Snippet #2739951

The cuffs fit loose, but they had the last time as well. Not that she’d ever been caught by the PLA before this. No, Kalen had always been too fast, or too good at blending in. Once you’ve seen one homeless person you’ve seen them all, or at least that’s what the soldiers seemed to think. Except she stuck out from the rest of the prisoners in the back of the truck, jeans held together by the patches stitched into them and vest suffering much of the same, the t-shirt she wore beneath torn and stained. The only thing not completely in ruins were the black boots laced up on her feet.

The last time she’d been arrested had been before the war, but even that was typically a product of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when peaceful protests turned violent. Usually that never resulted in more than a few nights spent in jail, not that anyone missed her anyway, except the group she ran with. This time she knew things were going to end up more permanent, whether that meant she was assigned to some camp or shot on the side of the road.

It wasn’t that she’d exactly done anything particularly horrible – not even to the PLA – but vandalism wasn’t taken kindly to regardless, it seemed. If you asked her it had been worth it to see the place in flames, even if in the grand scheme of things she’d not done much damage. That didn’t change the mind of the soldiers any, and they’d still kicked her to the ground and forced her hands behind her back before dragging her to the truck. From then on things had been routine – having rifles in your face had become routine from the beginning of the occupation – until the truck broke down.

Things had taken long enough that she’d contemplated slipping out of the cuffs and finding a way out of the truck, but that was before they’d sealed it back up and left men in the back with her and the rest of the prisoners. Shifting in her seat, she didn’t make eye contact with anyone, it starting to sink in that there wouldn’t be a way out of this one. Fuck.