trapped

Early evening and the streets were in darkness. I was in an unfamiliar town, heading home, walking with three tall, burly, bearded mountain men. I liked them immensely, but I knew them little. We reached a narrow lane and the man started down it. I hesitated, scanning the crossroad, realising I had a choice: I could go with them, trust them, or walk back the way we had come and navigate the dark streets alone. Neither option seemed sensible. The men urged me to join them and appeared mystified as to my uncertainty. 'I don't know you,' I said. I looked again back down the road, a few people now milling under the street lights, and thought I'd go that way. Immediately, a gate closed across the lane entrance. A third time, I looked back down the road  and now the people were in turmoil: men hurting women, women hurting one another, gangs travelling up the road toward me. Violence, crime and torture. I ran at the gate, it opened and I fled down the lane, calling to others in the lane to run, run. A young girl started screaming and I clapped my hand over her mouth, running with her, anxious that we should escape unheard, unharmed. At the end of the lane, I emerged into a maze of streets, alone but for the three men. Finding my car, I jumped in and the men all helped to push the car into a secure position from which to climb the steep and alarmingly narrow road. I drove up and, upon reaching a huge step, poked my legs through the car floor and stepped up, dragging the car with me. At the top of the hill I looked back to see that the men had driven a different route and I wondered, had I gone the wrong way? I continued on foot, turned into a dark tunnel and climbed up the steep stairs inside. A crowd of people followed, all desperate to go home. At the top of the stairs, the tunnel opened to a lane that ran between tall buildings. I peeked out. Soldiers waited at one end of the lane to my left, and soldiers wearing a different uniform guarded the other end of the lane to my right. We could not go forward and, because the long, long line of people stretched all the way back down through the tunnel, we were unable to retreat. We were trapped. A soldier appeared at the doorway and was about to blow the whistle when he spied someone he knew, someone he once fancied, standing third in line. She, knowing the privileges of being in his favour, stepped outside but asked to bring one other person with her. She chose a young man from the front of the queue. I held two old women who leant against me for support, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I could see no rescue, no escape. There was no future for those of us trapped in the tunnel, the soldier about to uncover us.