KEITH
Tick tock.
The white circle clock they placed above the door tick. Ten seconds passed. Six knocks came. Dawson proceed in tying the stretchable black rope from his emergency bag to the ledge in the window. I was careful, mindful, not to graze her wounds when I carried her in my arms. Her scars and bruises. So deep and purple colored its pain must have extended far down into her bones.
Signs of burns made visible on her chest and forearms. I grit my teeth. What in the devil do they want from her?
Tick tock.
“Son? What’s wrong? Open up!” The ophthalmologist bang his fist in the door, shaking its surface. His two companion joined, now it’s rattling the hinges to giving out. Dawson lowered the other end of the rope down to the room below. I tied the girl on my back, using the safety belt I recycled from the abandon car we saw on our way here.
“Dawson? Is it ready?” Dawson shakes his head.