
Now.
The chopper jerked. Eve’s eyes snapped open, breath caught in her throat. The h
um of the rotors, the wind in her hair, the taste of blood and fire still lingering on her tongue.
She was back, But not whole, Never whole.
Just breathing, Just surviving, For now
She was back, But not whole, Never whole.
Just breathing, Just surviving, For now.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD