Where Hope Remains _A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller by Ronald Williams

Author:Ronald Williams [Williams, Ronald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

After Benton left, Bill felt like he was almost all the way back at square one. His pants and boxers had been left behind when he’d been moved. He hoped that the MPs hadn’t found the stash of matches and coffee that he’d hidden. He wasn’t sure what they’d make of it. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he’d been keeping those items himself. Off and on he thought that in a pinch, if he could get his hands free he’d have a chance to throw the instant coffee into somebody’s eyes to give him a momentary advantage.

In his new position, hands cuffed behind him, ankles cuffed around the pipe, he knew he’d have a hell of a time getting into the MRE Benton had left him. He’d be able to work the packets open, probably dump or squeeze the contents on the ground, then wriggle around to get his face into it, like an animal. Not to mention Benton had pissed all over Bill, so the floor around him was wet with it. The thought of eating food off that concrete turned his stomach almost as much as whatever Benton had been putting into his tainted meals. Bill was sure that soon enough, he’d be hungry enough to not care, but he hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

He still had the small piece of brass from the zipper pull on his jeans in his mouth. He spit it out, and by a series of creative twists that put his legs into a really uncomfortable position around the pipe, Bill was able to pick it up, then get his hands close to the gap in the concrete floor he’d been using to grind the metal down. He put all thoughts of everything but that zipper pull out of his mind. He just kept on grinding and grinding at it, narrowing and rounding it.

The pain in his fingers was excruciating as he worked. He’d done quite a number on his fingers just getting the pull off the tab. But the process of grinding it against the concrete while awkwardly twisted around on his side, his hands still cuffed back behind him all put a lot of stress on his arms, from fingers to shoulders. He was starting to seriously abrade his wrists when he saw the faint glow of distant light. He had to do something with the pick he was making. He set it on the floor and flopped around, trying to get to where he could get it back into his mouth quickly, but without accidentally rolling or sliding over it and knocking it completely out of reach.

By the time Benton arrived, as usual with an MP in tow, Bill had managed to get the pull tucked back into his cheek. Bill opted to remain silent again, for fear of either sounding odd or accidentally dropping the pick from his cheek, or swallowing it. Benton delivered his usual, beating, using the cuffs to wrench Bill’s arms into painful stress positions, threats, insults, kicks, burns with a cigar.

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