Without realizing, I’m humming under my breath, trying to drown out all the awful sounds of this man’s murder. Brutalization. My mind plays tricks on me, showing me different visions of what those sounds are. Slapping is the hand against the face. Maybe slamming them into the water, right? Slap against the surface of the water?
The squish and squelch are easy. Stabbing. I imagine the man fighting back, struggling, resisting. Trying to get away. Trying to throw the man off. With each minute that passes, he loses more energy. More blood.
His screams become weak.
Eventually, everything stops. If anything, my heartbeat becomes louder as I lower my hands and struggle to hear every sound once again. Have they gone? Have they moved past?
I don’t move for a very long time. There’s no way of knowing how much time has passed. Maybe foolishly confident that everyone has moved out of the area, I begin struggling my way out of the rocks. It hurts. It pulls everything painfully. The pain is almost enough that I remain where I am and let the earth and wild animals take me.
Where the determination comes from, I don’t know, but eventually, I work my way out of my hiding spot and lie on my back with my eyes closed to catch my breath. Getting back to the barracks is going to be fun in this condition.
After some more time, I open my eyes and stare at the dimming light in the sky. I roll to my side and push myself onto my hands and knees. Okay, cool. Time to get to my feet. Ouch. Every move hurts somewhere. God, if I have to go out again tomorrow, I’m simply going to curl up in a ball and let them kill me.
I move forward in a daze. My daze breaks when I come across the naked, brutalized body of the man I heard being murdered. Bile rises, and I quickly turn away before I vomit on him. What the fuck. What is wrong with people?
I can’t bear to look back at him as I force myself forward. Maybe in the direction of the barracks. Maybe not. I don’t know. All I know is that I need to keep moving. I need to get away from the body of the man who innocently lost his life at the hands of a cruel monster.
My mind races. Tears streak down my cheeks. I can’t decide whether it’s fear or pain that has me crying. But I keep moving through the pain. It becomes a rhythm. I no longer feel anything as I struggle forward. My footsteps aren’t as quiet as they need to be, and I’m not moving as quickly as I should be.
But I’m left alone. It’s dark before I spot the barracks in the distance. I’m so relieved that I drop to the ground and curl up, closing my eyes for just a short rest. Then I’ll go the rest of the way. A short rest is all I need.
31
VOSS
My eyesopen at the sound of metal on metal. I cringe. Ugh. That’s the worst sound to wake up to. Nearly anything is preferable.
I shift and pause. My body aches. As I’m lying in what is unmistakably a cage, the engine roars to life. It takes me a second to remember where I am and why I’m here. I blink through the brain fog and look around. Miraculously, I still have my glasses on. If I were feeling eighty, I’d have worn a strap to make sure they remained on my head. Honestly, I didn’t think about it.
It’s a struggle to get myself upright. I know my brain is still feeling the effects of being drugged when it takes me a minute to realize my wrists are zip-tied. Is that something we discussed?
I shift a little more to look for Azlan and Wade. They can’t have gone far.
Azlan is on the other side of the trailer. He’s sitting in his cage, zip-tied hands in front of him as he stares at Wade, who’s still unconscious.
After a minute, I pull myself up. Azlan’s eyes flicker to mine. “You good?” I ask.
He inclines his head, his gaze moving back to Wade. I shift a little so I can see him. He’s blinking now, but he hasn’t moved. I don’t think Azlan can see him blinking from the angle he’s sitting at.
“You still have everything?” I ask.
Azlan looks at me again and nods. A man of few words. Okay, then. I already knew this.
The truck shakes and rattles as it drives down the highway. All the scraping and clanking are going to give me a headache. It’s already there in the back of my head. I should have hydrated or something before we left. Maybe taken an ibuprofen in advance to fight the effects of the drug and the noise.
There’s nothing to do but sit here and wait. I spend the time mentally taking inventory of the weapons I brought. Perhaps more importantly, I make sure the phone strapped to the inside of my leg isn’t loose or in danger of falling out. I’ll make do with losing a blade or two, but the phone is essential.
I become a little more alert to the movement of the truck as it slows down. In my mind, I’m tracking its location by the turns it takes. I know this route inside and out. I’ve watched it on my computer screen over and over again.
I’m not expecting the dirt road, though. I should have. It makes a lot of sense given that we’re driving into the wilderness. I can’tdecide which I hate more: the excess noise or the way we’re rattled around on and against metal bars for fuck knows how long.
By the time the truck stops, I’m grumpy as fuck. When I meet Wade’s eye, I can tell he’s feeling the same. Yep, this is shit.
The engine cuts out. I listen as the driver’s side door opens and closes. Then everything is too faint to hear. Still, I try to hear anything. I’d like to tell everyone else to sit the fuck still so I can hear. The noises we’re surrounded by can be very telling.
Minutes pass. I wish I’d thought to wear a watch. I have no idea what time it is, nor how much time has passed, before someone finally begins opening the back of the trailer. My irritation is at its max. About fucking time.
I’m staring at the doors, listening to them unlock and shit, before they finally swing open. Three men look into the back of the trailer. Two are armed; one is not. I recognize the one not armed as the truck driver from the camera feeds we watched.
