Apartment 905, Ned Sahin [books to read for 13 year olds .TXT] 📗

my back, and the right side of my face slams to the ground. Someone else does the same to Kathleen. They take our backpacks off and throw them away. Then they cuff our hands.

“Move, move!” a red-faced militia member says while forcing a cuffed protestor walk in front of him through the alley.

The militias who cuffed us pull us up from our arms. They drag us to the main street among other protestor and militia pairs. We walk over people with bullet holes on their bodies lying in their own blood. The color of the letters on their torn banners is now dark red.

We are taken to one of the armored buses. At least twenty protestors are chained on the seats. They force us to sit in the back of the bus and lock chains into our cuffs.

“Ready!” a militia says while walking toward the driver. The driver pushes a button to close the sliding door. The bus slowly moves, bumping over the bodies of protestors along the main street.

We get on the Bay Bridge. This is the bridge that I was ecstatic to see a few hours ago. We are now going in the opposite direction with bruises on our faces and chains around our bodies.

“You’re okay?” I ask Kathleen as she sits on the other side of the aisle. She has bruises on her forehead and blood in her hair.

“Yeah… We should have used the gun…” she says.

“It would be a deadly mistake,” I respond. We wouldn’t be able to fight back against an influx of militia with one gun.

We arrive at a two-story building right next to the ugly structure we saw earlier in the day. I wonder if Crypto is still here. We could use his help.

Starting from the front seats, two militias unchain the protestors starting from the front seats.

“One by one!” they say. One of the militias pushes an elderly man out of the bus. They continue to unchain and move people. Once they unchain us, we stand up and walk toward the door before they even lay their hands on us.

We follow others in a straight line into the building. The militia takes us down to the basement. We enter a poorly lighted corridor with numerous cells on both sides.

“Where is my lawyer! You can’t keep us here!” somebody yells from his cell.

“Let us go!” another one says while trying to extend his hand to hit one of the militias.

I see several prisoners sleeping on the floor. They don’t even bother opening their eyes when people yell. Who knows how long they have been kept here for?

“At least give us new masks and move the dead!” a man yells from another cell.

I look at the people lying on the floor again. They are not sleeping. They are dead.

The militia pushes me, Kathleen, and three others into a small cell with two people already inside. These conditions are beyond even the standards in a dictatorship regime.

“Get your hands off me!” I push the militia’s hand before entering the cell.

“What are you charging us with?” Kathleen asks. One of the militia men looks at her and smiles.

We sit on the floor in the back corner of the cell, but it’s impossible to leave distance from the other five people sharing the cell with us. I can feel their breath right above us. We fold our legs to put some space between us and lock our arms on our knees to somehow cover our faces.

The militia leaves the basement and closes the door. I can see at least fifty people in the cells. They look hungry, terrified, and sick.

Many of them are coughing. Some look too weak to even stand or talk. The new arrivals like us keep checking around to find a way to escape. I don’t even bother about it. The railing is from floor to ceiling and there are only small fenced windows.

I lift my head and turn to Kathleen. “This is not the end…” I say.

She glances at me and nods before putting her head back behind her arms.

After several hours, two militias show up at the door. They throw canned dog food to the cells. People go loud again. Some of them throw the cans back to them. I am not against eating dog food if it makes the difference between life and death. The nutrition in dog food can keep one alive even if the taste is not very desirable.

Once I see one of the militias getting close to our cell, I stand up and bump others around to go to the front side.

“Find Crypto and say Battle Mountain. Please…” I say to him.

He gives me a confused look, then he switches back to his dull face and rolls his eyes to the corridor.

Crypto is our only hope to get out of this hole before we get sick. I hope this militia carries the message.

I go back to the corner. Kathleen looks at me as I sit next to her.

“I hope it works…” she says.

One of the prisoners, who was in the cell before we arrived, starts coughing. It gets intense quickly that he can’t cover his face with his hands because of the strong waves coming from his abdomen.

“Get away from me, prick!” One of the new arrivals pushes him toward us. He tries to hold onto others, but they move away quickly, leaving him in free fall. He falls on Kathleen, making her scream and rush behind me. I push the guy as fast as I can, but the saliva from his coughs land on our faces before he drops to the side. He lies down on the floor and stays there a few seconds while trying to find the strength to get on his knees and hands. We wipe our faces with our sleeves right away, but it might be too late.

“Sorry… Sor…” He coughs again. Kathleen leans her face on my shoulder while trying to hold herself from crying. I circle my arm around her