Of all the things to think about after having been kidnapped by medieval invaders from another world, Faye couldn’t stop thinking about her grandmother. She’d been born in Hong Kong in the nineteen-thirties. Her earliest memories were of the Japanese occupation during the second World War.

Faye never knew any of that until after she had gotten her degree. She always knew her grandmother to be deeply distrusting of the Japanese, but always assumed it to be born from some deep-seated racial prejudice. Perhaps it was, but it wasn’t taught to her, but rather developed as a survival mechanism from when she was a child.

Her grandmother was seven when her father was shot and beheaded right in front of her for suspicion of working with British forces.

Two weeks later, she and her mother, Faye’s great-grandmother, were smuggled out of China in a crate. Eventually, they made their way to Great Britain, where she grew up, got married and emigrated to Canada with Faye’s grandfather.

Specifically, she remembered her grandmother’s eyes. The way that, when she told Faye the story, her eyes were sullen and sad.

Her grandmother wasn’t often sullen. She had a fire in her that would flare up whenever she was challenged on something. She was unyieldingly obstinate, but she had a laugh and smile that spread joy and warmth to everyone around her.

She’d been only seven when her world fell apart around her.

Faye was twenty-seven when hers fell apart.

She should have been thinking about all sorts of things. Perhaps trying to rationalize that she just fell victim to something that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in the sort of way that a victim of a crime might curse fate, but rather literally, nothing that happened to her that day was supposed to be even remotely possible. She knew she wasn’t dreaming-- the evidence of that was everywhere.

Perhaps she should have been thinking about where they were being taken, but that was impossible to know. There was just no context to her capture. At least if it had been some kidnapping cartel in the third world, she knew she’d be taken to a room somewhere and told to sit and wait until her ransom was paid.

But the men who’d taken her and the others were unknown, and thinking about it did nothing. Her arms were bound in a wooden block, and a black hood placed over her head that muffled out the sounds of the wagon. Her senses revealed nothing, not to mention that she had been taken through a portal. That basically meant that impossibilities were in-play. She could be being taken to be sacrificed to some Lovecraftian nightmare, or to rot in some medieval prison until she died of starvation… or worse. She knew how women were treated in war, and that’s in the modern era. These people slaughtered innocent people mercilessly. Rape wasn’t off the table for them.

And so instead, she thought of her grandmother, and her sullen eyes. Would Faye’s eyes look like that when she became an old woman?

Would she even get the opportunity to become one?

Her mouth was dry. At least when they started moving, her gag was wet with spit and she hadn’t realized she was thirsty. But how long had it been now? Four hours? Twelve? A day? All she could see was darkness. All she could hear, the muffled sound of the wagon.

At some points, the sound of the wagon would change. The sound of wooden wheel against dirt and grass would be interrupted by the telltale hollow creaking it made crossing a wooden bridge. At one point, she could make out what seemed to be numerous voices, as though they were passing a crowd of people. Perhaps they’d gone through a town or city. But bridges, they’d crossed at least three.

The most recent one was long. It had taken them a few minutes at least to reach dirt again.

She thought again of water when suddenly she heard an unexpected noise.

“I got my hands free,” she heard Emma squeak.

Immediately everyone started trying to talk through their gags. Even Faye caught herself before she realized it was a bad idea. If they were too loud, the soldiers driving the wagon might hear.

“Daddy?” she whispered. A moment later, Dane Bishop grunted softly. She could barely hear her move over the sound of the wagon and the chatter above.

“Hands,” Dane said softly. “Get my hands. Stay quiet.” After a moment, she could feel the hood being lifted off of her head and her own gag pulled out.

As her eyes adjusted, she felt the pressure on her hands let up, and she slid them out while Emma and Dane worked on releasing Owen and Dillon.

“Dillon, are you okay?” Faye asked quietly.

He felt his torso. “I’ll live,” he replied, then winced in pain. “You? Everyone?”

“I’m okay,” Emma replied.

“I hurt my arm pretty good when the truck flipped over,” Dane said. She could barely make out his hand touching his forehead in the near blackness of the wagon.

“Where the hell are they taking us?” Owen whispered.

“I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“You thinking we make a break for it?” Dane asked.

“Make a break--” Owen started. “Break where? We don’t even know where the hell we are, or what’s out there.”

“If you wanna go along with what these two schmucks are planning that’s up to you. But I’m getting my daughter the hell out of here,” Dane shot back.

Owen sighed. “Shit,” he said. “Fine.”

“How?” Faye asked.

“My camera bag,” Dillon said. “I saw them take it. I’m pretty sure it’s up with them.”

“I don’t follow,” Faye commented.

“I have a taser in that bag.”

Faye blinked as she processed it. The men were rough. Barrel-chested and hardy. Even unarmed they could overpower them, let alone with the swords at their side. But something like a taser would be an equalizer.

“Isn’t that a restricted weapon?” Owen asked. “Did you keep that in the apartment?”

“No, Owen. I kept it in my camera bag, so I would have it handy if someone tried to steal a thirty-thousand dollar camera. Are you really complaining right now?”

Owen clammed up for a few seconds as the comment struck him. “No,” he eventually replied. “Look, it’s just… come on man, we went through a portal. A fucking portal. We just saw a bunch of people killed and almost died ourselves at least twice.”

“Owen, is it?” Dane Bishop asked.

“Yeah,” Owen replied.

“Owen, stop trying to rationalize what’s happening to us right now. It’s not going to help us. What we need right now is for all of us to have our head in the game.” He turned toward Dillon. “Do you have anything else in the bag? A phone?”

“Yeah, there’s--”

“I still have my phone,” Faye suddenly said. She pulled it out of her bra and hit the power button. The boot-up screen lit up the wagon. It was so bright that Faye had to look away and let her eyes adjust.. The entire group hung in silence, awaiting an answer to a question they didn’t need to ask.

Faye’s face fell as the phone readied itself. There was no signal. Her face communicated everything.

“So how do we get the bag?” Owen asked, changing the topic.

“Can’t we get out the back of the wagon? Just make a run for it? It’s not locked, is it?” Emma asked.

Faye leaned over and inspected the rear of the cabin. A thick, heavy fabric hung off the back. She let her fingers find the edges and pulled it back slightly, peeking outside.

She could see the sky, a dirt road and a line of trees. About thirty meters behind them, another wagon. She let the fabric hang again before she was seen.

“There’s another wagon behind us. If we try to run away, we’ll be seen,” she said. Then cocked her head. “But it’s getting dark.”

“We might be able to slip out when it’s dark,” Owen said. “But we’d need something to defend ourselves with.”

Dillon snapped his fingers. “Or distract them. Can I see your phone, Faye?”

She unlocked it, then handed it to him. She watched his face in the light from her phone slowly spread into a wide smile as he tapped the screen a few times. His eyes darted around to the others. “I think I have an idea.”