It was dark.
There were some lights around the camp, but very few, and the walkways were mostly hidden in darkness. I stood there and listened, waited for the sound of boots against snow, waited for a guard to pass.
But nothing happened.
If all the prisoners were locked in cabins with no windows, how would they escape? Maybe having a nighttime patrol was pointless, especially when fleeing in the dark wouldn’t get you far.
I needed a flashlight.
I stepped out of the cabin and onto the wooden patio. The door shut quietly behind me, barely making a click when it returned to the doorframe. My eyes scanned left and right, only able to visualize the cabin in my mind because of the gentle lights sparsely spread out. I’d taken the walk to the clearing enough times to remember the way, and since we shoveled all the snow days ago, I shouldn’t trip on anything.
I took the stairs and felt my boots hit the earth.
This was really happening.
I walked slowly, trying to feel the earth in front of me before I took a step, to make sure there wasn’t an obstruction that would make me fall and break my nose, or worse, knock me out so they would find me in the morning.
Even if I wanted to escape that very moment, I couldn’t. I’d walk out into the pitch-dark wilderness and just get lost. I wouldn’t survive more than a few hours. I needed tools to survive, weapons, water, food…light.
I wasn’t enough.
I moved farther into the camp, passing the cabins that I knew were there. There was a slight breeze, a gentle rustling of the branches in the tall pines that stood over me like wild skyscrapers. My warm breath escaped my mouth then came back and sprinkled across my face like I stood in front of a humidifier.
Even if I’d had a flashlight, I wouldn’t use it. It was so dark here that any light would be a beacon. It made me believe there were no guards on duty—because they couldn’t see anything.
I made it to the clearing. I could tell because the most lights were in this area, because boxes of drugs were still on the tables. I made sure to avoid that direction, because they cared more about their products than a girl escaping, so they might have eyes on that section.
I went around a cabin then moved past it, eventually reaching the larger building I’d noticed when we were shoveling snow. I stilled because the windows were lit up from lights inside the structure.
There were guards in there.
And if that was where the guards were…that meant there were supplies.
My heart had slowed down once I got used to the suffocating darkness, once I realized I was truly alone in the camp. But now that I detected signs of life, it started to pound once again.
I stared for a while, waiting to see someone walk past the windows.
Nothing happened.
I wanted to walk away and explore the rest of the camp, but I knew that building was the most likely location of the things I needed. Even if I could just get my hand on a gun and ammunition, that would really level the playing field.
I moved toward the bigger cabin and hit something.
My knee banged into the wooden rail that outlined the steps.
I shut my mouth and suppressed my groan, keeping silent even though that was so hard to do. Once I breathed through the pain, I made my way up, gripping the rail and keeping my footfalls silent. I reached the top and flattened against the wall, doing my best to listen.
Voices were audible, but I couldn’t make out any words.
I slid closer to the window, standing right outside it, trying to hear exactly what they were saying. They could share information that would help me figure out where I was, if anyone passed through the area, if there was an obvious escape route that we weren’t aware of.
But the windows were too insulated, and I couldn’t translate anything. I heard several different voices, like there were quite a few guards together. What were they doing at this hour? Whatever hour it was…
I slowly moved closer and closer, facing the window, letting one eye move over the glass so I could see inside. I needed to know what was inside, to find out if the contents were worth breaking in at a later time.
Five guards were gathered around a round table. A lamp hung directly down from the ceiling, showing the cards on the table, the poker chips, the pile of euros in the center. They were in their long-sleeved black coats, but their cloaks were gone.
I saw their faces.
One guy had a thick, black beard. He was muscular and large, and I was pretty certain he was the guard who’d punched me in the face on my first day in the camp. Another guy was bald with a mustache. Every single one of them was muscular, not a scrawny guy in the mix. They couldn’t be weak to do a job like this, physically or mentally. The guy directly facing me stared at the cards in his hand, his eyes down, his look impassive because he had a good poker face.