ONE
Fern
I yelpand glare through the rearview window at the two men sitting in their comfortable seats with their nice, safe seatbelts.
They ignore me.
They’ve been doing that ever since my dad handed me over to them.Well, I shouldn’t say handed me over.That makes the exchange seem pleasant.
What actually happened was my dad drove me to this abandoned warehouse.When we were in the parking lot, a truck pulled up, and my dad told me he’d sold me into marriage to some stranger.
I tried to bolt out of his car, but they caught me.They tied my wrists, bound my ankles, and tossed me into the bed of their pickup truck.I kicked and screamed and glared at my father as the two men tossed an envelope at him and hopped into the truck.
We sped away, and we’ve been driving ever since.
We take another turn, and I brace myself this time so I don’t bounce off the side again.My shoulder and arm are bruised from the bumpy ride.I’m sore, grumpy, and heartbroken.
My dad and I used to be close.I was a total daddy’s girl when I was younger, but then my mom left, and things changed.My dad became strict.He started drinking more and more, and then gambling.
We lost our house when I was twelve because of his debts.We moved to a rough part of town and started living in this crappy apartment.I hated it.I think that’s when I started to hate him, too.
Instead of using the loss of our house as a wake-up call and trying to get help and change, he became worse.He drank and gambled more, and he blamed me for all his problems.It was my fault that Mom left.It was my fault that he had to drink.I was the unlucky one who made him lose all his bets.It was all on me.
I started saving all of my money when I was fourteen.I had a plan to save up and leave.I’d move somewhere new and start over with my best friend, Roxie.
We were close to being able to leave when all this happened, and now I know I’ve missed my window.All my possessions and money are back in the apartment, and I have a feeling my dad will find them before I can get back there.
I curse as I loosen the knot around my ankles, almost cheering when I get it undone.My knees and hips are killing me, and I sigh as I stretch them out in the truck bed.We bounce over a few more potholes, and I wince as I’m tossed around.
It’s getting dark now.We’ve been driving all day, taking the back roads.I’m not sure if it’s because they’re worried about me being spotted or waving for help, or if this is just the best route to take.We’ve been driving for hours, and I wonder if we’re close or if we’ll be stopping for the night soon.
I stuff the rope from my ankles behind me and get to work on my hands.The angle is wrong, though, and the rope is tied too tightly.Every time I move, it rubs against my sensitive skin.My wrists are red and swollen, but I don’t give up.I can’t.I need to get free.
My new plan is to jump out and make a run for it as soon as we stop, and it would be a lot easier to run if my hands weren’t tied together.
As if on cue, the truck slows.I sit up straighter, peeking over the edge.We’re still on the back roads, still in a forest.
I frown.Where could we be going?What’s out here?
I don’t even know where we are.Are we still in Oregon?
The second half of my plan of escape was to find someone to help me, someone friendly or maybe a police officer, and explain the situation to them.Then they could turn me in the right direction so I can call Roxie and we can figure out our next steps.I don’t think that’s going to happen now.Not when I haven’t seen another car or person in hours.Not when we’re in the middle of nowhere.
Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I cry out as the rope twists against my wrists.Blood drips down my hand, dripping off my fingers, and I choke on a sob.
It will be okay,I tell myself.It will be okay, it will be okay, it will be okay.
We take another turn, and I cry out as I tip sideways, hitting my head against the side of the truck bed.For a second, I see stars.I reach up, rubbing the sore spot on my head.
The men inside the truck don’t so much as glance at me.I’m hoping that works in my favor in a minute.
The truck slows even more, and my heart races faster.
This is my chance.
I give up on untying my hands and prepare to run.I peek over the side, spotting a gate in the distance, and I know it’s now or never.This is my chance to escape.
I grip the edge of the truck.My hands are sweaty and slick with blood.I curse as my grip slips.
