Chapter 20:
The Wake Up
Sawyer slowly batted his eyes open, trying to adjust to the rain that was beating down in his face. He couldn't remember what had happened, or where he was for that matter. Suddenly it kicked in, Abigail. The Others must have taken her. He could hear a faint mumbling near him. But he couldn't make out what it was that they were saying. He tried to use his hands to position him up to have a look around. His hands were bound securely together, which made his plans useless. Guess Abigail wasn't the only one taken. He grumbled trying to get up again. Hoping that this time he could help himself.
Getting up he looked around the wooded area that he called his bed for the past hour. The two men were still talking to each other not noticing that Sawyer had moved from the ground. The rain was loudly beating against the trees and green leaves that sheltered the jungle.
Should I run? Should I hide? Should I stay? I guess if she were still alive, they'd probably be torturing her. I'm not a hero kind of guy, remember that James. I'm not the good guy here. That's not me. Get that thought out of your head. You're not warm and fuzzy you're evil. You have nothing to offer anyone. You're nobody and you don't matter. Why should you care? Well she did, after all save me.
He sighed as he finally reached a decision. But how could he manage to rescue both, her and himself. He wiggled around furiously trying to get himself up on his knees. But his plans were sure soon to change.
A tanned brown hand was firmly placed on Sawyer's shoulder making him remain where he was. The hand was strong and willful. His arm was still wounded and he still felt the effects that came with it. He turned his head slowly to see who it was. The face of the man resembled the color of the hand, which could scare anyone that would come in contact with. His brows black and stern, he knew that the look he was receiving was serious. His upper body was insanely in-tone. Sawyer calculated in his head that he probably spent most of his time doing just that, working out.
Sawyer's attention shifted to that of three more men. They were carrying a somewhat large item in their arms. It was covered in a brown sheet that had stains of both blood and dirt. It wasn't until after they unrolled it that he knew what it was.
Abigail. Her face was badly bruised, worse than the time she came for help the first time. Her nose bloodied from an apparent break. Her lips chapped and stained with blood and blisters. Her skin was black in several places, not because of bruises but because of what appeared to be burns. Her hands and feet were hog-tied and was starting to wear red soars on her wrists and ankles. Her hands no longer looked as delicate as he once remembered. They were coarse and rough as the rope that held her tight in the position. Whimpering, she laid in the dirt as the men advanced toward Sawyer.