Page 17

She groaned as he rolled her onto her injured rib, the groan turned into great hacking coughs.

She heard him shout, “When was the last time she drank? Get her some water.”

Jenny cringed at the idea of more water when she was finally in a place where she wasn’t being rained on.

“Miss, lift up your head. You need to drink.”

Huh? What’s he talking about?

Sandpaper hands pushed her forehead backward, and a bottle pressed against her lips. As the first drop of the untainted water hit her tongue she reached up to grab the bottle, but her arms were too weak.

“Easy, Miss. Let us help you.”

Her two functioning brain cells told her they just wanted to help her so they could get their ransom, but she didn’t care. She was dying of thirst, even as dirty rainwater poured into the hut. Ingesting clean water was survival. That’s all her life had come down to since she had been dumped in the back of that meat truck.

Survival.

“She’s shivering. Get a blanket.”

“It’s not going to be of any use, with all those wet clothes.”

“I’m not going to undress her, are you?” the older man asked.

Jenny sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She didn’t know the name of the one guard who was constantly pushing and pulling at her. The guard who, so far, had never been alone with her. But that pig definitely wanted to undress her.

If he rapes me, I think I’ll just drown myself in the mud.

“Turn on the floor heater, and let’s put her near it,” the older man said. He was trying to gently move her away from the door, where she had originally been thrown, but it didn’t matter how gentle he tried to be. It hurt. Everything. Everywhere. Her whole body hurt.

Jenny shifted her toes in her right boot and cried out in pain. When was the last time she’d taken her boots and socks off and lifted her feet up to the running water coming from the ceiling to wash them? How many mini showers had she attempted to give her different body parts in futile hopes of staying healthy?

Now that she was out of her shack, had some clean water to drink, and a dry spot, she couldn’t think of anything good. She hurt too much. Jenny finally realized just how bad her coughing and fever chills were. Maybe she wouldn’t survive after all.

“She looks better.”

It was the leader. She’d seen him a couple of times. He was a fat man. Everybody bowed and scraped around him.

“Get the hair out of her face so I can see her eyes, then take the picture.”

Before anyone could touch her, Jenny pushed her hair back behind her ears, grateful that it was now finally dry.

“Hold this.” Somebody shoved a newspaper into her hands. She looked at the date.

It wasn’t possible. There was no way that only three weeks had gone by. It felt like she had been taken a year ago.

As she held up the paper in front of her, drops of blood marred the Dhaka Tribune.

The flash of a camera went off and she winced.

“What is wrong with her?” The leader demanded an answer.

“Her nose is bleeding,” a young man said. She recognized him. He’d given her a blanket and water and food. Soft food, because her mouth hurt.

“Why is her nose bleeding?”

“Who knows,” somebody answered. “We’re going to get our payment any day. Then we won’t need her anymore.”

Jenny knew her expression didn’t change. She’d stopped letting them get to her after the first forty-eight hours of captivity. It was like with her dad, she never wanted them to know what she was thinking or feeling. And, anyway, they’d been talking about not needing her for a long time now. Hadn’t they figured out her company wasn’t going to pay up?