Before he even opened his eyes, Daniel could smell the metallic, oily scent of the machine guns pointing at him.
‘The prisoner is awake!’ shouted the nearest of the men. His breath smelled like onions and raw meat. Daniel blinked.
‘Where...’ he said, but before he could finish his question, a leather boot which stank of petrol hit the side of his head. He fell to the ground, which smelled of mud and, again, petrol.
‘Silence!’ screamed the guard, the tangy, faintly sweet odour of his sweat wafting into Daniel’s nostrils. Daniel was sure that, had any dogs been nearby, they could have smelled his fear. The whole situation reeked of danger. Then, on the wind, came the salty scent of the ocean and, with it, a faint whiff of hope.
‘Smell you later!’ shouted Daniel, making a run for the jet-ski.
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