Hours later—he didn't know how long it had been—Cage was exhausted. His mouth was dry and dusty. He'd been patted down and had his phone, walkie talkie, wallet, and gun taken. The same for Aurora.
They’d been offered only sips of water by some of the others walking with them. The others carried water bottles that looked like they'd been used multiple times but catching something from one of the other people here was the least of his concerns right now.
It had been long enough that he was coming to a reasonable conclusion that they weren't going to be executed. He couldn't help but be relieved.
At last, a low building came into his view, and he tried not to look excited by it. It was low enough that he probably could have seen it for a while if he'd known what he was looking for.
Beside him, Aurora’s footsteps had grown heavy, but so had his own and so had the others in the group. They walked without speaking, guns hanging heavy at their sides. Water bottles packed in battered cloth bags or plastic bags from the grocery. The bags often had holes. He wondered what was going on that they couldn’t even get useful bags for their water.
The operation was clearly running catch-as-catch-can. Though he'd had plenty of time to wonder what was under that rock. And what in the hell Sarah was doing here.
He'd cooked up several scenarios, but there was no evidence for one of them over the other. Cage first thought that this could be the “volunteer work” that Sarah said she was doing. Though with what he could see so far, that didn't mesh with anything he knew of his friend. His second option was that this was a scenario that Sarah had gotten caught up in, maybe radicalized by, though he didn't even know what the cult was about yet. The last option was that Sarah was somehow a prisoner like him and her mother.
That didn't seem reasonable either. It had been over a week since Sarah had disappeared now. How had she not escaped? She was smart enough and stubborn enough to have tried and kept trying if she was being held against her will.
Cage glanced at her periodically, finding her in much the same state as the others: Dirty clothes, occasionally with holes. Her hair looked like it hadn't been properly cared for in a while. It was pulled back awkwardly into a poof of a ponytail without regard to symmetry or style.
But she’d walked for probably several hours and she wasn't talking, and neither was anyone else. The silence, cut only by the shuffling of footsteps and the scurry of an animal out of their way was unnerving. The occasional screech of an owl had more than just him jumping.
All Cage could do was keep moving forward. He hoped that the house would have food, at least water and a restroom. Not that his body was allowing him to know that he needed it. The desert was dry enough it was leaching liquid from him.
But there had to be something here. They surely wouldn’t walk past the first bit of civilization—one it seemed they’d aimed for. As they got closer and closer, he discovered the building to be in much the same shape as the people: Standing, seeming to work, but not in good shape. Definitely not well cared for.
The back door opened as Black Hair called out, and the others filed in. Cage felt the air conditioning blow out of the door and wash over him and he tried not to show his relief. He knew instinctively that he couldn’t afford to give anything away.
Black Hair waited at the back of the line, right behind Cage and Aurora, barking orders, though none needed to be issued. Everyone moved of their own accord, clearly having been here before.
Cage and Aurora were shoved through the door. He almost tripped again on the threshold, but he'd learned over the course of the walk how to keep himself upright. He breathed in the cool indoor air and watched as the others headed toward the left, down a short hall into two rooms. Others ducked into what must be bathrooms. They appeared to separate by male and female, but with the long unkempt hair and baggy clothes, it was difficult for Cage to tell for certain.
He wondered if he'd follow, but he didn’t wonder long. He and Aurora were shoved forward into a larger living space. She’d stayed as silent as he had the whole time and now, she stood stoically, hands still cuffed behind her, next to Cage.
Though the building was horrifying, and even inside the paint was flaking off the walls and the carpet curled at the edges of the room, whoever lived here was doing their best to live it up. A large screen TV showed an old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. Liquor bottles lined the bar top, three different mini fridges dotted the living room, with a freezer that could hold a dead body holding court in the far corner. There was a small kitchen, with a stovetop, refrigerator, and an oven.
Another man—clearly higher ranked than Black Hair—sat sprawled on the couch, legs wide, hands out, taking up as much space as he could with his skinny build. The humor in his eyes quickly turned to anger as he lashed out at Black Hair.
“Connor! What did you do?”
“I caught these two checking out a stash.” The words came from behind Cage, false confidence filling the air.
“And you brought them here?”
“They can work.” Black Hair—apparently Connor—countered.
“Look at them!” The man stood up, his fingertips barely holding onto the rim of what looked like a pretty good scotch—at least, according to the label on the bottle on the brass and glass coffee table.
He sidestepped around them. Taller than Connor, this man had shorter and better kept brown hair, brown skin, brown eyes. He was handsome enough to pass in the general public, but he wore a muscle T shirt and black jeans. He did not look like he had been in the desert for hours tonight. He glared at Connor, “They can work, but who's working to find them?”
He waved his hand up and down Cage and Aurora to make his point.
Then he punctuated his motion with more harsh words. “What were these two even doing out in the desert in the middle of the night in the first place?”
Lightning fast, his hand shot out and whacked Connor upside the head. “You’re a fucking idiot. We can't keep them.”