10
When I come to, I’m seeing orange. Blaze orange. An orange so
bright it almost hurts my eyes to look at it.
My head hurts. But then, that’s not
surprising considering the sucker punch those bearded bastards snuck in on me.
My eyes suddenly regain focus and I realize the blaze orange I’m staring at is
myself. Rather, the baggy jumper that’s been placed over my own clothing.
While several pieces of thick duct
tape gag my mouth, my hands are bound behind my back with one of those plastic
ties soldiers and riot police use to neutralize violent offenders. My ankles
are bound with an identical plastic tie. I’m lying on my side on a damp stone
floor, fetal position, my eyes focused on my thighs and knees. The floor smells
like piss. In fact, straightening myself out, and shifting
