CHAPTER
66
Rebecca was sure Dixon was dead.
She couldn't see him in the dark. There was no sliver of light this time from the sealed trapdoor. She listened for moans or breathing but heard only the rumble of the furnace.
She hunched over, paralyzed in the corner. With her hands bound behind her, there was nothing she could do for him if he was alive and hurt.
"Dixon?" she called for the second or third time. Her voice sounded foreign to her, strained and small.
There was no response.
She searched in the dark and found the jagged metal on the corner of the furnace. She stretched, made contact. It hurt to hold her arms at that high of an angle. She hooked the plastic between her wrists onto the metal and started rubbing it back and forth. Her wounded arm throbbed but she kept pulling and sawing the plastic tie against the sharp edge. She had no idea if she was making any progress.
By now her eyes had adjusted to the dark. It wasn't pitch-black. She could make out Dixon's body. Still no movement. She was too far away to see if he was breathing. Her nerves were raw. Every little sound made her catch her breath, stopping to listen. The silence above should have comforted her. Silence meant no one would be coming down to hurt her like they had Dixon. Instead, it set her on edge. Why would they just leave her to be found or to escape?
She kept sawing. God, her arm hurt. Her lungs felt on fire from the gasoline fumes. She wanted to scream and shout. Get angry because it was better than feeling afraid.
"What the hell did you get us into, Dixon Lee?" she yelled.
"Becca?"
She jumped, pulling her wrists down, and heard a pop. Her wrists were free.
"Dixon?"
"Where are you?"
She could see him move, a shadowed bulk still lying on the concrete floor.
"I'm here," she told him as she felt her way over to him. On closer inspection she saw that his arms were bound behind him. He was struggling to sit up, twisting and rocking.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"I'm okay. Sore. Maybe a bum ankle. How 'bout you? Are you okay?"
She touched his shoulder, startling him.
"You got your wrists undone."
"We'll do yours, too. Let me just check and make sure nothing's broken," she told him as she ran her fingers over his arms.
"There's no time, Becca. We've got to get out of here."
He struggled to stand up and fell against her. She caught him by the waist as he slid to his knees. Her fingers were wet and sticky.
"Oh my God, Dixon, you're bleeding."
"Becca, we've got to get out. They've got the whole place rigged to blow."