There was a small, rusted, battered metal garbage can on top of the desk. Peyton set it on the floor and quietly pissed into it, directing his stream against the side to try to make as little noise as possible.
Fortunately, the humans holding him captive were too engrossed in their conversation to hear him.
With that task finished, he returned to the door and observed the men for a while. While all he saw were the five men, from the number of bedrolls and equipment scattered around, he suspected there were more. Maybe outside standing guard, or perhaps running an errand.
He had no way of knowing, and without a window, he couldn’t tell.
Looking up, he noted the room’s ceiling was made of plywood, meaning no way he could break through that without drawing a lot of attention. Especially without knowing what lay atop the office, if it was a storage area or something.
Most of the conversation Peyton couldn’t understand, just a word or two he suspected had a similar meaning in English.
A word that ominously sounded like “laboratoriya.”
And that sent a damned chill down his back.
When the man who’d checked on him finished eating, he hauled himself out of his chair and started making his way toward Peyton’s room. Once again, Peyton went through the charade of pretending to be asleep. Even when the guy walked in and nudged him in the leg a few times and said, “Wake up. You awake? Hello?”
Somehow, Peyton didn’t flinch or change his breathing when the guy reached down and felt Peyton’s neck for a pulse. It was sooo tempting to take the guy over then, but Peyton still didn’t have a plan.
And if he didn’t have a plan, he knew he would die.
Because once he escaped, they damned sure wouldn’t take him again. Not alive, anyway.
I just want to see Gillian and the baby again. I’m an idiot, but Goddess, please let me make it home.
Two of the men at the table left the game and settled onto their bedrolls while the guy who spoke English and the other two sat at the table and continued playing cards. Peyton watched them for what had to be at least thirty minutes before he finally decided on his next action. If he waited until daylight, he would lose any advantages he’d have during his escape.
The English-speaking man turned on a radio, the volume down, playing disco music with foreign lyrics. When one of the other men also left the table and lay down, Peyton shifted only long enough to slide out of his restraints and shift back. He’d have to move quickly for this to work, and it still might not succeed if there were men standing guard outside.
Returning to his previous position, he let out a cough, waited, and then coughed a little louder, accompanied by a soft moan.
Sure enough, outside, a chair slid on concrete, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps and the barrel bolts being unlocked.
From the man’s scent, Peyton knew it was the same man. “You awake?”
Peyton softly groaned and hoarsely whispered, “Water.”
As Peyton had hoped, the man moved closer, within touching distance. “What?”
Peyton didn’t answer, and when the man reached down and grabbed Peyton’s arm to shake him, Peyton immediately took him over with his Prime powers.
“Do not move, do not speak,” Peyton silently commanded. “Answer with your thoughts. How many men are here?”
The man’s confusion and rapidly blossoming fear meant Peyton had to repeat the question.
“Me and four others.”
“No one outside?” Peyton asked.
“No.”
“How many others? Where are they?”
“Not sure. Returning soon.”
The man at the table looked over and called out a question.
“What’d he ask?” Peyton asked.
