The cuffs hurt my wrists. For real, not just pretend.
Something—someone—knocks my legs out from behind. I slam onto my knees with a loud, painedoof.
Ow, shit, shit. I’m already scraped. Bruised. Do I want this?
A flash of my knees, tomorrow. When it’s all over. Will it be over tomorrow?
It can be over now, if I want.
Red, I mouth.Red, red, red.
Something slips down around my neck, goes tight.
Oh my god. It’s real.
I twist. There’s pain, fast/slow movements, my back arches, my arms tight behind me, my shoulders already strained.
I take a breath to scream and wobble, then fly, weightless for an incomprehensible few seconds. I’m a sack of potatoes, thrown over a shoulder. An arm between my legs, wrapped tight around my thigh, squeezing. Fingers digging into my flesh.
We move. Bounce. He’s running, I think.
I struggle. I don’t mean to, it’s not something I can help. Like my brain’s on a different plane. Or maybe that’s my body. I don’t know.
I don’tknow.
I hear crunching. Forest. Branches snapping. Leaves rustling.
Birds, cicadas. Is that thunder, far off?
I don’t know.
The air’s hot, humid, but I’m cold. I shiver, my body limp and heavy and then taut, twisting in the grip that’s got me between the thighs, my arms pinned against my back. It’s not secure. Not safe. I’ll fall. I will.
The grip tightens. A hand grabs my shoulder, fixes me in place. Someone else. Definitely two people.
I knew that. I heard the steps. More than two?
A shiver races up and through me. I’m whining, low, the sound like humming, except there’s nothing musical about it.
I shift, squeal when my weight tilts back again for a second, and then settle on the wide shoulders, that stabilizing hand going tighter.
I try to say words. You’d think it would be easy, right?—none come out. Nothing but a high-pitched hum.
“Shut the fuck up,” The arm between my legs eases up and slaps me, close to my ass. The other hand—the one holding up my lower shoulder—tightens. Something hits my face. Oh my god. Are they slapping me? I’d never pictured that. Not my face.
“You stay quiet, this’ll be easy. Make noise, we can’t control what happens.”
It’s Zion. I know that voice. And yet, maybe not? Maybe someone else entirely?
My stomach flips, clenches. Oh, god, please don’t let me throw up. No. No, that’s nerves. Fear. It’s a lot of stuff, but Max was right about the light lunch. Salad and crackers. That’s it. Bless her.
Something changes. The air? The ground? I can’t tell. It feels different now. Maybe their pace? The sounds? Smells?
I’ve got to calm down. Focus. Breathe.
Okay. Okay. I want to beherefor this, right? I don’t want to miss my own abduction. Mindful and present. That’s what I need.
A laugh pops up from out of nowhere, in my belly, my throat, out my mouth. Like a shout.
