Fragments by Caroline Green

be able to move my arms, and my back hurts from the hard seat. I rest my face against the cold plastic of the restraint.
    I can’t stop myself from doing a quick calculation of my misery, even though I know it will make me feel worse. My face and ear still ache from where Mick hit me. Or was it the guard who did that? It’s becoming muddled in my head now. And my thigh hurts like crazy where the guard kicked me. Or was that Mick too? Was he there when the bomb went off, when the farmhouse blew up? It was so loud. And bright. It must have hurt so much when they died, blown to bits, like . . .
    Oh, I miss you . .  .
    I feel a spinning, dropping sensation and then I’m wrenched back to consciousness again.
    I open my eyes with a jolt. That girl is looking at me, curiously, again. This time she gives me a weak smile.
    ‘Were you dreaming about someone?’ she says. Her voice is high and much posher than I would have imagined. She sounds like she comes from somewhere south, although all the accents down there sound the same to me. ‘Is it your boyfriend?’
    I feel heat creep up my neck and face. Was I talking in my sleep?
    ‘No,’ I murmur. ‘I wasn’t dreaming about anyone.’ I have an instinct not to share anything. I turn my face away, hoping I’ve closed down the conversation.
    But she’s not finished yet.

    ‘You look like you’ve been in the wars,’ she says. ‘Did one of those bastards hit you?’
    I glance around. Everyone else is staring down at the ground or has their eyes shut.
    ‘You should see the other guy,’ I mumble and the blond girl gives a weary laugh.
    Some time later the engine sounds change and the van slows. We’re climbing up a hill and the road is twisty-turny. I close my eyes and try not to feel sick. I keep shaking so I clench my muscles to try to stay still. No one speaks in the van. The blond girl has given up trying to chat to me now and instead sits with her head resting against the arm restraints. Her eyes move under the bluish-white skin of her eyelids and I wonder if she’s the one dreaming now.
    The van comes to a stop and everyone, to a person, snaps to sit up straight, on high alert.
    There’s a long pause where nothing happens for ages. Everyone starts to fidget and then the doors are thrown open at the back of the van.
    The woman with the cruel face is standing there, her expression blank.
    ‘Well, here we are at last,’ she says in a tired voice and then her eyes glitter as her lips twist into something a bit like a smile. ‘Welcome to your new home.’

C HAPTER 9
    cloaked
    W e’re herded out the back of the van. The cold darkness seems to wrap itself around me like a dank, heavy coat. The air is different here, wherever we are. I can’t work out what it is straight away, it’s too strange and new. There’s something sharp that reminds me of stuff you’d put in the bath, which tickles my nose.
    Then I get it.
    It’s clean. There’s no miasma or filth in the air.
    Gradually my eyes accustom themselves to the dim light. Pure, icy panic floods through me then as I decide they have brought us here to kill us.
    There’s nothing here. The ground seems to swell into hills that might be natural or man-made, I can’t tell. There are tall pine trees stretching up into the night sky and in the distance I can make out vast shapes that might be mountains. There’s a strange, shimmery effect, though, among the pine trees, and I blink hard, thinking maybe my tired eyes are playing tricks on me.
    I glance at the blond girl, who is frowning and looking just as confused as me.
    A sharp pain between my shoulder blades makes me jolt forward. The mean female soldier has jabbed me with the butt of the gun.
    ‘Plenty of time for sightseeing tomorrow,’ she says. ‘It’s been a long drive so let’s just get inside.’
    ‘Inside . . . where?’ says the blond girl, sounding scared for the first time.
    The woman mutters something into her phone and there’s a buzzing,