Her fingers went to work on the tape around her ankles.
It took forever, but finally her feet were free. She scrambled up to a standing position. Tried to run. Fell flat on her face.
The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.
Shit.
Busted lip.
She scooted up onto her knees, took it slow standing up. Waited a minute to find her equilibrium. One step at a time she felt her way around her prison.
Rock walls. Rock floor. Cold. Damp. She inhaled deeply. Musty or ... water. It smelled like stagnant water.
Cave. She was in a cave.
Her brain urged her feet to run, but she resisted. She had to run the right way or risk getting completely lost or seriously injured, rendering her immobile.
She stumbled. Hit the ground, knees first. Her knees throbbed.
Calming herself, she felt around to see what she’d fallen over. Soft. Lumpy.
A bag.
She fumbled for an opening.
Her hands dove inside.
The familiar contents sent another adrenaline surge rushing through her veins.
Her bag.
She felt for the flashlight ... found her cell phone.
Her pulse reacted, catapulted with hope.
Okay, okay, you need the light to get the hell out of here.
She found the light, clasped it as well as the phone in her hands. She pushed to her feet. Using her thumb, she turned on the flashlight.
Her eyes squinted against the light.
When her vision had adjusted, she looked around.
Something shiny on the ground.
She walked closer. Her breath stalled in her lungs.
Knife. Bloody.
An alarm roared in her head.
Don’t panic. Don’t touch the knife. Evidence.
But what if . . .
To hell with it.
Run.
