Page 49 of Saved By A God
What am I going to do?
Shit.
Is this really happening, or am I having some crazy ass nightmare?
Everyone thinks I’m dead. There’s no doubt in my mind because the fortress was rigged to incinerate all the mainframes and servers.
Jesus. This is going to destroy my parents and grandparents.
With time, Gianna will be okay.
I think Enzo will recover, but he’ll probably blame himself for not getting to me in time. Thank God for that.
They’re all safe, though. I made sure of it.
Okay, Rosie. You’re on your own now. You can’t spiral.
When they put me in front of a computer, I’ll have to be careful so I don’t endanger any of the other hackers, but I can get simple coded messages through to Dad and Enzo.
Good, you have a plan.
Chapter13
Rosie
Standing by the bars of my cell, I can see two rows of desks below, but I’m unable to make out the information on the screens from up here.
Another hacker turns to the side and pukes her guts out into a small metal basket before wiping her mouth, drinking some water, and continuing with work.
It’s been happening every couple of hours.
I’m not sure if they’re sick from being overworked, their eyesight giving in from all the screen time, or a mixture of that and lack of sleep, bad food and too much fear.
For the past two weeks, this has become my grueling routine.
I watch them work from up here while armed guards move between the rows of desks, checking screens, muttering orders, and reminding everyone they’re not people anymore.
This place is inhumane, and the hackers are treated like they’re nothing more than tools to be used until there’s nothing left.
The first few days, I counted everything. The number of guards. The rotation of shifts. The time between meals. The number of cameras I’m able to see from here.
It’s become a habit now so I don’t lose my goddamn mind.
During my second day in this hellhole, Kirill removed the shackles from my wrists and ankles, but the cell door remains locked, and I haven’t been allowed out since the first time.
He comes to check on me every other day, asks how I feel, and searches me with those soulless black eyes of his before leaving again.
My fingers tighten around the cold steel bars, the chill sinking deep into my skin. Everything in this place is cold. The bars, the water, and the concrete beneath my bare feet.
There’s no warmth in here, not from the thin, scratchy blanket on the very uncomfortable metal bed, and certainly not from the three plain meals shoved through the hatch every day.
Kasha, a grainy porridge, is served in the morning, and cabbage soup or boiled potatoes for lunch. Sometimes we’re given a hard slice of black bread with meat so gray I can’t look at it for too long without gagging.
I eat enough to stay conscious, but every bite sits in my stomach like lead that refuses to dissolve.
At first, I refused to eat, but my hungry butt only lasted one day. In this place, hunger doesn’t give a shit about pride, and if I’m going to survive long enough to find a way to escape, I’ll need my strength.
God, I miss my loved ones so much that there’s a constant gnawing ache in my chest. The longing never stops. It’s there when I open my eyes in the morning until exhaustion finally drags me into a few restless hours of sleep.
