"Wake up, Jessica," Ken whispered, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. A soft groan escaped her lips as she rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the drowsiness clinging to her like a second skin.
Morning had crept in.
The pale light filtering through the high windows revealed the worn faces of the others and cast faint shadows on the grimy walls.
The candles that had once lit the room through the long, dark night had melted into waxy puddles, their flames long extinguished.
There were sixteen of them in total; eleven abducted from the ambushed bus the day before, and five others who had already been captives. The room they were in was large and square-shaped, its corners lined with filth, cobwebs, and the acrid stench of urine.
The blue paint on the walls was faded, peeling in ragged strips. A heavy wooden door stood as the only entrance or exit, locked securely from the outside.
The windows, too high to reach, offered nothing but distant glimpses of sky.
It looked like an abandoned warehouse. Ken scanned the room, trying to piece together where exactly they were and what lay beyond those walls.
Jessica sat up groggily. "How long was I asleep?" She asked, her voice thick with lingering exhaustion.
"For too long," Ken grunted, a hint of irritation in his tone. "I'm starting to think you've got sleeping sickness. You always seem to sleep like there's nothing going on, even in this situation".
"Sleep was the only escape I had," she said, defensive.
"I barely slept," Ken admitted. "Just a few moments here and there".
Around them, quiet murmurs filled the room as the others whispered in pairs. The fear and tension in the air were unmistakable; like a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap.
Jessica's voice trembled. "What are we going to do, Ken? I'm scared. Who were those men? What do they want with us?"
"They're kidnappers," a woman from the original five captives said, cutting in. Her voice was calm but grim. "They abduct people and demand ransom from their families. If the money comes, they release the person. If not… they kill them".
Everyone turned to face her.
Jessica's face especially turned pale as she heard the word 'kill', while Ken's own face turned ashen. He grimaced.
"How long have you been here?" Ken found some composure and asked.
"Three days," she replied. "All five of us. They contacted our families already. We're just waiting, hoping the money comes through".
Jessica's eyes widened. "How much are they asking?"
"Ten million".
Ken stood abruptly. "Ten million?! Where do they expect us to get that kind of money? That's insane!"
"They don't care," the woman said bitterly. "They didn't ask about our financial status or try to negotiate. They just dropped the figure. These people… they're not human. It's been hell. I just want to go home," her voiced cracked, full of weariness as tears streamed down her face.
"It's okay," said another of the five, the man in his thirties, trying to console her. "Crying won't help us now. We need strength".
The five older inmates consisted of the woman in her mid-thirties, a younger girl barely in her twenties, two men also in their thirties, and an elderly man, stooped and fragile, who looked to be in his late seventies.
"Yes," Ken said, trying to steady his voice. "Now more than ever, we need to stay strong. We need each other".
"My children, calm your hearts," the old man said, his voice frail yet steady. "I believe God will show us mercy. He will send help".
"God?" One of the women from the bus muttered. She stepped forward, her voice edged with bitterness. "Where was God when we were ambushed? When innocent people died, when the driver was shot in cold blood?"
"Tell me, where was He then? God has abandoned us. We're already dead. We just don't know it yet".
Apart from Jessica and Ken, nine others from the bus remained; five young men, likely students headed to Lagos, and four women including the one who had just spoken.
From what Ken could tell, he and Jessica were probably the youngest among all the captives. He didn't know what to make of that.
The old man shook his head slowly. "Don't lose hope. God works in mysterious ways. He works in ways we do not understand. We must keep faith".
Before anyone could respond, the sound of metal unlocking echoed through the warehouse. All eyes turned to the door.
It creaked open slowly. Five men stepped in; four armed with AK-47s, and the fifth carrying a large nylon bag. At their center was the man from yesterday, the leader. His presence alone was enough to suffocate the room into silence.
He glanced around with cold amusement and smiled.
"My name is Captain Scar," he said smoothly, his voice laced with mockery. "Apologies for yesterday. We were a bit too… enthusiastic".
"I also regret having to keep you all here against your will. But I assure you, this will all be over in five days; that's if your families cooperate. For now, you should eat. Later today, we'll speak to your relatives about the ransom".
He gave a final smirk, then turned and exited with his men, leaving the bag-carrying man behind. The man tossed the bag to the floor and walked out without a word.
The nylon tore open on contact. Loaves of bread spilled across the dusty floor.
"Let's eat," one of the old inmates muttered. "This is all we get for the day. You'll need the strength".
Hesitant at first, the others slowly began picking up the loaves. No one spoke as they ate; only the dull sound of chewing and the occasional sniffle echoed through the room. Fear hung in the air like smoke.
Ken stared at the half-eaten loaf n his hands, his thoughts racing. 'Ten million… There's no way. My parents can't afford that. Most of us don't' have anyone who can'.
He glanced around at the high windows, the locked door, then crumbling walls. Then back at the silent, pale faces surrounding him.
'There has to be a way out'. He thought. 'We can't sit here and wait to die'.
'All we need is a plan'.