The large maintenance shed stood beckoning in the growing light. Off to one side sat a small steel cage. Sunbeams gleamed off the white surface of the gas bottles, making them shine like beacons. Maggie glanced down at the wooden pallet they were sitting on. Pausing, she looked around. Seeing no movement, she drew the parcel out from her front and unwrapped the lighter and rag. The fumes of the petrol soaking the rag made her eyes water. She got a slight whiff of gas as she leant through the steel bars to wrap the rag around the pallet. Flicking the lighter, it sparked to life, it’s little flame dancing in her eyes. With one last look around, Maggie lit the rag, and watched as the flame spread quickly. She took a moment to see if the wooden pallet caught before rising out of her crouch. Checking the coast was clear, she took off across the camp at a sprint.
Next to the guard’s quarters was a small prefab building with two guards posted at the door. Maggie hoped this was where Becs was being held. She dashed up behind it and slid under the building, the damp soil rubbing on her hands. Holding her breath, she waited. She checked the guards. One set of feet moved, jogging in place. Maggie wriggled farther under the prefab building. The fire, three hundred feet away, was taking hold. Waiting, her muscles tense and ready for action, Maggie prayed this was going to work. She was still confused by the camp’s exact purpose, but she guessed it was a breeding farm. It was the only way to explain the nearly all-female population, a few of them pregnant. The bastard traitors were helping the Variants by breeding them food. The thought disgusted her. Was this what the human race had become? Mere animals. She would have thought that, in a crisis like this, all the humans would band together, fight the common enemy and destroy it. It happened in movies, right? She sighed inwardly, looking out at the growing fire. Apparently not. How could people like Ian turn against his own? It shocked her. Maggie shook the thoughts from her head. Right now, she needed to concentrate on getting Alice, Becs, and herself out. Hopefully she could come back and save them all. If we live that long.
Thick black smoke poured out from the maintenance shed. It billowed up, drifting into the pine trees surrounding the prison. Maggie grinned as she watched the flames dance their flickering, darting recital. She turned to look at the jogging feet of the guard. Their panicked voices reached her.
“What the hell?”
“Where’s that smoke coming from?”
The feet turned and ran around the side of the building. As each of the heavy footfalls hit the ground, they vibrated the ground under her chest. Maggie took a deep breath, centering herself. The guards ran off towards the fire, shouting as they ran.
“Get the fucking hose! Quick, the gas bottles are on fire!”
With one last look at the fire, she crawled out and jumped up the steps, reaching the door.
Maggie rattled the handle, trying to wrench it open, but it was stuck fast. Raising her arm, fist clenched, she banged on the door. “Becs! Are you in there?”
Maggie peered through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl’s red hair. She could see some movement deeper into the room. She banged again. “Becs, c’mon baby!”
The figure moved, pulling back bed covers. Maggie’s heart leapt as she saw her hair gleam in the sun. Becs eyes went wide as she recognised Maggie, and quickly ran to the door.
“Maggie, get me out of here,” she pleaded.
“I will, baby. Stand back from the door, okay?”
Maggie waited until Becs had moved back a few feet. Movement from the other beds caught her eye as several more children started raising their heads, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.
Maggie glanced around the building towards the fire. Several of the guards were standing near it now. Two of them had pulled a hose over from the garden, and a pathetic gurgle of water dribbled out. The guards were trying to direct it at the fire, but were not making much headway. She smiled. Her diversion was working. She had banked on their fear of fire, and her gamble had paid off. Now she needed to get this damned door open, or it would all be in vain.
Shouting from the direction of the fire made her look back around. She watched as Ian strode across the camp, his dressing gown billowing behind him. His long skinny legs looked so comical, a small laugh escaped her lips.
Refocusing, Maggie searched for something to break either the glass or the door handle. Spying some bricks next to the stairs, she quickly grabbed one and, with all her strength, smashed it down on the silver door handle. The handle flew off, clanging against the concrete steps and spinning away into the dirt.
Having checked that Becs and the other children were standing back, Maggie leant back and kicked the door a few inches below the handle, where it would be weaker. It shuddered, but held fast. Maggie forced the rising panic down and glanced around. Desperately, she tried to remember anything about breaking down doors. She searched around the door, looking for weak spots. Maggie let out a grunt, spotting the hinges. Hinges took a lot of punishment, and the screws holding them in become worn and brittle. Maggie said a silent thank you to the home improvement show and raised her leg. She aimed for the bottom hinge and gave it a kick. A crack appeared, splitting up the door. She kicked again, making it bigger. After a few more well-placed kicks, the door splintered and swung open, tilting haphazardly to one side. Becs ran to her, wrapping her small arms around Maggie’s waist, gripping it tight. Maggie returned the embrace, enjoying this small moment of comfort and normality. She wanted these few seconds. She knew the next few minutes, hours and days were going to be a mad trip through hell.
Maggie looked up to meet the curious looks on the other children’s faces. One small blonde-haired girl wrenched at her gut. She reminded Maggie of the children she saw on TV from war-torn countries. Of those she’d seen in Iraq. Her hair was matted and knotted, dried tears and mucus coated her face, and she clutched a small stuffed animal tight against her chest. Her lips were pulled tight, into a thin line. Eyes wide, she stared at nothing, yet those same eyes seemed to be pleading with Maggie. Pleading for her to be kind.
This little girl had no one. She was locked away, to be used for God only knew what. Maggie let out a breath and unclasped Becs from her legs. Crouching down, she beckoned for the little girl to come to her. Not surprisingly, the child hesitated, her large blue eyes searching Maggie’s face, looking for someone to trust. She took a few small steps, then leapt into Maggie’s outstretched arms, and nestled her head into Maggie’s chest, sobbing. A few of the other children started chattering, firing questions at her.
“Who are you?”
“Can we go now?”
“Where’s my Mum?”
“Why are we locked up, like jail? Have we been bad?”
Maggie put her finger to her lips, shushing the questions. “I don’t know any of those answers, except that we’re going to get out of here. But you need to be quiet and run behind me, okay?”
The children nodded.
“Good. Let’s play a game. Who can get dressed the fastest? Ready? Go!”
Most of the children scrambled and pulled on their clothes.
“Don’t forget your shoes!” Maggie walked Becs and the little blonde girl over to their beds. Then she crouched down to help the blonde girl dress. “What’s your name, darling?”