I looked down at my foot and saw that the hand which had grabbed me came out of one of the boxes which was mostly covered by the blanket. I could see Chad encased in a thick bars in the section which wasn’t covered.

“You gotta help me out,” Chad said with his face pressed up against the thick bars which held him in the case which was about the size of a pet carrier you would use to transport a Labrador Retriever to the vet.

“Please man,” Chad pleaded on.

I cringed at Chad’s situation. The tiny confines of the cage had forced him into a little ball, he wore no clothes and almost every inch of his skin seemed to be covered with thin scratches. It looked like he had bathed in a pool of sticker bushes. Even his lips bleed when he begged.

“Come on Derek.”

I started to try and assess how I might be able to help Chad for a few seconds, but stopped my planning when I heard a chorus of three pained and panicked, male voices pipe up from the other cages which were still completely covered in blankets in the room.

“He’s coming. Oh God, he’s coming,” the voices whispered those words, or something a lot like them.

I gave Chad’s crying eyes one more look and thought the phrase, I’m sorry, but didn’t actually say it before climbing out the window.

I scurried across the porch like a cat running out of the kitchen after being startled and made my way into the eight-foot stalks of wheat which surrounded the house.

I ran deep into the grain as long as I could. Until I had to stop and breathe.