05 POV Simon try to escape from van.1062

The first thing I become aware of is the constant pain at the back of my head from where I was hit. My hearing returns slowly, then my eyesight. The pain amplifies as I regain my senses. I've been hit before, plenty of times when boxing, but this hurts like nothing else. Imagine a blowtorch to the back of your head, then a block of ice intermittently applied to it.

My vision is severely limited. At first I think maybe my eyesight has been affected by the blow somehow, but I soon come to realise that the darkness comes from a bag tied over my head. I lie flat on the ground of what sounds like a van or maybe a small truck, it's hard to be sure. 

I listen intently and catch a conversation between two of the men who abducted me. I can't understand a word they're saying, not because the hum of the van is too loud, but because they're speaking in their mother tongue, Chinese, Japanese, Korean maybe? 

From what I can make out, there are two men in the back with me, while the third drives. The man at the wheel I believe to be AR15. I recognise his distinct gravelly voice.

I try moving my arms but find them secured behind my back by something tight around my wrists. Most likely a zip-tie. It doesn't feel like handcuffs. I've been cuffed a few times, I know what that feels like, and this is not that.

I move my legs and find my ankles are also zip tied, but this one isn't secured as well as my wrists. I apply more force and feel it giving a little. I discreetly pry my shoes off, then strain hard and with much effort I manage to work my leg free from the zip-tie.

The conversation between the two men gets louder and becomes heated in the time it takes me to work my leg free from my ankle tie.

Next I work on the bag covering my head. As my arms are tied behind my back I press the side of my face into the floor and slowly but surely slide the bag up until an opening appears wide enough to glimpse through.

The two men sitting by the back doors now yell at each other. The alpha barks at them, evidently a command to quit quarrelling as they both immediately cease. The two men now stare at each other, neither willing to be the beta and look away first.

We ride in tense silence for a few minutes then the car comes to a stop. I deduce quickly that this is not our final destination as the car engine remains running and neither man makes a move to get out. I figure that we must be waiting at a traffic light. This is it. It's either take a chance now, or continue to wherever they're taking me. 

I recall a conversation with my father, Covek, many years ago in which he warned me that if anyone ever tried to take me somewhere against my will, it was important to never let them get me to a secondary location. Odds are you would never make it back from there. 

With my father's words of warning so prominent in my mind I take my chance. I sit up as fast as I can, roll forward onto my knees then propel myself into the largest of the two men as hard as I can. I catch him off guard and my momentum carries his hefty frame into the back doors of the van. Our combined weight prises the door open and we tumble out. 

The other man hits the road and I land on top of him, my head covering is pulled away in the fall and I can now see properly. Despite having my hands tied behind my back I get to my knees, then feet and kick the man as hard as I can in the head as he tries to stand. There's a terrible cracking sound as his neck twists to an obscene angle and I'm sure I just fractured his spinal column as he collapses back to the ground.

I turn to see the other man in the back of the van draw his gun on me. I spin quickly, kicking the back door shut in his face. Bam! The gunshot echoes loudly in the back of van and the bullet punctures a hole in the back door. As the man tries to push the door open I kick the second door shut, slamming it on his hand. He yells in pain as he recoils and falls back into the van. 

I look around for anyone that might be able to help me but there's not another soul in sight. I scan the street, up and down, nothing but shipping warehouses as far as the eye can see.      

There's no point in staying to fight, not given my handicap. Instead I run from the van as fast as I can. Normally my speed would be no match for these guys, but given my pulled hamstring and my arms pinned behind me, my pace is halved.

Bam! A gunshot rings out and a bullet hits the concrete wall a few feet from my head. I keep running, pushing through the pain of every stride, when Bam! another gunshot rings out, but this time the lead finds it mark and hits me in the leg. 

If I thought a pulled hamstring was painful, this is one-hundred-fold worse. It's like someone has skewered my thigh with a red hot poker fresh from a fire. I lose my footing and hit the ground hard for the third time today. I try to get up but the pain is debilitating. I look back and see AR15 approaching quickly, rifle in hand. 

Within seconds he stands over me, yelling in his native tongue, I have no idea what he's saying, what he's ordering, my entire body shakes with pain, nausea spreading, I vomit as I watch the man lift his AR15 high, then drive the but of it into my head. 

That's when everything goes black.

Again.