A/N I went a bit crazy while writing this chapter... it sort of went off on weird tangents. I hope you like the chapter anyway, i think that the obscureness of some of the things here demonstrate how tired and hungry Clara is. If you think it works, or if you think it really doesn't fit for her character, then please say so so that I can rethink the fifth chapter, which is already in motion. Hoping to get it up soon, however i have exams coming and so writing time is limited. This is quite a long chapter, i wanted to get lots done in it! enjoy (I hope)! x

Chapter 4

We feel free when we escape - even if it be but from the frying pan to the fire.

Eric Hoffer

I, being the second smallest, but much older than the actual smallest, sat at the foot of the door: my eyes trained on the thin slit of light that breathed through into the van as our only lifeline. My job was to keep out of sight at the right moment, then slide the end of Blue's belt into the hinge of the door. Hopefully, it would stop the door from properly closing, and would allow us to make a run for it. The rest would then huddle close to me, so as to make it look like we were scared and huddling like penguins away from the cold.

After what could only have been a few hours the light was dimming, and we were all huddling close together, now from the real cold that had set in. The van was still rumbling away along bumpy ground, and so were our stomachs. There is being peckish, then there's hunger, then there's real hunger, and what we were feeling was closer to real hunger rather than the exaggerated one people overuse.

How long since food?

How long until food?

Food?

Food's a funny word. Fooooooooood. Who thought of the word food? Why is it called food? Why not, 'Numpy nom nom stuff yum'?

'What?' It was Blue. I had said 'numpy nom nom stuff yum?' out loud. Her voice was croaky from lack of water, and I realised that mine sounded the same. Even dwelling on the thought of any type of edible anything was an exertion of energy, and I was shivering already anyway.

'erh, nothin''

Silence, apart from a low brumbahdrrumrumb of the engine.

I need food or I will completely lose my mind.

Who am I?

That's one of the questions that many people think they can answer. The truth was very few of them really do know, they just think that their name is who they are, where they live and who their parents are. So I know one of those. Sure, I know my mother's name before she got married, but who to? My father? Who was he? A person is not their name, it is how they are, and why. So who am I? I suppose I am lost. Lost from the people that I have distant, obscure memories of, that wizz around my brain, flitting in and out from behind trees, daring only to be seen for just enough time for my brain to recognise that something is there. Like a rabbit in the autumn, darting into its burrow from fear of detection by a predator. So which of the two am I? Am I the rabbit or the hawk? I hope neither, but something.

But wait, I could have sworn the not too long ago, maybe a day ago, I could remember more. There used to be a full name, where now only one remained. There used to be a place, now just a vision of grey. There used to be more. Why not still? There are too many questions, and too little information to supply any evidence of ever have known the answers. Is it possible to know something, but not know you know it, and then when you have need of the thing, you remember that you do know it? Is it possible to forget something you know you know when you need it? Is the brain like a poorly organised filing cabinet, that everyone is putting of reordering? If so, what does my filing cabinet look like now? Has it fallen over? Or has it gone on holiday to Australia, where Alice said the people waked upside down?

I'm not sure asking more questions is the best way to figure out, or at least distract from, my situation – especially when I can't remember the last time I ate.

Sleep came, and when it did it was welcome, and I was too tired to dream, and I was too hungry to want to, and I was too thirsty to care.

I awoke suddenly to Ana shaking me by the shoulders.

'Hey!' How can someone seem to be shouting but actually are whispering? 'Hey, wake up! We've stopped.' It was true, we had indeed stopped. She pulled me a bit towards the side of the van, and we both crouched there with the others. I was to be closest to the van doors to keep to the plan, Blue was by my side, and the others huddled close to her, looking frightened. Beside us, on the other side of the van wall, we heard voices:

'Waddaya say we just throw is at 'em, and see what happens?' This voice was high pitched for a male, and I pictured some weedy guy with little hair, and a huge long red nose.

'Are you really as brain dead as you look? We can't do that, they'll look a mess when we get there, and then it'll be us in the back, on our way to hell.' This one was deeper, and much more threatening, but still, not particularly clever-sounding.

'At least it'd be warm – it's fuckin' freezing.' The first one muttered 'And anyway, they're a mess already. How about givin' them a small bit, and then seeing them beg for more?'

'shut it.'

So we waited. And we heard their footsteps behind us. And they were at the doors. And blue took off her belt and gave it to me and I sat on it. And their hands were on the doors. 'You got the stuff?' grunted the bigger sounding one.

'Yeh.'

'Oi, you lot better be away from those doors. We're armed if you try making any moves. Gottit?' We all assumed he was addressing us in the van, and none of us spoke. 'OK. One, two, three—' He opened the door whose hinges we had been so relying on, and cringed away from the shocking light that felt like some unearthly beauty, welcoming us to our possibly only chance of escape. I had my hand on the belt, and being very close to the hinge, slotted it into the hinge in a movement that looked like I was trying to shuffle away from the door, like I was using the wall to push myself away. The belt remained hidden from sight.

The door was only open for a matter of seconds, and in those seconds a box and a bottle were thrown in. The box rattled and sounded like there was plastic inside it, the bottle cracked as is hit the floor, but no liquid spilled, I suppose it was just the plastic crunching from the impact. As soon as they hit the floor of our prison, the door slammed shut.

As most of us sat stock still to try and make out any footsteps leaving the back of the van, and back into the cab, Blondie leapt towards the food, and started shaking the box and trying to see what it kept hidden from us. The box contained some sort of biscuit or flatbread, 12 to be exact, and the bottle held water, but there was nowhere near enough for us all to have as much as we all wanted, and needed. The belt was still in the hinge, but the van hadn't started moving yet. Why were we not moving? So many questions, so few answers. Was that line familiar? Maybe they'd gone to the toilet. I definitely needed to. I think I might have in the first van… embarrassing… well, everyone else must've! I mean, surely… right?

I moved over to the doors, grudgingly averting my gaze from the food. There was a small crack in the shut door where there wasn't before – so far so good. The doors had slammed shut hard, but it seems the belt is fine, and the doors are only just latched. Ana came up behind me, and nodded when I pointed at the crack. Our plan was working. We listened hard to hear what was going on outside, the small amount of visibility outside not enough to see the two men, but enough to see our surroundings. We were on a tarmacked road, and on either side of it were talk trees mounting up a very steep hill, and a sign warning floods. There was no noise of any other cars going past, and soon we heard that two men trudge back to the cab. Their doors slammed, and as soon as we had stopped, we lurched, and my head banged against the door, swinging it wide open.

Ana only just caught me by my T shirt, as my head wacked hers, pulling us both back into the van. The door was hanging open, and we tried to hold it there. Had they noticed?

My head was bleeding, and the blood dripped down my face, neck, and onto my exposed shoulder. I held the cut, and blood covered my fingers. It didn't hurt much, and the blood was like paint. I'd paint an apple. I could do with an apple. Ana was saying something to me, but I was mesmerised. I licked my hand, it tasted… good? Well I suppose anything would. The metallic taste lingered, and then it was gone. I looked up, my eyes meeting the faces of my fellow prisoners, and there can only be one word for how they all looked. Weirded out. I shrugged, and Ana motioned for Blue to hold the door while she used her sleeve to mop up the blood from my forehead. It stung, and I winced every time the wrist of her hoodie was pushed to my skin.

I pushed her away, whispering 'No, I'm fine, really.', and we both turned to Blue, who was still holding the doors, with Blondie on the other one. Huh, we didn't even have to ask her. Maybe Blue did.

We all sat there, as time matched the roll of the ground away from us and we watched it. We all stared at the black ribbon running so very fast out from underneath the van, and then gradually slowing down. It felt as if the ground was moving, not us. And we stayed there. Still. All of us breathing in unison, and the road moving, and the doors swinging. It was there: our escape. But none of us made it. Was I scared? No. Was I bleeding? Yes, but that's not the point. The truth was that at that point none of us was ever going to jump, until: 'why aren't we jumping?' It was the little girl that hadn't spoken yet. Her voice was so small, like she was in a dream, only just awake. It was beautiful. This little girl, probably no more than eight years old, now that I saw her face properly, was the only that made me do it.

I leapt. I leapt like I was a leopard, flying through the air, hands in front of me and eyes looking straight ahead. Right behind me was Ana; I heard her thump crash down beside me after I landed. Then I was running back towards the van, reaching out for the girl. Blue jumped and landed on her side, and as Ana helped her to her feet, the van was rolling fast away from me, and my legs were numb from all the inactivity. It was like I could run for miles and miles, but the legs that carried me tripped and stumbled underneath me from the speed that I was trying to keep. Ana was fast, faster than me, and as she ran alongside me we both matched each other in pace – our feet slamming against the ground simultaneously. Both our arms were paddling up through the air, and then reaching for the back of the van, and then I was holding only Ana's top as she held onto to metal, and Blondie's shoes had come off, and she rolled out of the back, hitting Ana and knocking her grip, but I helped push her back, and then both of us were trying to show the girl that we'd catch her – help her – hold her – that she would be safe, and away from the van. She was backing away, and I was desperate; she couldn't stay there. Too innocent, too perfect, her dark hair flying madly around her in the buffeting of the air. I screamed above the roar of the wind and the engine and my own heavy breathing 'PLEASE!'. And with the realisation of what I had just done, I was surprised the trees flying past didn't all stop immediately. Instead they slowed at the same rate as the van.