“Where are you taking us?” Sadie asks.
I turn and see her guard is the man who offered us blankets and checked on Tati. I think of him as the “nice guard,” but nice is a very relative term with this crew. He is nicer, but still a monster. Still loading women onto a ship like cargo.
“Shut up,” the man holding me spits back at her. “You don’t deserve to ask questions.”
Just as he finishes, a woman at the back of the group screams, and I hear the guard scramble after her.
It’s the catatonic woman. She never said a word in the cell, but now she is shrieking and running across the dock like a madwoman.
At least, it certainly looks like she will escape. She’s running too fast for anyone to catch and no one is chasing after her.
Only when the sound of gunfire cracks through the air do I rea
