Oscar by Unknown Page B

on your fronts and put your hands behind your backs.’ said one of the guards in a stern manner.
    The Mind operatives complied without resisting. One by one, the guards secured their wrists and left them laying on their bellies, guns trained at their heads. A sense of foreboding hit Miriam, as she laid face first in the dirt.
Why didn’t I go back and alert the others? How could I have been so stupid? No one can help us now!
These were the thoughts that her mind had latched on to, and they were eating away at her very soul as she laid waiting.
    #
    An hour had passed, and nobody had been moved. A sudden downpour had made the Mind operatives’ capture even more uncomfortable, as the dirt beneath them became soft, and puddles had formed in the dips where their faces had been pushed into the ground—and their clothes, drenched! Each one tried to shuffle around to avoid the puddles, but was forcefully moved back. One of the guards took hold of an operative’s head, and shoved it into the water-filled dip that his face had made. The man placed his foot on his head, and watched as he fought for breath. The others watched on in horror, awaiting the outcome. He was spared from drowning by a matter of seconds, as the guard took his foot away and pulled the operative’s head out of the muddy puddle by his hair.
    ‘Move again, and I will finish you off.’ the guard shouted in his weakened victim’s ear.
    The only reply he received from the hapless operative was a muffled groan.
    #
    Hours after the incident occurred, three black transit vans pulled up just shy of the prisoners. They were shivering with cold and still soaked through to the bone. They would fare no better once they entered the dangerous, life-threatening world of the camps. Each member of the Mind had been made to suffer in the miserable cold and was barely conscious. The pain began to set in, but that was the least of their worries.
    Camp four had been prescribed as a suitable punishment for the deviants lying on the ground. This had been decided by the head patrolman on the journey over; he considered it fitting for a band of warriors who had been intent on destroying everything the current regime had built. As soon as the lead patrolman stepped down from one of the vans, he instantly recognised Miriam’s face. He had once worked under her when she was a minister within the walls of the Parliament buildings.
    The lead patrolman beckoned two of his subordinates over.
    ‘Pick this one up.’ he ordered, pointing down at her.
    They were none too gentle in their task, and she groaned deeply as they pulled her to her feet. Her head hung forlornly as she waited for their next move, but there was no next move. The lead Patrolman walked up to her, took her cap off, and lifted her head from beneath her chin with his free hand.
    ‘Miriam Scarsberg, what a surprise.’ An evil sneer played upon his face as he recalled how unpleasant it was working under her all those years ago.
    ‘James Prescott, I can’t say I’m surprised that you went the route of a patrolman!’ was her cynical, yet weak return.
    ‘Take her!’ he bellowed as he pushed her head violently away.
    ‘Rot in hell, Prescott.’ she retorted.
    Her comment was met with a strong right hook that had her seeing stars.
    ‘No more talking, bitch—or I’ll gag you.’ he spat.
    Her limp but conscious body was dragged over to one of the vans and dropped face down again.
    Prisoners were dragged one after the other, some kicking and screaming towards the vans.
    ‘Load them up.’ Prescott screamed. ‘Time’s–a–wasting.’
    #
    Miriam stared at the patrolman sat opposite her in the back of the van. He was playing with his rifle and had a strange little smile on his face, making her wonder what he was thinking about. She was not the only one watching him; the two operatives on either side of her looked like they were wondering the same thing.
    Every now and then, she would flex her jaw to rid herself of