Prisoner

I shivered, rubbing my arms with my hands as Harry waited impatiently by the door of the cabin. It had begun to snow lightly as I waited there, and I knew it was just a matter of time before hypothermia would set in for us.

Maybe the person wouldn't come to the door? Or maybe it they did, it was some dangerous criminal. I closed my eyes thinking of the possibilities as I felt the cold metal of my pistol against my palm in my pocket.

But soon, the door opened slowly and a middle-aged woman hesitantly poked her head out. I had to strain my eyes to see her, since I was so far away. I could make out a figure standing behind her, an assault rifle in his hands.

"Hello," Harry said softly, trying to show her that it was alright. "I'm Harry, and I know it's not the best time, but could my friends and I stay the night? We're traveling and have no place to wait out the night." His teeth chattered as he spoke. His back was tense, and I could tell he was nervous.

The woman looked Harry up and down suspiciously."You escaped prisoners?" she asked.
I held my breath. This could be dangerous. If Harry told her that he was indeed an escaped prisoner, it could be dangerous for all of us. We didn't know who the hell this woman was, but I guess we were faced with the prospect of death either way we turned.

I saw Harry hesitate, but then nod reluctantly.

A moment of silence passed between the woman and Harry, but soon she opened the door a little more smiling invitingly, and waved away the man with the rifle. I breathed a sigh of relief as Harry turned around, motioning for us to come closer. Louis helped Niall hobble up to the door and I put my weapon away.

As I began walking towards the cabin, I heard a noise behind me. Turning, I stared into the falling darkness, but it was quiet. I gave the shadows one last look before going inside.
"I'm Heather," the woman said. I noticed that she only had one arm, and immediately felt pity. Later I learned that it had to be amputated because of an infection. "and this is my daughter Annette." She motioned to a little blonde girl sitting by the fireplace. My mind immediately wandered back to the dead little girl back at the FEMA camp and my little sister back home. I chewed my lip, trying to keep back the tears.

"Over there are Denis and his grandson Zayn." My eyes wandered over to an old man sitting next to the little girl, then to a tense-jawed man that looked to be in his early twenties who was polishing the assault rifle I had seen him holding at the door. I nodded politely, too worn out to form words as Harry took the honor of introducing our little group.

Annette rose from her seat, walking over to me. She smiled up at me, showing a large gap where her front teeth had come out. She silently took my hand, and led me over to where she had been sitting. I felt like crying.

"I'm six. How old are you?" She asked me. Her voice was angelic, and her long blonde hair flowed around her shoulders like a cape. She was beautiful; just like my own sister.

"I-I'm nineteen." I struggled to speak, and I looked up at where Harry was standing. He met my eyes, giving me a sympathetic smile. He knew what I was feeling.

I made a silent promise that I would protect Annette. Even though I was only going to be there for one night, I was going to protect her from the evils that surrounded that little cabin.
"Are you okay?" Harry's voice suddenly whispered in my ear. I jumped, being violently thrown from my thoughts and back into reality.

I slowly nodded, not taking my eyes off Annette as she doodled in the ashes on the hearth.
I felt Harry suddenly take my hand, the action managing to take my gaze away from the girl. His larger hand engulfed mine in warmth immediately.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you the other night. I was a douche, and I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. "Will . . . will you forgive me?"

I smiled tiredly. "We have to stick together, right? We're all each other has," I whispered back.

He cracked a smile of his own, and I leaned forward to wrap my arms tightly around his neck. He was startled at first, this having been one of the rare times we shared physical contact with each other. But soon, he began to hug me back, wrapping his own arms around my waist.

"Annette, her father, and I escaped a camp a few months back," Heather said, sitting down beside her daughter. "He . . . died of tuberculosis not long ago." Her honey-brown eyes averted to watch Zayn's olive skinned hands clean his gun.

My heart went out to the little family. It was hard losing someone you loved; I knew that much. I had probably lost my parents, and my sister to the dark greed of the government. I could hardly bear the thought.

Denis cleared his throat, breaking the sad silence. "Where are you two from?" he asked, stoking the fire.

I swallowed thickly, feeling Harry's eyes on me. We never talked about where we came from before this. "New York City," I whispered.

Denis raised his eyebrows. "American. Should've judged by the accent. How about you?" the old man motioned to Harry.

"Cheshire."

"Ah, grew up near there myself," Denis smiled.

Harry's eyes filled with nostalgia. "Holmes Chapel was a good place. I loved it there."

I watched Harry's face as he spoke. His eyes actually shone. I envied that about him; he could think of his family and old life and feel happy, not sad that he didn't know whether they were alive or dead.

Maybe someday I could be that way.

Notes