The Aztec Saga - Hunted

  Chapter One

  I awake on the cold concrete floor. I push myself up, carefully nursing my bruised body. There are no windows, so I cannot tell if it is day or night. I have no way of telling how long I have been here. The room is dimly lit with a single bare light globe. The only furniture is a table and a chair; both bolted to the floor. Three metallic boxes, engraved with symbols, sit on the table, meticulously placed. They each have a tiny padlock holding their lids shut.

  The metal door of my prison remains locked. It has a small slide opening at the base—a feeding door. I am yet to be fed, and it is taking its toll. My head is light, and I occasionally experience vertigo.

  The walls of my prison are lined in timber. I know my captors well enough to realise that every piece of this room has been designed precisely. When I was first imprisoned here, I searched every part of the room for an escape; there is none.

  I stand gingerly and catch my reflection in the shining metal in the middle section of the door. My long, dark red hair is no longer wavy and hanging gently by my face. Instead, in many parts, it has been ripped out, and what remains is a matted mess. My skin, which was once almost bright white and soft, is now dark with filth and coarse to touch. My fingernails are broken and filled with dirt and dried blood. Some of that blood is mine, most is not. The dark clothes I wear are torn; they hang in shreds from my now skinny body. I hardly recognise the person staring back at me.

  The feeding door slides open, and I watch as a metal tray slides through and stops in the centre of the room. It holds a single envelope. It is almost comical; after all I’ve been through and all I have seen, the sight of an envelope could instil such fear in my gut. I bend to pick it up; the smoothness of the paper feels foreign against my rough hands.

  I open the envelope to reveal a note within, written on soft, delicate paper:

  You will remain unshackled.

  Leave if you wish.

  That’s it—that’s all the note says. I turn the envelope up, and two keys fall out. One is a standard key; one you’d expect to find in any regular hardware store. It has a small piece of paper attached to it with the word ‘door’ written on it. The other is a key of beauty. It, too, has a piece of paper attached to it but with the word ‘boxes’. I stand in the centre of the room just staring at the keys. Why would they go to such lengths to allow me to leave so easily?

  The feeding door slides open again, and this time, a tray with a notepad, one pencil, a bowl of soup and a piece of bread, slides across the floor. The smell of food makes my stomach ache. I want to deny them the satisfaction of eating, but the temptation is overwhelming. I fall to my knees and begin to devour the food, almost choking on the dry bread in my haste to swallow it.

  I place the bowl back on the tray and pick up the notepad to inspect it. On the first page is a message:

  Fill the notepad with your memories,

  Or

  Leave.

  Should you leave, I will fill more boxes.