The jerky was like leather, and she almost gagged as she swallowed it, but she managed to wash it down with a gulp of water. The second jug was almost empty. I’m down to the bitter end, she thought; I can’t hold out much longer. And now she had a new worry: Her contractions were starting to get uncomfortable, like a fist squeezing down. It didn’t qualify as painful yet, but it was a harbinger of things to come.
Where was he, goddamn it? Why had he left her alone so long? With no watch to track the time, she didn’t know if it had been hours or days since his last visit. She wondered if she had made him angry when she’d yelled at him. Was this her punishment? Was he trying to scare her a little, make her understand that she had to be polite and show him some respect? All her life, she’d been polite, and look where it had gotten her. Polite girls got pushed around. They got stuck at the end of the line, where no one paid them any attention. They got married to men who promptly forgot they even existed. Well, I’m through being polite, she thought. If I ever get out of here, I’m going to grow a spine.
But first I have to get out of here. And that means I have to
She took another sip of water. Felt strangely sated, as though she’d feasted and drunk wine. Bide your time, she thought. He’ll come back.
Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she closed her eyes.
And woke up in the grip of a contraction. Oh no, she thought, this one hurts. This one definitely hurts. She lay sweating in the dark, trying to remember her Lamaze classes, but they seemed like a lifetime ago. Someone else’s lifetime.
“Lady.”
She went rigid. Stared up toward the grate, where the voice had whispered. Her pulse hammered.
“Lady. Talk to me.”
She took a deep breath. “I need help,” she whimpered.
“Why?”
“My baby…”
“Tell me.”
“It’s coming. I’m having pains. Oh, please let me out! I don’t know how much longer it will be…” She gave a sob. “Let me out. I need to get out. My baby’s coming.”
The voice fell silent.
She clung to the blanket, afraid to breathe, afraid to miss his softest whisper. Why didn’t he answer? Had he left again? Then she heard the thud, and a scraping.
A shovel. He was starting to dig.
One chance, she thought. I have just this one chance.
More thuds. The shovel moved in longer strokes, scooping away dirt, the scrapes as jarring as the screech of chalk on a board. She was breathing fast now, her heart banging in her chest. Either I live or die, she thought. It all gets decided now.
The scraping stopped.
Her hands were ice, fingers chilled as they clutched the blanket to her shoulders. She heard wood creak, and then the hinges gave a squeal. Dirt spilled into her prison, into her eyes.
“It’s time to come out, ” he said, this time not through a grate. A quiet voice, utterly ordinary. How could evil sound so normal?
“Help me.” She gave a sob. “I can’t jump all the way up there.”
She heard wood grate against wood, and felt something bump down beside her. A ladder. Opening her eyes, she looked up and saw only a silhouette against stars. After the pitch blackness of her prison, the night sky seemed awash in light.
He turned on a flashlight, aiming it down at the rungs. “It’s only a few steps,” he said.
“It hurts so much.”
“I’ll take your hand. But you have to step onto the ladder.”
Sniffling, she rose slowly to her feet. Swayed and dropped back down to her knees. She had not stood up in days, and it shocked her now, how weak she felt despite her attempts to exercise, despite the adrenaline now pumping through her blood.
“If you want to get out,” he said, “you have to stand up.”
She groaned and staggered back to her feet, unsteady as a newborn calf. Her right hand was still inside the blanket, clutching it to her chest. With her left hand, she grasped the ladder.
“That’s it. Climb.”
She stepped onto the lowest rung and paused to steady herself before she reached up with her free hand for the next rung. Took another step. The hole was not deep; just a few more rungs and she’d be out of it. Already, her head and shoulders were at his waist.
“Help me,” she pleaded. “Pull me up.”
“Let go of the blanket.”
“I’m too cold. Please, pull me up!”
He laid his flashlight on the ground. “Give me your hand,” he said, and bent toward her, a faceless shadow, one tentacle extended toward her.
His head was just above hers now, within striking distance. For an instant she faltered, repulsed by the thought of what she was about to do.
“Stop wasting my time, ” he ordered.
Suddenly it was Dwayne’s face she imagined staring down at her. Dwayne’s voice berating her, scorn shoveled upon scorn.
She let the blanket go. It slid off her shoulders, uncovering what she had been clutching beneath it: her sock, bulging with the eight flashlight batteries. She brought her arm up, swinging the sock like a mace, the arc propelled by sheer rage. Her aim was wild, clumsy, but she felt the satisfying
The shadow reeled sideways and toppled.
In seconds she was up the ladder and scrambling out of the hole. Terror did not make you clumsy; it sharpened your senses, made you quick as a gazelle. In the split second after her feet touched solid ground, she registered a dozen details at once. A quarter moon peeking out from behind branches that arched across the sky. The smell of soil and damp leaves. And trees, everywhere trees, a ring of towering sentinels that blocked out all but a narrow dome of stars overhead.
She landed on her hands and knees. Scrambled back to her feet in an instant and was running again, but with a limp now, her right ankle twisted and throbbing. I’m making too much noise, she thought, I’m loud as a trampling elephant. Don’t stop, don’t stop-he could be right behind me. Just keep moving!
But she was blind in these woods, with just the stars and that pitiful excuse of a moon to show her the way. No light, no landmarks. No idea where she was or in which direction help might lie. She knew nothing of this place, and was as lost as a wanderer in a nightmare. She fought her way through underbrush, heading instinctively
