‹ Prequel: Going Bush
Going Bush 2: Suburbia
73
Once Taylor had lit all the lanterns he could find, he’d looked around the cellar for anything that could help them. He’d managed to move a couple of wine barrels to make a subtle hiding place in case they needed one, and he finally managed to settle the kids down with a finding game pertaining to dates and symbols on the bottles of wine stored there.
Occasionally they heard footsteps overhead, but he only began to worry when they were slow-moving. Still the vast majority of them continued to move on from the kitchen upstairs.
He had no idea how long they’d been down there when he heard a set of slow footsteps stop to move the bolt in the cellar door.
He took a moment to realise what was happening before quickly ushering the kids into the hiding place he’d made.
“Whatever happens, stay down,” he whispered, waiting for their nods.
But by the time they got there, there was no time to hide himself before the door wrenched open and a rebel-looking man with a bandana covering half his face and an assault rifle in his hands jumped down into the cellar.
His eyes – and his rifle – lifted to Taylor immediately.
“Oh my God,” Taylor couldn’t help but say aloud as he quickly put his hands on his head.
A second man with a similar description joined the first, and they conversed in Spanish as they kept their eye on him. The second man began to take a look around the cellar as the first watched Taylor, Taylor closing his eyes and praying silently that he didn’t find their hiding place.
“American?” the first man suddenly realised.
“Yes,” Taylor opened his eyes, worriedly.
He didn’t dare move as the man edged closer, peering into his face. He said something to his associate in excited Spanish, before looking back to him.
“Are you Taylor Hanson?”
Taylor’s eyes immediately widened.
“You know who I am?” he looked between them as the second man reappeared.
He grabbed Taylor’s shoulder, turning him so he could see his face.
“The Americans are trying hard to find you,” he said in a heavy accent.
Taylor only gulped, unsure of where this was headed. But at least it was keeping the attention on him and not the kids.
The two conversed in Spanish in harsh tones, keeping the rifle trained on him even as they didn’t keep watch. When they turned to him again he couldn’t help but take a step back.
“Move,” the one with the rifle indicated for him to leave the cellar.
Keeping in mind that he would be leading them away from the kids, he gladly stepped forward. He took his hands from his head only long enough to climb the ladder, stopping at the top when he saw a third rebel waiting for them. Returning his hands to his head he looked back for the others who were closing the door again on their way out. They stopped to tell the third man what was happening – Taylor hearing his name mentioned at least once – before he revealed a radio that had been hidden in his clothes and used it to contact someone else.
“Outside,” he heard an order from behind him before being shoved in the back.
Taylor made his way through the outside door, coming to the path that headed out to the stables. He couldn’t see anyone he knew out there but there was still plenty of gunfire around. And plenty of the bandana-clad rebels scouring the grounds.
Occasionally they heard footsteps overhead, but he only began to worry when they were slow-moving. Still the vast majority of them continued to move on from the kitchen upstairs.
He had no idea how long they’d been down there when he heard a set of slow footsteps stop to move the bolt in the cellar door.
He took a moment to realise what was happening before quickly ushering the kids into the hiding place he’d made.
“Whatever happens, stay down,” he whispered, waiting for their nods.
But by the time they got there, there was no time to hide himself before the door wrenched open and a rebel-looking man with a bandana covering half his face and an assault rifle in his hands jumped down into the cellar.
His eyes – and his rifle – lifted to Taylor immediately.
“Oh my God,” Taylor couldn’t help but say aloud as he quickly put his hands on his head.
A second man with a similar description joined the first, and they conversed in Spanish as they kept their eye on him. The second man began to take a look around the cellar as the first watched Taylor, Taylor closing his eyes and praying silently that he didn’t find their hiding place.
“American?” the first man suddenly realised.
“Yes,” Taylor opened his eyes, worriedly.
He didn’t dare move as the man edged closer, peering into his face. He said something to his associate in excited Spanish, before looking back to him.
“Are you Taylor Hanson?”
Taylor’s eyes immediately widened.
“You know who I am?” he looked between them as the second man reappeared.
He grabbed Taylor’s shoulder, turning him so he could see his face.
“The Americans are trying hard to find you,” he said in a heavy accent.
Taylor only gulped, unsure of where this was headed. But at least it was keeping the attention on him and not the kids.
The two conversed in Spanish in harsh tones, keeping the rifle trained on him even as they didn’t keep watch. When they turned to him again he couldn’t help but take a step back.
“Move,” the one with the rifle indicated for him to leave the cellar.
Keeping in mind that he would be leading them away from the kids, he gladly stepped forward. He took his hands from his head only long enough to climb the ladder, stopping at the top when he saw a third rebel waiting for them. Returning his hands to his head he looked back for the others who were closing the door again on their way out. They stopped to tell the third man what was happening – Taylor hearing his name mentioned at least once – before he revealed a radio that had been hidden in his clothes and used it to contact someone else.
“Outside,” he heard an order from behind him before being shoved in the back.
Taylor made his way through the outside door, coming to the path that headed out to the stables. He couldn’t see anyone he knew out there but there was still plenty of gunfire around. And plenty of the bandana-clad rebels scouring the grounds.