The One That Got Away by Simon Wood
CHAPTER ONE
Zo? recoiled from the nightmare only to find it still existed in the waking world. She was lying naked on the floor of an oppressively hot shed with dust and dirt clinging to the sweat coating her body. Thick cable ties bound her wrists in front of her, as well as her ankles. They’d been cinched so tight her hands and feet tingled at the slightest move.
How had this happened? She tried to piece events together, but everything was a fog. When she tried to focus on a single thought, the fog draped itself, wet and heavy, over her brain.
A scream from outside split the night.
Holli! Her friend’s name cut through her mental haze.
A picture formed. They’d been together for a long weekend in Vegas. In true Thelma & Louise style, too broke to fly, they’d driven from the Bay Area. They’d thought a road trip would be kitschy but discovered what a monotonous thing it was, driving hundreds of miles across state lines. Once they got to Vegas, they threw off the grad-student respectability and gambled, drank, and partied. It was just the shot in the arm they needed. They’d waited until dark before driving home—less traffic, less heat. That was where things turned vague. She remembered stopping for food and gas at some town that was just a pinprick on a map. Another hazy memory of eating at some restaurant or bar followed. The clink of glasses sounded in her brain, along with laughter. Then . . . then . . . nothing. What had happened after receded back into the murk.
Another scream. Zo? felt it vibrate in her bones. It was more than a cry for help. It was the cry of someone in pain, and it shocked Zo? into life. Whoever had Holli would come for her next. He couldn’t find her here when he did. She had to escape for her sake and Holli’s.
Moonlight shone through the window, cutting through the room at an angle. There wasn’t enough to see the whole place, but it was sufficient for seeing what she had to work with. Her prison was cheaply constructed. Corrugated metal formed the walls and ceiling. The plywood floor sagged under her weight. Boxes, containers, and toolboxes were spread across it and climbed the walls, forming a canyon of junk. Did her captor see her in those terms—just trash to be dumped out of sight and mind until he came to dispose of it?
She didn’t let the thought distract her. Escaping was all that mattered, and the room’s contents held her shot at freedom. Toolboxes meant tools. Tools meant a crack at getting her hands and feet free.
“Please let there be a knife,” she murmured to herself.
Another scream was followed by sobbing and faint pleas. Zo? had dumbly believed she was in the worst situation of her life, but it surely paled against Holli’s plight. She couldn’t imagine what Holli was going through.
“I’m coming, Holli,” she murmured.
Her captor had made a mistake. Binding her hands in front of her gave her maneuverability. He obviously didn’t expect much of a struggle from her.
She rolled from her side onto all fours. With her slight frame, it was easy to achieve, but her body screamed, forcing her onto elbows and knees. She tried to put her weight back on her feet, but toppled back onto her side.
She tried again. Determination trumped pain, and she forced herself upright. This time, she bent forward to keep her balance, then pushed down through her legs to stand. Giddiness greeted her on the way up. It met the fog layer clogging her brain and robbed her of her balance. She didn’t realize she was falling until she crashed back onto the floor.
Whatever drug she’d been given had robbed her of her dexterity.
“You think you can stop me, you son of a bitch?” she murmured. “Not a chance.”
She clung to her bravado. Misplaced or unrealistic, it didn’t matter. It kept fear at arm’s length.
She rolled back onto all fours and inched along wormlike on her knees and forearms while she listened to Holli’s moans and whimpers filtering through the walls.
Poor Holli. She had the unfortunate bad luck of being chosen first. Things easily could have gone the other way. The thought forced a shiver out of Zo?, despite the hot and muggy atmosphere inside the shed. The sound of her friend’s pain drove her on. She crept forward more quickly, but she couldn’t stop the tears.
“Enjoy your fun while it lasts, you sick son of a bitch,” she murmured as tears streaked her face.
She reached the closest toolbox and hauled herself up onto her knees, then leaned against the nearby crates. She had to be quiet; no more loud noises. If she could hear Holli’s cries, then they could hear her. Using both hands, she turned the box to face her. It was heavy. She took that as a good sign. A heavy toolbox was a well-equipped toolbox.