Page 39 of Bitter Truth
Someone purposely collected these sticks.
Remembering the arrow I’d been looking for the other day, I pull my phone out and check the time. This is about where I found the raccoon, which means this pile of branches was probably the landmark I was looking for. But someone had already shoved them to the side by the time I arrived.
Who? The girls? Or someone else?
There were no other names on the trail log Monday, but plenty of hikers don’t bother signing in or out. And though there’d been no other vehicles in the lot, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone else out here that day. It also doesn’t mean they aren’t still out here now.
Suddenly, it makes sense. How tame the raccoon I rescued is. The bait trap she had stuck on her head despite being miles from civilization. Someone must be living out here in these woods.
A shudder runs through me as I wonder if that’s why the girls never made it home. The sweat coating my skin turns icy as I consider what might have happened to them. My bladder twinges when I realize how silent it’s fallen.
There’s no bird song. No twigs snapping or leaves rustling under the weight of a squirrel. Even the breeze has fallen still. It’s just me and the heavy sound of my breathing. And a sudden crash in the brush to my right.
I turn to face the noise, my movements slow and stilted under the weight of my pack. Realize my mistake a second too late. I spin toward the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind, but the impact of something hard against my skull stops me.
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 littlewider. 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.”
