CHAPTER 20
I can’t breathe. There’s something heavy on my chest, weighing my lungs down. I try to reach for it, but my arms won’t move. At the same time, I feel in motion, like the ground is bouncing beneath me. Or is it that I’m bouncing on the ground?
I tell my eyes to open and check, but they don’t want to. It’s too hard. My head pounds like it’s been struck by a train. All I want to do is go back to sleep. Then something snags my hair and my lids part wider than I would have thought possible.
I snap my jaw shut before I can scream. Stare in horror at the hazy branches and leaves above me. I’m being dragged.
Quickly, I close my eyes all but a tiny sliver, but try as I might, I can’t see the person who has my ankles locked in a vise-like grip. I can hear the wheeze of his breath, though, thick and phlegmy. His labored grunts as he struggles to pull me across the forest floor.
I dare to open the slits I’m watching through a little wider. I still can’t see who has me. I can, however, see my pack on top of my chest, my hands bound to it by the straps. At least it’s one mystery solved.
Now I just have to figure out who my captor is. What he wants with me. How long I was unconscious. Where the two teenage girls I was looking for are, and how to get back to the main trail.
I assure myself it will be easy enough, but the fireworks going off inside my head disagree.
The nausea I feel and the slight blur to my vision suggest that whatever was used to hit me left me with a concussion.
It’s not the first I’ve had, but I have a sickening feeling that I’m going to have one heck of a battle in front of me if I don’t want it to be my last.
Finally, the world stops moving. I snap my eyes shut. Force my face slack. Resist the urge to try and wipe at the line of drool I feel leaking down the side of my cheek. It’s not like I can reach it, anyway.
But the sensation it creates is unnerving.
Even though I know what it is, it feels like an insect crawling across my skin.
I might sell my soul to get it to stop. Only, then I’m moving again and I find I have bigger worries as the ground beneath me changes from dirt and leaves and rocks and sticks to a wood plank floor.
The brightness filtering through my eyelids dims. The air turns stale, thick with the stench of body odor and trash. And the soft whimpers I hear suggest that I’m not the only one here in this place who’s scared.
My heels are set on the floor with surprising gentleness. The thud of heavy steps approaches my head, then passes it. There’s the click of a door shutting. Though I still hear the whimpers, I no longer hear the labored breathing. Even so, I continue to keep my eyes shut, to feign unconsciousness.
I struggle not to react as a loud buzz comes from outside, a motor of some sort. The sound grows fainter, fading into the distance. After what feels like a century has passed, I dare to take a look at my surroundings.
The wooden walls are rough, the floor even rougher, dirt embedded deep into the texture of the planks.
Light filters in through a small window smeared with grease and grime.
A small propane camp stove rests to my right.
And to my left, huddled together on a filthy sleeping bag, are two teenage girls.
“Amelia?” My voice sounds raspy and hoarse. I have to dig deep to speak loud enough to be heard. “Danielle?”
They exchange a startled look, holding an entire silent conversation about me with their eyes.
“I’m a friend of your grandmother’s.” Realizing I don’t know which of the girls is Donna’s granddaughter, I add, “From the feed store.”
“Gran?” The smaller of the two girls begins to cry. Her companion tries to comfort her, but I realize that I haven’t seen their hands. They must be bound.
“What are you tied to?” I ask, wiggling my own fingers. Lancing pain replaces the numbness as blood flows back into them.
“There are knotholes in the wall. The ropes are through them,” the larger girl, a brunette, says.
“Are the edges sharp?”
“Not sharp enough to cut through the rope. We tried that already.”
Crap. That means I need to get free before the man returns.
“How long do you think we have until he comes back?” I ask. Squirming under the weight of my pack, trying to make enough slack in the straps to get my hands out, I realize my pockets are empty. That means no car keys, no phone.
I round my lower back against the floor. No gun. The acrid taste of fear makes my mouth pucker.
“He took the bike. He’s usually gone a while when he does that.”
I imagine him racing to the trailhead to move my car. The same way he must have after he snatched the girls.
“He’s not as bad as the other one,” the smaller girl says.
“The other one? There’s two of them?” I ask.
“Yeah.” The brunette’s voice trembles as she adds, “He’s the one we worry might kill us.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice, making my struggle against the straps binding me even clumsier. I stop a moment. Close my eyes. Draw several deep breaths while I give myself a silent pep talk. Then I renew my efforts, fighting even harder against my bonds.
Because if I don’t get free, neither do these girls.
“We’re going to get out of here,” I say, as much for myself as for them. “All of us.”
I remind myself that there’s two men I have to watch out for. Two men, two girls, and one me, weakened and with a headache to end all headaches. I’m not sure I can walk, much less run.
But maybe I won’t need to.
“How well do you know these woods?” I ask.
“Pretty good,” the brunette says. “I’ve been coming out here with my family since I was little.”
“Were you conscious when you were brought here?”
“Yes.”
“How do we get back to the main trail?”
“It’s to the east.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can you girls climb?”
“What, you mean like a tree?”
“Yes.”
This time, when they exchange looks, I see something besides fear in their eyes.
“You better believe it.”
“Good. Because if one or both of the men are here when we get our chance, I want you to run away from the path, behind the cabin, and climb the first tree you can. Separate trees, so you won’t have to wait for each other. Can you do that?”
“What about you?”
“Don’t wait for me. If they’re here, I’m going to have to keep them busy long enough for you to have enough of a head start that you’ll be in your trees before they start looking for you. We need them to not realize they’re searching in the wrong direction.”
“Then what?”
“Wait until they give up and stop looking. Once they’re back inside, climb down and hike out of here. Once you hit the trail, run. He moved your car, probably mine too, so you’ll have to head back to town on foot. Stay near the wood line so you can hide if you hear his bike.”
“You’re talking like you won’t be with us.”
I shrug. “I might not. If that’s the case, try and remember how to get back here so you can send help. Can you do that?” When they don’t respond, I add, “We might only get one chance. Can I trust you to take it?”
“Yes,” the smaller girl says.
The brunette promises, “You can.”
I give them what I hope is a reassuring smile as I continue to work my wrists free from the straps. Because I know that talking about it is the easy part. The hard part is surviving it.