A variety of sounds and smells assaulted the sleeping Lazar, but despite the undertone of panic and fear they held the man continued sleeping comfortably in the dirt. At least until the gunshot jolted him to wakefulness. Instincts he didn't remember earning kept him lying still as he pieced together the scene. A filthy rag in his mouth and old ropes around his legs and arms constituted his bindings, but he didn't try to remove them as he listened to the different mutterings and exclamations from the other occupants of the room. When he felt sure that no one was looking at him, he picked up his head to see what was going on.

Most of the occupants seemed to be prisoners, like himself. Some were standing, dark shapes in the distance, who might be captors. Against the far door a woman stood with commanding posture, clear even in the dark, and from the holster bulging at her hip he presumed she was the one who fired the gun. As he watched, others were working at their bindings so he figured he might as well seize this opportunity to do it too. First, the gag was pulled out, then he rubbed the back of his hand across his brow and licked the salty sweat to get the taste of filth out of his mouth. Then he set thick, clumsy fingers to his ropes, unsuccessfully. [i]How did I get here?[/i] He thought. Memories of heat prickled his skin, smoke that made his eyes water, but not much beyond that.