Page 88 of A Light in the Dark
I opened my eyes, but something dark obscured my vision. Fury over my situation burst to life, and I kicked my feet. Attempting to swing did me no good.
Someone had tied my hands behind my back.
My feet, however, connected with a body, and I earned a grunt. With nothing else I could do, I hammered away with my heels, following the sound and determined to leave my mark. A pair of strong hands seized my ankles, and I battled to free myself so I could continue my pummeling.
“Make certain she swallows,” a deep voice ordered, his tone sharp. “It’s no good if she just swims to shore once we throw her in.”
Somehow, I would make the fuckers pay. Well aware the berries wouldn’t do jack shit to me, I did as they wanted. I’d have to put my acting skills to the test, pretending I choked. Shuddering and spasms matched the expected behaviors, so I gave little kicks of my feet, pretending as though the strength drained away as my throat closed and the berries did their lethal work.
Without Elenora’s death cobbler, their plan would have worked.
I needed to thank her later, sometime after I got myself out of my predicament.
“That should do it. Untie her and toss her in,” the deep voiced man ordered.
Forcing myself to go limp save for deliberate twitches,faking ragged breaths and erratic kicks tested my patience. Every instinct screamed for me to get up and run.
In reality, I’d have better luck following their plan, swimming to shore the instant I determined I could escape from them.
Expecting them to remove the blindfold, as a blindfolded corpse indicated foul play, I closed my eyes and waited. They, whomever they were, untied my hands first before removing the blindfold. Then someone grabbed me under my arms and another took hold of my legs. Without any fanfare, they swung me back and forth before releasing me, tossing me off something. Before I clued in screaming might be a good idea, I slammed into the water. My ass took the brunt of the fall, followed by my back, which hurt enough I gasped. Rocks beneath the surface spared me from swallowing water, buying me time to gasp in air before I flopped into rushing currents.
I opened my eyes, flipped myself over so my back faced the surface and might disguise some of my activities, and fought to get my bearings. White caps churned around me, and I determined I’d been thrown into some river at a narrow point, guaranteed to batter me and sweep my body far away. Large rocks served as obstacles, and I used my hands to push off them and limit the amount of damage I suffered through before being swept far enough away to risk struggling for the shoreline, which bordered a thick forest.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed it, the river’s rapids swept me along at a rather brisk pace. I twisted around, and once satisfied I couldn’t spot anyone upstream, I began the tedious process of swimming for shore. Fortunately, the presence of trees helped, as someof them had extended their roots into the water, giving me something to hold on to. After several tries, I secured a hold, hauled myself to the shoreline, and scrambled up onto the stony beach.
Then I muttered curses, taking stock of my situation.
Somehow, my house keys and phone remained in my pocket, but the phone’s screen remained dark no matter what I did. I assumed the spiderweb of cracks had something to do with its premature demise. Having my keys offered some comfort.
When I made my way home, I’d let myself in, check on my roses, and pick my favorite corner to cry in for a while before dusting off, taking names, and doing my best to secure a healthy blend of vengeance and justice.
According to my shirt, I’d been shot in the chest at least three times, as it was covered in red-brown stains. I patted my head, found a matted spot, and determined I’d gotten a rather nasty clonk, resulting in a substantial amount of blood shed. The throbbing throughout my skull supported my theory I’d gained a concussion at a minimum.
Luckily for me, the strangleberry being shoved down my throat had woken me up, else I would have drowned without any struggle whatsoever. A full pat down revealed a great deal of tender skin, which would bruise in a hurry. Had I been in Stonecreek, I would have called emergency services to summon an ambulance. As that wasn’t an option, I’d have to either head upstream and run the risk of running into my kidnappers or go downstream, hopefully finding civilization sooner than later.
In the future, I would make certain I never wentanywhere without a pocketknife or other tool, as I foresaw having a bad time.
While Stonecreek had a gentle enough climate, starving or dehydrating would be a serious concern.
It all depended on how remote of a location they’d dumped me in.
I regretted not having gotten a look at their vehicle or the surroundings before I’d gone for a swim. In reality, had I made any other decision, they might have worked a little harder to kill me. However, the method worried me.
How many of the refugees had been forced to consume strangleberry, losing their lives before they’d had even a chance to struggle? Not only would I make Elenora a blanket, I’d make her matching gloves, a little hat, a scarf, and a shawl—and I’d go rampage at Yolana’s store and fashion it from Shifter Five’s precious silk. The first thing I would do when I got home involved crying, and then I’d hit up my silk stash and cuddle with it. After I comforted myself using the power of silk, I would find Joel and seek out some comfort from a living person. Then I’d get to work securing justice, notifying my parents I’d gotten into more than a little trouble, and otherwise resuming life.
At least I held some hope my boss would forgive me for disappearing.
With a little luck, I might even make it home by Monday morning, in which case I’d adjust my order of operations and go to work, throw myself into the tasks with a fervor destined to alarm everyone, and then head home to cry, cuddle with Shifter Five’s silk, and seek out Joel.
Pleased with my plan for what I would do once I found my way home, I began the tedious process of making a planfor getting home. While I’d grown up in the country, my survival skills were limited to rubbing sticks together to make fire, learning how to make a spear using a stick and sharp rocks, and setting up a basic shelter.
As fire, sharp sticks, and shelter could result in my survival, I picked my way along the shore, heading downstream in case my kidnappers opted to follow the river in search of my body. The last thing I needed was them to discover I’d survived their machinations, so I’d do my best to make their work as difficult as possible.
Having a plan helped. My feet squished in my shoes, and I was grateful I’d gone for sneakers rather than kitten heels or flats. Had I been in any other type of footwear, I would have been running around the forest barefoot.
With my luck, stones would pierce my feet, I’d be embedded with thorns within an hour, and I’d find every single spiked plant and step on it. A thousand and one different ways the forest might kill me rattling through my head, and to hold my anxiety at bay, I searched for an appropriate stick to sharpen and turn into a weapon.
The forest had sticks aplenty, and it wasn’t long until I sat at the water’s edge, making use of a sharper rock to whittle the wood down to a point. The task consumed more time and energy than I liked, but having something beat having nothing. If I didn’t find someone or something to stab with the stick, it would help me navigate through the woods without taking a fall.
