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The desire to find an escape route was slowly replaced by fear. When she was fighting, she didn’t have a chance to think. As Octavia sank onto the bare floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, she gave in. Just for a second, she allowed herself to feel the failure.
Swiping a single tear from her cheek, Octavia jumped up. The soldier said he’d be back. That gave her a chance. She’d be ready for when he returned. She could take a weapon and fight her way out. It was a slim chance, but at least she had one.
When she got out, she’d retrace her steps, and get back to the air raid shelter. There must be some clue or a trace left behind showing her what happened to the others. The militia must have ambushed Heath and Malachi and overwhelmed them. They were seasoned fighters and wouldn’t have gone easily.
There had to be evidence of that fight, evidence of which direction the vehicles went. Octavia wouldn’t give up searching until she’d found Jude and the others.
She slowed in her pacing of the cell as she heard footsteps approach. The grill was pulled back and a face she didn’t recognize peered in. “This is the prisoner?”
“Yes, sir. We believe this is the traitor who broadcasts on Flame radio.” She recognized that voice. It was the scar-faced soldier.
The stranger stared at her. “Interesting. Tell me, how have you been getting your information about us?”
“I’m telling you nothing.” Fear made her insides clench.
“Bring her to the interrogation room.” The door lock was opened.
Octavia didn’t hesitate. She charged toward the soldier blocking her way, slamming into him with her elbow.
She landed a good first punch on scar face, and was reaching for his holster when her hand was wrenched away. A muscular arm wrapped around her throat and squeezed.
“Just give us an excuse, princess,” growled the soldier behind her. “Traitors deserve to die.”
She choked as her airway closed off but continued to fight, kicking her legs out at anyone who got close. She locked gazes with scar face and smirked at him, willing him to get close enough so she could land another punch.
“Steady now.” The stranger moved into her line of vision, a sly smile on his face. “We’ll get what we want out of you.”
Octavia was dragged along the corridor by her throat, her breath coming out in short gasps as black dots danced across her vision.
Scar face pulled open a door, and she was marched through.
There was nothing in the room other than a small table and two chairs.
Octavia was shoved into a chair and her hands shackled to it.
The stranger walked to the other side of the table and leaned his knuckles on it. He had slicked-back black hair and wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath. He would have been handsome if it weren’t for the cold menace that radiated off him.
His gaze ran over Octavia several times.
She kept her chin up and met his stare.
“You’re the infamous broadcaster.” The man smiled. “I don’t think much of your taste in music.”
“As if I care about that.”
He shrugged. “I’m Commander West. I look after this region.”
“Congratulations. You’re doing a lousy job.”
“I disagree.” Commander West smirked. “I have a particular interest in your work, since I handle communications. I always know when you’re sneaking into this region, spreading your malicious lies about what we do and helping the resistance in their futile attempts to bring us down.”
“It’s not so futile,” said Octavia. “They’re winning.”
“They may win a few small skirmishes, but we have total control. We always have.”
Octavia pressed her lips together and glared at him. The two soldiers remained by the door, blocking any chance of getting out.
“How have you been able to infiltrate our communications channels so effectively?”
