A/N: My grave apologies for the lateness in this update. We had an unexpected and horrible blow to my family that has left us reeling. Death is a bear and a beast and at this time of year... quite merciless. However life goes on and on and on and getting back to it is a necessity.
I own only these ideas, the characters and backstory belong to Revolution, NBC Universal etc. Thank you all for your continued support. Seeing the reviews, favorites and followers were bright stars in my recent dark days :-) I hope you enjoy this. Keep the feedback coming. Merry Christmas Eve Eve.
Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan…
Charlotte crept towards consciousness, her mind crawling with extreme resistance. But she was a Matheson. She was a fighter by nature. As she came to, her temple throbbed in protest and it felt like someone was stabbing an icepick into her shoulder. Her arms were bound behind her and she recognized the familiar jostling of being in a wagon.
Next she heard voices, not any she recognized; all male. She slowly opened her eyes. She was in some kind of enclosed wooden carriage. She was in a corner, propped up against a wall. There was a barred window across from her and next to her, as well as one on the door. And she wasn't alone. There was a woman seated across from her, and a man seated next to her. The man was unconscious, and she was relieved that it wasn't Sebastian.
She made eye contact with the woman. Charlie guessed she was in her thirties. Her clothing had clearly seen better days, but looked clean (although worn).
"Where are we going?" she whispered to the other woman.
The woman hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure," she whispered back.
"How long have they had you?"
"Three days."
"What about him?" She nodded at the unconscious man in the corner.
"They picked him up yesterday."
"How long have I been here?"
"It's hard to say. No more than a few hours." Charlotte looked out the window, but all she saw was empty Texas land.
"How many of them are there?"
"Six or so…but I think there are more. When they brought him in here, the wagon stopped just briefly to put him in here. I doubt this wagon was near the location where he was attacked. I was brought to the wagon on horseback- a considerable distance. I think they are kidnapping people and then are bringing them to this wagon. I fear my husband was mortally wounded…otherwise wouldn't he be here with me?" her voice became strained as they spoke of her husband.
"How did they attack you? What happened?"
"They came to our farmhouse, late morning. It's not unusual for travelers to stop in looking for news, or food to purchase. There were two men, pretending to be merchants. Instead they attacked us. My husband fought back and they wounded him badly, left him in the yard! They took me, and now here I am. They have given me water, and some food but I have no clue as to their intentions."
Charlotte turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her wrists were tied and secured to a metal loop in the wagon's wall.
"What's your name?" she finally asked.
"Libby."
"I'm Charlotte but most everyone calls me Charlie." Everybody but one person. Her gut twisted as she wondered where Sebastian was now. "Where are you from?"
"Our farm was forty miles south of Table Rock."
Both women stilled when they felt the wagon come to a stop. They heard the bolt lift before the door was opened. Another woman, about her age with long dark hair was pushed inside and quickly secured to the wall, opposite the unconscious man. Their captor didn't acknowledge their presence at all.
"Where are you taking us?" Charlotte asked evenly.
The man still didn't look at her, and didn't answer her either. He closed the door behind him with a bang. The wagon lurched forward and they were on the move again.
Hours passed. They rode in silence, except for the newest arrival, Jean, who wept silently in the corner. Charlotte wanted to comfort her, but couldn't make promises she couldn't keep. She couldn't say it was going to be all right, that they were going to get out of there. Charlotte had no idea what was in store for them. There was only one way to find out. Wait.
Hours later, she awoke as the clanging of the bolt announced the wagon's heavy door was about to be opened.
The same man entered the wagon and untied the woman across from Charlotte first, and they helped her out of the wagon. Then a few minutes later, he returned alone and then he released her and helped her down, as her hands were still bound behind her back. Each of the captives was then tied to each other with a long rope. They were lead to a round animal pen, and left there with their guard, who was armed with a rifle. And they waited. Two more small groups of prisoners similarly tied together joined them. There were people milling about everywhere, but they didn't pay any attention to them whatsoever, except an occasional quick glance.
Night fell. There was a group of buildings in front of them: one was a large, old fashioned barn. A lower, longer rectangular building looked like it was probably an animal barn. A few smaller houses were off to the side and a large ranch house oversaw the cluster of buildings, along with a shed, and numerous tents were set up everywhere. The whole area was enclosed by a tall wooden fence, with barbed wire on top.
All the captives were brought to the upper level of the large barn which was well-lit with torches. The barn had been converted into an arena, with rows of wooden benches. They were marched into the center and lined up, side by side.
A group of three men sat before them. The first man was black, probably in his 40s, and deceptively slender. Charlie bet that if he was stripped down he was muscled to the core. The second man was a much bigger and younger man-muscled; tanned, with dark hair; he was almost handsome; but his brows and chin had a cruel bent to them. The third man was the oldest of the three, probably her grandfather's age, and it was he who addressed them.
"Welcome, my friends. Welcome to our little kingdom," he smiled widely, revealing yellow stained teeth. "My name is Davis. And this is Reacher," he gestured to the big man, "and Combs," the black man raised his chin slightly as he was introduced. "It is my duty to inform you that by joining our little community, you can earn your freedom. All you gotta do is please your master." She felt the rope slipping from behind her, untethering her from the others but still her hands were bound behind her back.
Charlotte felt her heart beat a little faster. She looked at the two men on either side of Davis. The big man stepped forward, and said in a deep gravelly voice, vacant of emotion, "men to the left, women to the right. Do it. Now. " Charlotte resisted the urge to stay put. A little voice told her to not call attention to herself…yet. She took a few steps to the right and kept her head down, but kept her eyes pinned on Reacher. A few minutes passed as each of the men assessed each of the prisoners. Reacher made eye contact with her, and his eyes narrowed.
"You. Step forward. State your name and occupation."
Charlotte thought quickly. She couldn't very well say she was a rebel. "My name is Christine. I am a teacher." Reacher didn't say anything, but stayed still. Then he stepped forward, and pushed up her sleeve to reveal the mark of the Monroe Republic, the scar that had been branded to her skin those months ago. "Liar," he hissed. "You're no teacher. What's the former capital of Texas?" He barked at her.
"Houston."
"Wrong. It's Austin," he growled, and Charlotte thought he looked and sounded like a wolf. He was just trying to intimidate her.
"I taught kindergarten. Not geography," she vowed not to show him any fear.
He snorted and gave her a look that told her he totally didn't believe a word she'd said.
"Why don't we start with your real name?"
Charlotte didn't say anything. Just looked him straight in the eye and didn't blink.
"All right, we see how you are." The wolf called Reacher looked over at the head guy, Davis. The black guy caught both their attention as he spoke up.
"She could do well in my house. Her youth, her looks," he let the last trail off, and then added, "her spirit."
Davis considered her. "Yes, she might, but I also think you'd have to keep her under considerable control. I'm not sure the investment required would be worth it."
Combs curled his lip. "True. But her looks alone would command a nice price. And I can train anyone. In fact, I would delight in it." And he smiled, a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. It sent a chill down her spine. She looked back to Davis, who spoke after regarding her silently.
"Let us see how she does, Reacher. If she does not perform for you, we can seek out…other arrangements."
Reacher grinned. The three men slowly began dividing up the prisoners until there were three groups. By this time, a small gathering of observers stood by, whispering. They stood together in small groups, talking quietly amongst themselves but it was clear they were talking about the prisoners…and their fates.
The prisoners were tied back together and each group was led away by one of the three men. She noticed the group with Reacher was all men, save herself, and that the group with Combs was all women, except one man. The last group following Davis included Libby. Each group was heading towards a different building. Combs headed towards one of the smaller houses. Davis' group headed towards the large ranch house. Reacher's group took a path around the barn to the bottom level of the large barn they were just in.
Once inside the dark lower level, each prisoner was untied and placed into a box stall. The sliding door was pulled shut and bolted from the outside; and she heard the distinct click of a lock. But there was nothing keeping her from talking to her neighbors. There was nothing in the stall except for a simple cot, and two pails. One was empty, the other had water. The floor was hard packed dirt. The stalls were wooden on three sides, the fourth wall being that of the barn. At chest level, heavy metal bars about four inches apart reached to the ceiling—about nine feet she guessed. She peered into the stall next to her, where a man was stretched out on his cot.
"Pssst," she whispered. "Hey."
The man cracked an eye and looked over at her. He raised an eyebrow and slowly sat up. He was a wiry man, with a heavy beard. He walked over to meet her at the wall that divided them. "Name's Brown. What's yours?"
"I'm Charlie," she answered. "What is this place?"
"You just arrive today?" He didn't answer, but asked a question of his own instead.
"Yes."
"How'd you escape from the fleshmaster?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Nevermind. It's just, well, it's pretty rare we see women here, that's all. But not unheard of."
"What do you mean? Why not?"
"How old are you?" Once again, he asked her a question instead.
"Old enough."
He scoffed. "Uh huh. You ever kill a man?"
What a weird question to ask someone you just met. She was quiet at first, then met his gaze with her own and answered simply, "yes."
Brown let out a big sigh. "Where are your people?"
"I'm not sure. Where are we?"
"You're in Hell, baby. Pure and simple. Hell."
She heard laughing from the other side. She turned to meet the gaze of a younger man, about her age or a little older. "What's so funny?" she snapped.
"You. Can't wait to find out your fate, huh."
"Well it's not every day that I find myself tossed into a wagon and put into a horse stall, so yeah."
"Well, just be glad you didn't go with Combs. At least here, we get to fight back."
"What happens to the people that go with Combs?"
"Were you taken alone, then?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Well it might make it easier to swallow. The women that went with Combs…"
"And there was a man," she interrupted.
He raised his eyebrow at that. "Interesting. Well the people that go with Combs go to become servants in the house of pleasure."
"A whorehouse," added Brown from the other side.
Charlotte gulped. She didn't want to even think about what that vile man had meant about "training" her. "And what happens here?"
"We serve in the house of arms. We fight for the master," he spat. "Reacher. Sometimes here, sometimes we travel…but always…we fight."
"With what?"
"It depends. Each fight is different. Sometimes you fight as a pair, or a team, sometimes alone."
A new voice joined them. "But first we have to see if you are worthy, Charlie." It was Reacher, approaching from down the aisle. "This may not work out, and if you can be better served with Combs, you will go there instead. So rest up. Tomorrow we will see what you are made of."
Charlie felt her blood run cold. Reacher laughed as he left the barn and slid the outer door shut with a heavy thud. The darkness swallowed her.