Kneeling beside my pack, I pulled out the first of two bundles. Wrapped in my bright red cape, I removed the borrowed watch and attached it to my thin wrist. It hung loose.

The other bundle, which would stay tightly wrapped for now, contained a shriveled pod, a little smaller than a football. I stroked a finger across the rough linen wrapping it. My secret weapon.

I put on my pack and snuck closer into position. The adult prisoners would be ushered back in from a day of forced labor at 16:30. I checked my watch. Thirty seconds.

Scurrying over to my assigned bush, I glanced around, slipped on the bright red cape, and started digging.

The warm, loose soil scooped easily with little more than a flat rock. Good. I had the right spot.

The roar of a motor and the squealing of brakes drew my attention, and I looked up to see the big white van pulling to a stop.

In the driver's seat sat Shaun, the transportation officer, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips. He tipped his hat and winked, taking a deep draw and letting the cloud out the open window.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I shook my head. To think all it took to bribe him was that pack of cigarettes.

The door of the van burst open, and out scrambled thirty adults, running for their lives. The strongest runners were to run along the only road this prison had. The other runners were to make for the lake. To find something to float on, to get to civilization, to call for help.

I nearly laughed at the absurdity. We were the poor citizens of Steel, Michigan, wrongly imprisoned. Without reason, soldiers forced us to relocate to the abandoned Camp Allegan. Heard they used to hold World War II Prisoners of War here, close to forty years ago. Yet again, they held innocent people, people like me, against their will, marking the backs of our shirts on the first day with P, for prisoner. Degrading. Repulsive. We lived worse than branded cattle.

Meanwhile, plumbing in the military brick buildings drew brown water... on good days. On the bad days, we had to carry heavy buckets of water from Lake Allegan, under watchful eyes. Holes in the roof removed any chance at insulation. At least it helped with the urine and other putrid odors in the bathrooms. Sheets were nailed to the walls where windows used to be. It was summer - food and drinking water were scarce. When we hauled the lake water back to prison, we made do with soup concocted of dandelion leaves and grass.