Taken (3 page)

I ran my tongue over the rough interior of my mouth. What I wouldn't do for a sip of water. I imagined myself cupping my hands and raising icy stream or lake water to my lips. I imagined it tasting like liquid honey.

Steph, focus! You want water? First find a way out of
here—and fast.

I scanned the interior of the shack again. This time, instead of just looking, I focused on seeing. There's a big difference. You can look without really seeing. That's what my grandpa told me the first time he took me on a hike in the woods and I complained about how boring it was, nothing but stupid old trees everywhere. He showed me how to see that all those trees were like the beams of a gigantic building and that there was a whole extended family of creatures— animals, plants, insects, reptiles—making a life in that building. He showed me a lot of other things too. My heart slowed a little. I was able to breathe again. Thinking about Grandpa always made me feel better. I made myself see the shack the way Grandpa would see a meadow or a streambed.

I started at one corner and surveyed the place systematically with my eyes. I was three-quarters of the way around and losing hope when I spotted them: the pointed ends of three—no, four—rusty nails protruding from a couple of two-by-four uprights to which were nailed some newer-looking planks. It looked like someone had repaired a hole or some damaged wood but had done a sloppy job. And that was good for me. If I could position myself in front of one of the rusty nails, maybe I could work the rope against the pointed end until it broke. Maybe.

It took a few agonizing minutes to half drag and half push myself to the closest nail. My legs and hands were numb. I hoped it was because of the cold and not because the ropes were so tight that they were cutting off my circulation. It took several more precious minutes to position myself so that I could start digging the end of the nail into the rope that bound my hands and ankles together. It was a lot harder than I had expected. I kept losing the end of the nail, and because I couldn't see behind me, I couldn't always tell if the nail was hitting the rope at the right place. The whole time I was working on that, I worried that whoever had taken me would walk through the door.

My arms started to ache from being forced into an unnatural position. What if this didn't work? What if I couldn't free myself?

I worked more frantically—and let out a yowl. Something sharp bit into my wrist. The nail. I felt something warm and wet. Maybe it was sweat. But what if it was blood? What if the rusty nail had punctured my skin? You could get tetanus from rusty nails. You could die.

All the more reason to get out of here
, I told myself. It was slowly getting dark inside the cabin. The sun would be down soon. I fought back panic as I worked the nail methodically against the rope, but I couldn't make my brain be quiet. What if I couldn't untie myself? What if I died on the floor of this old shack?

Then a miracle happened. The rope that tied my wrists to my ankles gave way.

My wrists were still tied together. So were my ankles. But for the first time I felt hopeful. I had made it this far. I could make it even farther.

I wrestled myself into a sitting position and stretched my stiff legs out in front of me. I wiggled my toes. It felt good. I took a deep breath. Then slowly, painfully, I worked my tied wrists down my back until I could sit on them.
If I could just lift
my butt…There!

I wriggled my wrists under my butt and then wrestled them down further. I bent my knees and pulled them close to me as I worked the rope under my legs, then my feet, then, finally, brought my wrists up in front of me. It was progress.

I turned around and used the nail like a hard, straight finger to loosen the knots in the rope. Now that I could see what I was doing, it went much faster. A few minutes later, victory! My wrists were free. I wriggled my fingers until the circulation returned. Then I untied my ankles.

I struggled to my feet and staggered to the door of the shack. It wasn't locked. It opened, and I peeked outside. My spirits crashed. There was nothing out there but shadowy trees for as far as I could see.

I had no idea where I was.

FOUR

I
f I had found myself in the same situation in the middle of nowhere a couple of years ago, I would have simply opened that door and run. I wouldn't have cared which direction I went in. All I would have cared about was getting as far away from that shack as fast as possible.

But this wasn't a couple of years ago. This was now, and I knew better. I knew I had to keep my wits about me. I didn't just want to get away; I wanted to get home. For that, I needed a plan.

The first thing I had to do was orient myself.

I walked into the woods as far as I could while still keeping the shack in sight as a point of reference. I figured that whoever had brought me here must have come by car or truck, so I made a wide loop around the shack, looking for signs of a road, a path, even tire tracks. I didn't find anything.

I looked for a lake or a stream, something that I could follow that might take me somewhere.

But all I found were more trees.

I noticed that the land rose to a hill in the distance, but like the terrain around it, the hill was densely wooded.

The sun sank below the tips of the tallest trees. It wouldn't be long before it was completely dark.

I made my way back to the shack and searched it again, using my hands as well as my eyes this time. Besides the dishes I had seen, I found a battered utensil set: a knife, fork and spoon that snapped together. I set them aside. I found half a ball of string, two safety pins and an old metal canteen that looked as if it had survived one of the world wars, probably the first one. I set those aside too. I looked for food, but there was none. I hesitated when I came across a ratty moth-eaten blanket. I was still wearing what I had worn to the city: jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a light jacket. It wasn't nearly enough to keep me warm, especially at night. I shook out the blanket and rolled it up. The only other things I found that could potentially be useful were a length of rope and a thick sheet of filmy plastic. I hunted for matches, a flashlight, a lighter—anything that would let me start a fire or see in the dark—but had no luck.

I put the utensil set, the safety pins and the string in my pocket and wrapped the canteen and the blanket in the plastic. At the last minute, I added a metal bowl. I tied the bundle with the rope, leaving a loop that was long enough to serve as a shoulder strap.

The sun had dropped even lower by the time I had finished, but I didn't let that stop me. I opened the shack's solid door and stepped outside.

They say that when you're lost in the woods and don't know where you are, the smartest thing you can do is to stay put. They say it improves your chances of being found. But staying put wouldn't help me. I wasn't lost because I had taken a wrong turn or stumbled off a trail. I was lost because someone had taken me and tied me up out here—someone who probably intended to kill me. Staying put was the worst thing I could have done. A three-quarters-full moon peeked out from a cloud-scattered night sky. In its silvery light, I could make out where the rise in the land was. I walked toward it and climbed steadily uphill.

I kept my eyes on the ground and moved as fast as I could. Even though I was doing my best to watch where I was going, I tripped dozens of times on tree roots and rocks that lay hidden by the darkness blanketing the forest floor.

I heard rustling somewhere off to my left. My heart slammed to a stop. It was early spring. Bears had come out of hibernation. I knew there were bears in the area near where I lived—they hung around the edges of the dump outside of town. What if there were bears out here too? Bears that were ravenous after a winter-long sleep? I peered into the blackness around me but saw nothing. Something skittered in the darkness to my left. I stifled a scream and waited, paralyzed. Whatever it was, it fell silent. I told myself it was a chipmunk or a squirrel and that it had disappeared into the woods somewhere. Even so, I couldn't make my legs move. When I finally got going again, I walked more slowly, staring out at the darkness around me, looking for signs of danger.

I was hungrier and thirstier than I had ever been, and my head still felt fuzzy, but I forced myself to keep going. I was panting by the time I allowed myself to sink down onto the trunk of a fallen tree to catch my breath. I gave myself only a few minutes to rest. I had to get to the top of the hill while it was still dark. I might be able to see something up there. And I might be able to find a place to hide.

My mouth was so dry that it hurt to swallow, but I finally made it to the top. It felt good to be away from that shack. I made my way across the crest of the hill to where the land started to fall again and looked out over the shadowy landscape below. I'd been hoping to see lights twinkling in the distance—streetlights marking a major road or highway, lights in buildings in a nearby town, even lights from a lone house. But I saw nothing except the moon-kissed tops of trees, trees and more trees. I was so disappointed that I wanted to cry. Instead I forced myself to circle the crest of the hill, taking care to watch my footing. I was halfway around when I stopped and blinked. My heart raced with excitement. There was a glow in the distance, like a film of golden light shimmering on the horizon. I couldn't even guess how far away it was—for sure it was far enough that I couldn't reach it in a single night—but there was no doubt in my mind about the source of the glow. It was the light from a distant town or a city. All I had to do was walk toward it.

I wanted to set out right away, but I made myself stop and think first. If I walked down the hill and into the woods again, I would lose sight of the glow. Without a marker to guide me, I would almost certainly drift off course and end up walking in a completely different direction. I looked up at the sky. A few stars were visible among the clouds, but I didn't recognize any of them. Besides, in ten minutes or half an hour or an hour, they would probably be covered by cloud. I hated to admit it— I resisted admitting it—but I had gone as far as I could that night.

I knelt down. My hands trembled as I untied the small bundle I had packed at the shack. I tried not to think that whoever had taken me might have already discovered I was gone. I tried not to think of him as a superhuman tracker who might be climbing up the hill at that very moment to find me and drag me back down to his lair. I fought the urge to run.

I took the ball of string out of my small bundle. I gazed out at the glow—the promise of safety—and tied the string around the trunk of a young tree that stood directly between it and me. Then I made my way carefully down the side of the hill farthest from the shack, hunting in the gloom for a hiding place as I went. Finally, I spotted an outcropping of rock jutting away from the side of the slope like a shelf. I crept under it, spread out my piece of plastic and curled up. I pulled the ratty old blanket over me for warmth and concealment and lay there staring out into the darkness and listening for sounds of danger amidst the whisper of the woods. I was too keyed up to sleep. What if a bear found me? Or a wolf?

Or whoever had taken me?

I kept scanning the terrain around me, even though I couldn't make out anything except vague shapes and shadows. If only I had let Allison's brother drive me home, I would have been safe in my bed. But I had turned down Allison's offer. I had shrugged off her concern. I had walked home alone, in the dark, even though the police had been warning girls for weeks not to do that. I had stood and looked at the field. It had even occurred to me to go the long way around. But I hadn't done that either. I wished I had. Then I never would have run into whoever had grabbed me. Maybe—I'm ashamed to admit I thought this—maybe he would have grabbed someone else instead. Then things would be different.

Or maybe—I shuddered as it occurred to me—they wouldn't have.

Maybe he hadn't been hiding in that field waiting for the next girl careless enough to take a shortcut through it. Maybe he'd planned it all ahead of time. Maybe he'd been watching me for days. Maybe he'd studied my habits and knew the route I usually took to and from school and town. I thought hard. After I left Elgin Street, I hadn't seen another soul. I hadn't heard anything either. Maybe he'd been standing across the street from Ralph's. Maybe he'd seen me get off the bus. Maybe he'd got into his car or truck and had driven on ahead to the field, confident that I'd be along soon. Maybe he'd waited until I was in the field where no one would see me because of the trees and the bushes.

When he'd grabbed me, I'd thought I was going to die. I'd put up a fight—the fight of my life. I'd kicked. I'd tried to pry him off me. I'd scratched him—at least, I thought I had. Then something had jabbed me in the arm, and here I was.

I shivered under my blanket. I couldn't let him catch me again. I couldn't let him do to me what he had done to those other two girls.

FIVE

I
woke up when the sun burst under the ledge that was sheltering me. I was stiff and cold, hungry and thirsty, but I didn't move. Not at first anyway. Instead I lay still and listened to the world beyond. Listened for him. But the only sound I heard was birds twittering and calling from treetops.

I poked my head out and peered around. The woods looked less forbidding in the morning light. Most of the trees closest to me were pine, their straight trunks rising high above the forest floor before their evergreen branches shot out, fighting among themselves for the sun's rays. The forest floor was carpeted with a thick layer of dried brown pine needles through which poked the green spring noses and gangly limbs of dozens of different types of plants. Fallen trees and outcroppings of rock studded the landscape.

I didn't see a soul.

I climbed out from under the rock ledge, my eyes searching the horizon.