Breath 24
“Get up.”
Tom raised his head, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
His back ached, and his wrists burned where the rope had cut into his skin.
He must’ve fallen asleep.
Maybe from fear.
Maybe just from sheer exhaustion.
It had been a long evening.
The Barista crouched beside him and cut the rope that held his chest and hands.
“We’re moving, rather, you’re moving” he muttered.
Before Tom could ask anything,
the Barista’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, swore under his breath, then answered.
“It’s my brother,” he said after a beat.
“He’s by the road… with couple of people you don’t need to know.
And he has a problem, that again is something you don’t want to know”
The Barista clenched his jaw. This was unraveling fast.
More people meant more complications.
From the corner of his eye,
Tom saw movement—two men approaching from the shadows.
Rifles slung across their backs. Desert boots scuffing against the gravel and sand dusts.
They didn’t say hello.
Just nodded at the Barista.
“So that’s him?”
“Yeah,” the Barista said, not looking at Tom.
“Just do it quick. He’s been through enough.”
One of the men pulled something from his belt—a syringe.
Before Tom could react, he felt a sting in his arm.
His legs buckled, not from pain, but something else.
His mind started to fog.
“Go,” the Barista said, looking away.
Tom stumbled forward, minutes later the men quietly led him
on the edge towards the roadside where headlights glimmered in the distance—the silver sedan
where Ploy and his mom’s at, where the Indian guy’s wife continue to smoke as his agent
boyfriend steps out of the car, waiting for his brother, the barista who kidnapped and hurted Tom.
But before he could react, the two men sensed what’s on his mind, one of them
pushed him to walk faster and further towards the desert.
The cruel desert that even the darkness of the night failed to hide
the true identity of this isolated place: No one stays alive.
“On your knees,” one barked.
Tom was too weak to resist.
One of them looped a coarse rope around his neck
and yanked it tight.
Then they bound his wrists again, tighter this time.
“Move.”
They led him deeper into the desert. The darkness thickened with each step.
They walked for several minutes.
The man behind Tom kept pushing him forward every time he slowed.
Then, they stopped.
In the middle of a clearing,
a single rusted trailer sat in eerie silence.
No lights. No sound.
A third man stood outside, pouring a thick liquid into a small generator.
Metal tubes snaked from the machine into the trailer’s side like artificial veins.
Tom’s stomach dropped.
“What is this?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“Take off your clothes,” one of the men ordered.
“I don’t—this is all I have.”
Before he could finish, the man grabbed him roughly,
yanked down his underwear, and shoved him toward the trailer’s door.
The metal creaked open.
The stench hit him first—sweat, urine, fear.
Then the sound—sobbing, wailing, frantic whispers in different languages.
The guy outside flicked the switched on.
The single bulb on the rusted ceiling of the trailer failed to hide what’s inside:
The trailer was packed with people.
Dozens of them. All naked. All confused. All trembling.
Some it seems are already dead.
Who knows how long they’ve been packed on this trailer.
Tom froze.
They shoved him inside, and the door slammed shut behind him.
That’s when it hit him.
This is dejavu all over again.
He had been on this situation before.
He survived.
And maybe, just maybe, the cruel hands of fate will take mercy.
He might survive again.
Tom again froze.
He pieced everything together:
The generator. The metal tubing. The chemicals.
They weren’t transporting anyone.
They were going to gas them.
Tom’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened.
He backed against the wall,
squeezed between bodies, skin against skin, nowhere to move.
The lights flicked off.
Everyone starts to panic, pushing Tom deeper inside the trailer.
He slipped, two bodies fell on top of him.
They were dead.
Screams rose. Someone pounded on the metal.
Tom closed his eyes.
And held his breath.
This is his only ticket left.
And it all depends on how long he can hold his breath.
