He leads me across the street with his hand wrapped around my upper arm, towing me along like luggage. When I start to limp, he stops short and looks at me. “My feet hurt. It’s no big—” He picks me up again, hoisting me into his arms and continuing along as if he does this every day. Which maybe he does. I have no idea how often this man kidnaps people and carries them across rainy streets forested with dead bodies.
