The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask (18 page)

Guess I'll have to rescue myself.

If Becca were in my situation, her cell phone would connect her with instant support from a network of friends. Leo would figure out some techno-clever way of transmitting an SOS to authorities.

But me?

Listening and watching are what I do best. I think back to news reports of people trapped in car trunks who escaped by kicking out taillights. I'm trapped in a steel cage, speeding over fifty miles an hour. If I jump out the door, I'll be a kid-sized splatter on the freeway.

Still, if I can get the door to stay open, I can attract attention by waving for help.

I turn the handle and push hard. Air rushes into the tack room. I lean my arm out as far as I can and wave frantically. Unfortunately, the tack room door is on the right side of the trailer, and since large vehicles keep to the right lane, the only living creatures to look my way are random cows.

I hear cars roaring passed in the left lane. I can't see them, and they can't see me. I'd have to lean out dangerously far to be seen by the vehicles behind us.

What if I poked something out the door that would attract attention?

I look around the tack room and only see scattered hay from the tossed bale, saddles, and other horse tack. My backpack! I have paper and pens inside. I could write an SOS message.

Ripping a piece of paper from my notebook, I write in large letters: HELP!

I find a piece of rope on the floor and poke a hole in the paper then wind the rope through the hole. I hold the rope in one hand and inch the door open with the other. I'm careful this time not to let the door open too far.

This is going to work!
I think excitedly.

I lean further, dangling the paper from the rope …
Whoosh!

The wind snatches the paper, slams the door, and I'm left holding an empty rope. Not only is my message gone, but I'm also guilty of littering.

Where's the highway patrol when you need them?

Hooves clang on metal from the other side of my wall. Zed must be getting anxious and scared. Poor guy. I know how he feels.

“Zed, I'm here to help you!” I call out just as the trailer hits a bump and lurches.

I'm tossed backward, slamming into a saddle, the breath knocked out of me.

When I can breathe again, I inhale leather and swallow disappointment.

But I won't give up.

Rubbing my shoulder, which will probably be a dark rainbow of black and blue tomorrow, I slowly get back to my feet.

I take inventory of the tack room: a bag of oats, a hay bale, bridles, wire, ropes, and a whip hanging from a wall. Hmmm … the whip would dangle out through the door further than a rope. But its dull brown color won't attract attention. I need something colorful enough to alert the world that there's a girl (and a zorse) trapped in here.

As I glance down, I spy something sparkly. Sunflower Mary's yarn flower is pinned to my shirt. It's small but glitters as bright as sunshine. I get a crazy idea.

I use the piece of rope to tie the sunflower to the end of the whip. I wind some wire around it too, so the wind won't snatch it away like it did with the paper. The flower is so bright, it shines even inside the dim tack room. Outside, the yellow yarn will glow like a golden SOS.

Balancing carefully, so I don't fall backward again, I open the door. I grip the handle firmly since I'm being rocked and knocked with each bounce of the trailer.

I reach my arm holding the leather whip out the door. It's a tricky balancing act, especially when the wind whips through the crack of the door and hay swirls into my face. I don't pull back, not even when hay flies by my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I focus on the flopping end of the whip, where a glittering yarn sunflower dangles.

It's so pretty, shining golden like a jewel. I blink away straw and hold the whip up high. I hope someone in a car behind us will notice the waving sunflower.

When I hear the first honk, my hopes rise.

A second honk blares from a car passing on the left. Wind makes my eyes water, so I can hardly see the whip in my hand. I hold tight as hills rise into piney mountains.

The whip starts to slide through my fingers. My arm muscles burn. I can't hold on much longer. The trailer rocks to the right, and I stumble. Steadying myself, I lift my arm as high as I can, so the small sunflower flies like a golden bird. It doesn't glitter as much now though, and a strand of yarn dangles. Golden petals unravel until there's no sparkle, only a tangled trail of yellow yarn.

The wind swirls the yarn away.

I pull in the whip and the door bangs shut. Sagging to the ground, I rub my aching arms and wipe my stinging eyes.

I hope for more honks, but there's only the steady rush of traffic as we drive further away from rescue into the Sierra Nevada mountains.

The truck suddenly slows into a sharp right. I'm tossed sideways, but since I'm already on the ground, there's nowhere to fall. The road is no longer smooth. Have we left the freeway? I peek out the door and don't see any other cars, only dense woods.

Not good
, I think with a pit in my gut. The road grows bumpier, and there's no sound of traffic.

After what feels like forever, the trailer slows to a stop.

Must get out of here!
I think, grabbing the door handle hard. I look down at my other hand and realize I'm still holding the whip. If I have it, Caleb can't use it on Zed. So I keep hold of it.

Looking around, I see nothing except a wild forest of pines. No houses or buildings. We're cut off from civilization on a dirt road in the woods. Remote areas like this are where bodies are buried and never found.

I hear the creak of the truck door opening.

Footsteps crunch on weeds.

Caleb is coming.

Chapter 20

Whipped

Hide
! I look around desperately for a hiding spot, but the tack room is too small. I push open the door and jump to the red dirt. We're on a rough road in a clearing between rising pines. If I can make it to the trees, I'll be safe.

Footsteps crunch from the truck, heading to the trailer.

No time to run for the trees—only to hide.

I dive underneath the trailer. Sharp rocks and prickly weeds scratch my skin as I crawl on my hands and knees, slipping into the shadow of a large tire.

Boots stomp into view. I hold my breath, motionless, like I'm glued to the tire. Please don't let him see me!

Peering out cautiously, I watch Caleb step up to the tack room door. He yanks open the door, then disappears inside the room. The trailer above me creaks and groans with footsteps. I remember what I left behind—my backpack with my name written all over my homework. He'll know I was there, but he won't know I'm hiding beneath his feet—unless he looks under the trailer.

I have to get out of here!

Before I can move though, a country song blasts. A phone ringtone, I realize. The music abruptly shuts off, and I hear Caleb speaking. His words are muffled, so I can't understand what he's saying until he leaves the tack room and jumps down to the ground a few feet from my hiding place.

“Better reception out here,” he says. “Now what were you saying?”

I can't see his face, only his shiny, black cowboy boots, which move dangerously close to me.

“I'm on my way,” Caleb barks out as if in a hurry. This must be his real voice, not the fake drawl he used when he was sweet-talking Becca's mother. “Some fools were honking at me, so I pulled off the road to check my tires. But everything looks all right.”

He bends over to poke a front tire. I huddle in a tight ball behind a back tire.

“Nothing wrong with the truck or trailer,” he says. “I'll get back on the road and deliver the zorse soon.”

I watch Caleb's boots take a few steps, then stop inches from my hiding place. I don't dare breathe.

“What you do with the zorse after I deliver him is your business,” Caleb adds with a savage chuckle. “Strap him in a harness to a kiddie ride and make him walk in circles all day or put him on display at a freak show. He's not good for much else. He may be part horse, but he's stubborn like a mule and too dumb to train.”

He's too smart for you
, I think.

“Of course, my family is fond of him.” Caleb's tone slows to a drawl. “But my grandma is too sick to care for him, and she needs medical care that costs more than she can afford. I'm selling him to help her out.”

Help yourself out!
I think angrily. What a liar! Caleb doesn't care about his grandmother or he would have told her Zed was alive. He only cares about the money. And I'm sure he won't share it with his grandmother.

“The zorse is rare and worth twice my asking price. Pat yourself on the back because you're getting a great deal.” I strain to hear as he walks around to the rear of the trailer. “Got it all in cash?… Sounds good … See you after I take care of the zorse.”

Take care of the zorse
.

I gulp at the menace of those words.

Caleb's boots turn the corner to the rear trailer door. A metal latch clangs open.

“Back out beast,” he orders.

Hooves clatter like Zed is kicking. Caleb jumps out of the way and swears.

“Try that again, and I'll give you a whooping worse than last time,” Caleb threatens.

I'm holding the whip and Caleb isn't. But that won't stop him from hurting Zed. I hear a slap, then a shrill whinny. The trailer shakes as Caleb forces Zed out of the trailer. Black-and-white striped legs skid reluctantly down the ramp.

Leaning out from behind the tire, I watch Caleb tie Zed to a metal loop attached to the trailer. Zed tosses his mane, then head-butts Caleb so hard the cowboy stumbles backward.

“Want to play rough, do you?” Caleb's laugh is a mean sound. “You'll regret it when you feel the sting of my whip.” He turns on his boot heels toward the tack room.

A door creaks open, and I hear Caleb muttering to himself.

“Where is that … Hey, how did this get here?” Caleb says loud enough to make me squirm because I know he's found my backpack.

Oh no!
I think in panic. If Caleb finds me, he'll realize I overheard his phone conversation. How far will he go to stop me from exposing his crimes?

Time to get out of here!

If I run into the woods, Caleb will never find me. I'll climb into a tree or duck behind a rock. I could hide until Caleb drives away—but that would leave Zed alone with Caleb.

I promised Carol I wouldn't let that happen.

Trembling under the trailer, I'm sure I'll be discovered. But the only sounds come from the distant hum of traffic and wind rustling through trees. No clomp of boots. Even Zed has quieted.

Then I hear Caleb.

“I'm a skilled tracker,” he says as if talking to himself or maybe he's on the phone again. I can't see his face, only his boots as he steps down from the tack room.

“I can hunt down any animal—or human—by following prints.” Caleb's voice has an eerie calmness. “Sneaker prints are easy to spot, especially when they're fresh.”

Not a phone call. He's talking to me.

“I know you're under the trailer.”

I say nothing.

“You might as well come out, Becca.”

Wrong girl
, I would say if I wasn't too scared to speak.

“No reason to hide from me. We're friends, right? I'm right fond of you and your mother. You can trust me. I just want to help you get back home, where you belong.”

He steps closer to my hiding place.

“I reckon you're afraid I'm angry because you sneaked into my trailer.” His voice softens. “It was wrong, but I don't hold it against you. I did fool things when I was a kid too. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Tell that to Zed
. I grip the whip tightly.

“You probably heard me on the phone. Now don't you worry about the zorse. He's going to a mighty fine home. My poor grandma has gotten worse and won't ever be able to ride again. She's so sick, she'll die soon without expensive medical care.” He breaks off with a fake sob. “The money from selling Zed will save her life.”

If I hadn't talked to Carol on the phone, I might have believed this story. But I know he's only saying what he thinks I want to hear. Should I pretend to believe his lies? I don't think he'll hurt me. What did Carol say about him? Oh yeah—that he wasn't a terrible person; he just has a terrible temper.

“Come on out, Becca. Your mother will be worrying about you. You can use my phone to let her know where you are.”

I hold my breath as he steps closer.

“Little girl, I don't have time for games.”

This is not a game for me or Zed.

“Do I have to drag you out?”

Silence is my answer.

“You trespassed into my trailer,” he accuses with rising anger. “You broke the law, but if the cops find you here, they'll think I kidnapped you. I'm not going to jail because of some fool child. Now get out here!”