It didn’t work. Whatever they’d hit him with left a line of hurt from the crown of his head to his little toes. He turned his head left and brushed against… canvas? He turned his head right. Same coarse material. Breaths of air came hot and hard, difficult to draw. Beads of sweat rolled down his face into his ear. Pitch darkness welcomed the opening of his eyes. Shit. A hood covered his head. He drew in a deep breath. Air filled with the stench of his salty sweat fought its way through the canvas that sucked against his nose when he inhaled and floated away when he exhaled. Vibration rattled its way inside him. Movement. Wherever, whatever, he was on or in was moving. But slowly, as if the driver was being cautious of the road. Cool air blanketed his body and served to intensify the heat within the hood. He was outside. He flexed his leg muscles, then his pelvic muscles, and finally his shoulders. His body was laid out straight. So, this had to be the back of a truck, not the cramped trunk of a car.
