Georgia Walking

Georgia Walking chapter 1

She could see the snares set up to trigger the alarm for intruders. She had no problem noticing security guarding the perimeters and rooftops although they were supposed to be out of sight. And most of all, she had no trouble setting off the silent warning and having the barrel of multiple riffles pointed at her. "You better have a reason to be here," someone scuffed.

The next thing she knew she was dragged inside the walls of the old hospital. Wiping the smug smile of her face was something that didn't come easy to her but she tried her best to not look like she thought it was all a joke. Most eyes turned as the guard dragged her through the building. A girl, maybe twenty or so, locked eyes with the misfortunate prisoner. Partly forced, mostly thrown, she was placed in a chair in the middle of an old cell. Most likely used for mental patients, it held an odd smell and uncomfortable feeling. She had to admit it was getting sort of creepy as the doors were locked and she left to herself in the dark.

What felt like a couple of hours, judging by the sunlight through the small window, passed before the large metal door slid open again. An intimidating man stepped into the damp room. He carried a toolbox which probably contained objects meant to make an individual talk. There wasn't much desire to really find out though. "Basic questions. You can't just walk around places like these and expect to be welcomed like family," the man said. His voice was scruffy and filled with pure hatred. "Who send you?"

"I have been on my own for five years!" she couldn't completely cover the irony and entertainment in her tone. It didn't go unnoticed and a flat hand collided with her cheek. She could feel the sting in her bones and the small trickle of blood as the force had split her skin open slightly.

"This," the man reached for her cuffed hand, "didn't go undetected!" He lifted the sleeve of her leather jacket to reveal the Militia 'M' mark that stood permanently branded into her skin. "Maybe you would like to have it matched with a t for traitor as well missy."

The girl took a deep breath. "In the time that I was on my own, I was indeed branded by the Militia. But only because they caught me and forced me into a minor training camp. It's probably something you wouldn't know about because it happens around New York and you sit here in your bunker hiding from the real danger." That comment landed her another hit across the face. Her head whipped to the side and she thought about keeping the smartass answers for herself for a while. This might be a shit hole in comparison to the outdoor meadows and freedom she was used to but at least she wasn't the one killing anyone.

"Are you saying you ran away from the Militia army?" now surprised and perhaps interested in her accomplishment.

"Well I'm here aren't I," she let the words slip before realizing the double meaning it could have. Making a mental note she was no good during an interrogation, the pain of her flesh getting cut open filled her mind. She dared to look down only when the knife was out of her skin. In the palm of her hand stood a 'T' for traitor in fresh blood. "What was that for? I'm not with the Militia! I can prove it." The man hit her again.

He looked down at his innocent appearing victim. They had already stripped her off her backpack, sword and gun. She could see them lying in the corner of the room. 'Yes, leave the deadly weapon in the same room as your prisoner.' She thought to herself. The crocked smile that came so natural to her appeared again. Pain from the blows to her head and her hand, not forgetting about the random whips he let loose on her legs and arms with a thin rope began to cramp her muscles. "How would you like to do that?"

"Let me see someone. Miles," she replied with a staggering breath. The man huffed but looked almost more uncertain then before after she mentioned his name. He then took the benefit of the doubt, seeing he had actually beaten his target quite hard already, and undid the cuffs around her ankles. Her hands however stayed tied. She was lead through a few hallways and doors. Agonising muffles filling the damp air around them. With every step, the sunlight became clearer and the stuffy feeling left when she entered a large hall.

The man motioned her to stay put and for once she decided to listen. It wasn't like she was in the shape to run anyway. "Miles, the prisoner wants to prove she isn't with the Militia. Apparently you can help her with that," doubt was obvious in his tone.

All eyes turned to her. The hall was full of people practising hand to hand combat fighting. The man stood beside Miles who was looking over some sort of map and other sheets filled with plans. His facial hair needed some shaving as it was an ugly sort of scruff and his eyes bore the impression of being angry with the world and sleep deprived. He hung his shoulders and turned only when someone in the hall had spoken.

"You beat a teenage girl for information!" It was the girl who had looked at her when she was dragged in. The Captain gave her a sympathetic look as if telling her he was sorry she had to see it.

"I don't need anyone's permission to see him," the prisoner spoke from her dark spot. Weapons were dropped to the side of their bodies as most didn't believe she had spoken to him like that. The guard who had delivered the pathetic excuse for a Militia spy was about to object and possibly put her in her place when she continued. "Hi Dad."