by M K Farrar
It’s only pain and blood. It doesn’t mean anything. Pretend it isn’t even you. That it doesn’t even belong to you.
Her grip around the knife had become slippery and slick with blood. She tightened her hold, knowing to drop it would be suicidal.
Keep going. Just keep going.
She cut deeper.
Her vision tunneled, the edges turning black.
No, no, no. This was what she’d been most afraid of—not being able to cope and passing out.
Cass bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself back to the moment.
There weren’t many good things about being so severely dehydrated, but it meant her blood was thicker, so slowing the blood loss. She couldn’t imagine the horror show she’d be in right now if she was normally hydrated. The blade of the knife had vanished completely beneath her skin. She’d almost reached the point where her thumb started, though now the digit hung strangely loose from the rest of her hand.
Clamping her teeth onto the piece of t-shirt still in her mouth, she grunted like an animal. She forced the knife through the last centimeter of her hand, and a roar tore from her throat.
The chunk of skin and flesh and tendons dropped to the ground, dirt clinging to it. Cass gagged again, horrified to see a piece of herself just lying in the soil.
“Stop staring!” Sonja snapped. “Take off the chain.”
The wooziness threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard, but she couldn’t stop now. She dropped the knife, tacky with her blood, and took hold of the chain.
Come on, come on.
She ground her teeth down on the dirty material of her t-shirt to stifle her screams and pulled the chain. The metal edged up her skin, sitting on the part where she’d cut away a piece of her hand. The agony was intense, and Cass screamed against the material in her mouth. The chain got over the wider, bony part at the bottom of her hand and jammed there. It pressed into the exposed section of flesh, like someone digging their finger into a bullet wound. The noises she made were guttural, animalistic. She just had to get the chain over the widest part, and then one hand would be free.
Her shrieks ricocheted around the woods, sending birds bursting from the treetops. For one horrifying moment, she didn’t think it was going to work, and then the chain flew off her hand, hitting the tree trunk behind.
Cass stared down in amazement at her hand. It was free. She could move it any direction she wanted. Her fingers, however, hadn’t done quite so well. Her thumb was completely useless, as was her forefinger. Was she going to be strong enough to pull the body toward her with only the use of three fingers? Or was she going to have the same problem as when she’d tried to pull with her toes?
“Stop standing there!” Anna shouted at her. “You need to wrap up the wound.”
Quickly, she transferred the torn piece of t-shirt to her still-chained hand, and then wrapped it around the exposed wound. The material instantly soaked with blood, and she pulled it tight, praying it would be enough to stop the bleeding. This wasn’t just a simple cut—a whole chunk of her hand was missing.
The amount of movement she suddenly found available to her was almost mind-blowing. She could stretch out her shoulders, and open up her chest. A laugh of disbelief burst from her lips. A part of her hadn’t truly believed she’d be able to do it. She’d convinced herself she’d fail, and yet she’d tried it anyway.
“Stop messing around,” Maria hissed. “You still need to get the key!”
The world snapped her back into focus. Her sudden freedom had sent her delirious.
She still had one hand chained to the tree, but now she had options. She shuffled her feet out, so the arm that was still attached to the tree trunk was stretched as far as it could go, and then she reached for the body. Her fingers touched the jacket, and she closed the good ones around the material and pulled. He was heavy, but even though a couple of her digits weren’t working, she was still able to drag him toward her. It didn’t need to be far, just enough to reach his pocket. That she was touching a dead body didn’t even faze her anymore. He was nothing more than a mound of skin and bone. He was the reason she was in this position, but also the reason she’d get out of it. She delved inside, suddenly certain she was going to discover the key missing, but she touched cool metal.
Cass pulled out the key that fitted the padlock. She was crying, though no tears streamed down her face. Her shoulders shook. Her hand felt like it was on fire, but that wasn’t the reason for her emotion. She was so close to freedom now, and even if she didn’t survive the next part, unable to find help, at least she wouldn’t spend a moment longer chained to this fucking tree.
Stepping closer to the trunk, the key pinched awkwardly between her fingers, she guided it toward the padlock. Her hand was shaking, and without the use of her forefinger or thumb, she was sure she was going to end up dropping it. It would be okay if she did. She didn’t have to use her feet anymore. She could just stoop down and pick it back up.
Still, she moved slowly, taking deliberate breaths, her vision swimming.
Somehow, she managed to slide the key into the padlock on the first go. There was a horrifying moment where she thought the key wasn’t going to work—perhaps he’d switched them at the last moment in some cruel trick—but it turned smoothly, and the padlock clicked open.
Cass unhooked the padlock from the chain around her other hand. With the padlock open, she could loop the chain that had been holding her hands together from the chain around the tree, and then unwound the part of the chain from her other hand, so it slithered to the ground in a pile.
She stared down at the chain, stunned her plan had actually worked.
She was free.
Chapter Seventeen
Cass staggered away from the tree, her sights set on the backpack that had been taunting her for days. Her feet were still chained together, but she didn’t even care right now. She’d deal with her feet later. The most important thing was reaching the bag and the bottle of water it contained.
She navigated the outskirts of the Magician’s body. Her legs gave way as she reached the bag, and she collapsed to the ground. But she was close enough, and she snatched up the bag with her good hand and tipped it upside down, emptying the contents across the ground. The half-empty bottle of water rolled to one side, and she dived for it, scooping it up. Clutching the bottle against her chest, so she didn’t have to use her injured hand, she fumbled the lid, but managed to undo it.
The women who’d been with her, supporting her this whole time, were still standing in their positions on their graves. She hadn’t given them much thought while she’d been freeing herself, but them still being there meant her ordeal wasn’t over just yet.
“Slow down, Cass,” Maria warned. “You’ll end up dropping the bottle and spilling the water everywhere.”
“And go slowly,” Sonja said. “Your stomach is going to want to reject it.”
Keely bounced on her toes, craning her neck to get a better look at what Cass was doing. “Yes, just take little sips.”
Anna joined in. “And remember it’s all you’ve got. You don’t know when you’ll find water again. You still want to get out of this alive, don’t you?”
Yes. Yes, she did. She wanted to live.
Though her instinct was to pour the water down her throat, to gulp and swallow, and gulp and swallow, and drain the bottle dry, she did as they’d advised. That first mouthful of liquid was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted, even though the water was warm and stale. It moistened her mouth and eased her parched throat. She took another sip, and then another, unable to help herself. It wouldn’t last if she kept going, but at the same time, she knew she’d function better if she was rehydrated. It would most likely take a lot more than a few sips of water to do that, however. She probably needed to be on a drip, with added salts and sugars. She hoped she hadn’t done any permanent damage to her kidneys.
At the thought of salts and sugars, she remembered food.
/> Cass forced the bottle from her lips and carefully replaced the cap, making sure it was done up tightly—she didn’t want to risk spilling a single drop—then turned her attention to the backpack and the pile of items she’d emptied out of it. She’d been focused on the water and hadn’t thought of anything else. What if the Magician had brought a phone? Her rescue could be as simple as a making a phone call.
But some wrapped snacks caught her eye—a packet of trail mix, some jerky, an entire packet of Twinkies—and she forgot all about the phone. Hunger surged inside her like a living thing, and she snatched up the packet of Twinkies and ripped open the wrapper with her good hand. She tore off a great chunk of sponge and cream with her teeth, the sugar exploding in her mouth. She barely chewed, and swallowed too fast, so for one horrifying moment she thought the lump of food was going to wedge in her throat, but then it slid down and she took another bite and another until the whole thing was gone. She’d barely tasted it, but now the sweetness hit her. It was like a drug, sending her dizzy with the sugar rush.
Her stomach knotted, griping pain taking hold, and she bent double.
“Ah, shit.”
After nothing but a handful of bugs and one mint candy for the last few days, her stomach wasn’t handling the hit of carbs too well. Her mouth flooded with saliva, and she swallowed it down. She wasn’t going to throw up. She refused to. She’d worked fucking hard to get that water and snack cake, and there was no way she was going to give it up now. Hell, she’d eaten earthworms and beetles and managed to keep them down, so she’d keep down water and a snack cake, dammit. If she vomited them up on the ground, there was no way she’d be getting them back again, and she needed that nourishment. So far, she’d been blessed with not getting the shits, and she prayed her luck—on that front, anyway—would hold out. She’d dehydrate herself just as quickly that way, and she didn’t think her body could take much more. Getting free from the tree was only a part of making it to safety. She was still in the middle of nowhere and was losing blood. Whatever she could do to keep her strength was important.
Wishing she’d eaten the Twinkie more slowly, Cass waited out the cramps. There were other snacks she’d tipped out of the bag, but she wasn’t going to risk eating anything more, even though she desperately wanted to gorge herself.
Forcing her thoughts away from the food, she refocused on freedom and getting help.
Her ankles were still chained.
Did the key for the padlock that had chained her hands work for the other lock, too? She remembered when the Magician had first tried to move her out into the woods and had been forced to stop and loosen the chain between her ankles to allow her to walk. He’d used a key identical to the one she had now. But had it been the same key?
Shit, what had she done with the first key? In her haste to reach the bag and the water, she hadn’t thought to put the key someplace safe. Had she dropped it?
Her memories of that moment of escape were no more than blurry, pain-filled relief. She looked back over to the tree, scanning the ground for the small piece of metal. The area where she’d been held was covered in blood. Her blood. The key was probably the same, camouflaged with blood and dirt.
Her hand continued to throb, her blood feeling as though it was on fire in her veins. She’d been distracted momentarily by the food and water, but the all-encompassing agony of her hand washed over her in waves. She didn’t want to look at it, not liking how the piece of material of her t-shirt was soaked through and the way her thumb and forefinger hung from her hand like they didn’t belong to her. She didn’t want to think about how her hand looked under the cloth she’d bound it with, that big exposed chunk of raw meat. She doubted she’d ever manage to eat steak rare again.
Cass staggered back over to the tree. The movement made her lightheaded again, and she had to stop, her good hand pressed against the tree trunk until the moment of dizziness passed. Able to focus once again, she peered down at the ground.
“Any idea what I did with the key?” she called out to the other women.
But no one answered her.
Cass straightened and looked around. She hadn’t heard any of their voices since she’d drunk the water, or seen any of them either. Did they feel they no longer needed to help her now she was free?
She shook the thought from her head. It was her brain that had decided she no longer needed the help of the dead women. They didn’t exist independently of her—not anymore. She needed to remember that. They’d always been in her head. The delusions of a desperate, lonely woman who was staring into the face of death.
Dropping to a crouch, she used her good hand to scrabble about in the dirt, hoping to touch something cool and smooth. She pushed the pile of chains that had been around her hands to one side, shoving it through the mulch of mud and leaves and blood. There was no sign of the key.
Fuck it.
She could manage without it.
Thank God, the Magician had loosened the chains around her ankles when he’d first brought her here, or she wouldn’t be walking anywhere, certainly not to freedom, and she didn’t have any fleshy parts on her foot or ankle that she could cut off. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to bring herself to do it for a second time. But she could move without the key. Yes, walking would be easier without the chains around her legs, but it wasn’t impossible.
She didn’t want to waste too much time on this. She refused to spend another night in this clearing. Even if it meant she spent it somewhere out in the middle of the woods, it would be better than this place.
Cass cast a glance over to the dead, decomposing body only a matter of feet away.
“Did you hear that?” she asked, despite knowing he couldn’t answer. “I’m getting away from here. You didn’t beat me. I won.”
She wished she could hawk up a good gob of spit for him to punctuate her sentence, but she was still too dehydrated, and anyway, she wasn’t going to waste any moisture on that son of a bitch. Dry mouth was no fun.
Maybe he’d have another key on him? He’d have had the keys to the plane, too, which might come in handy as well.
She didn’t want to go through a dead man’s pockets, but she knew she needed to. She’d be kicking herself if she’d not found something useful that had been right there, all because she’d suddenly gotten a little squeamish.
Turning her face away from the body in an attempt to get a little fresh air, she reached out to push her hand into his pocket. His body was cold and hard beneath the material, not even feeling human anymore.
Was he ever human to begin with?
A man who’d murdered seven innocent women because he enjoyed killing was closer to a devil.
Her instinct was to yank her hand back again, but she kept going. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to catch sight of his face with those milk-filmed eyes and the strange white-blue coloring. There was nothing in that pocket, so she reached over the top of him, gagging at the stench, and checked the other side. Sure enough, her fingers closed around metal, and the keys clinked as she drew them back out. They were the set of keys to the plane, she was sure of it. None of the keys were small enough to fit the padlock holding together the chains between her ankles, but it didn’t matter. As much as she’d be relieved to take the chain off, she could function with it on, and the keys to the plane still might be useful.
She left the body alone and went back to the backpack. She’d been so overwhelmed with finding food and water that she hadn’t given any consideration for what else had been in there.
The cell phone. She’d been hoping he’d brought one before she’d been distracted by sugar. He definitely didn’t have one on him—she’d have found it when she searched the body for the keys—but he might have had a phone in the bag. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but she may have missed it.
With renewed focus, Cass went through the things she’d tipped out of the bag.
Many of the items turned her stomach all over again—a length of rope, a gag, p
ills of some kind in a little plastic container. He even had a clean t-shirt, which he must have brought because he’d known how bloody the clothes he was wearing would get during a kill.
No phone.
Shit.
He must have either left it in the plane or figured he’d use the plane’s radio if he needed to contact the outside world. Maybe this was his way of preventing anyone tracing his location, and therefore the location of the dead women.
She had to decide what to do now. The wound in her hand was still bleeding, though she didn’t think it was as bad as it had been. But it was never just going to heal on its own, and out here she could easily end up with an infection. She needed to get help, and with no phone, her best option was to make her way back to the plane and see if there was a radio, or even a first aid kit.
Could she find her way back?
She’d been panicked and drugged when he’d dragged her out here. She thought she had a vague idea of which direction to head in, but that was all.
Bizarrely, even though she’d done nothing but dream of escape over these past few days, now that she was free and able to leave, she found herself too frightened, as though the clearing now offered her some kind of sanctuary and the wide open spaces of the woods was her enemy.
There was no point in staying here, however. How ridiculous would that be, that she’d cut off a chunk of her hand to get free and never moved more than a few feet away from her prison?
If she was going to walk, she was going to need her shoes. Cass made her way over to where one had landed after she’d thrown it at the bear—the shoe that had missed—and picked it up. Then she gathered up the sneaker that had hit the bear, holding both shoes close to her chest with her good hand. She plonked herself back down on the ground, and, one-handed, tugged on one shoe and then the other. Her feet were filthy—covered in dirt and dried blood—and swollen from heat and dehydration, so the sneakers felt tighter than normal. She needed to wear them, however. If she stood any chance of walking out of this place to safety, she wasn’t going to be able to do it bare-footed.