Page 7 of Cabin Fever

Olivia

IWAS BURIED ALIVE.

More wood. But what did I expect from a coffin? It's surprisingly roomy and smelled of bacon. Maybe this was hell? Forever hungry and tempted by the smell of delicious fatty meat, but never allowed to taste it.

An eternity to covet that which was denied in life, now in death.

"Curse you, Mother. If you had only allowed me to eat what I wanted, I wouldn't be subjected to an afterlife of baconless torture."

There was a bark nearby. Did dogs go to hell, too? As fearful as I was of wild animals, I loved dogs. It wasn't right to punish them for eternity.

I should speak with the head honcho about cursing animals like that. They could do what they wanted to me, but not helpless creatures. No one ever said hell was nice, but this was uncivilized.

I sat up and the blanket I hadn't realized was on top of me slid off. I saw I was in the bedroom from the cabin I found. I wasn't dead. Hell and the head honchos had to wait.

Shock followed my rush of relief, and then immediately it turned into fear. That man was out there. He was the bacon torturer.

He must have locked me in this room to do things to me. Maybe the bacon was part of his sick fantasy. He would place it all over his body and make me eat it off.

A tear fell from my eye because it would be hard for me to resist that meat candy. I'd eat it and he'd get his sick jollies, but I wouldn't give him the pleasure of me enjoying the food. At least after a few strips.

There had to be a way out of here. I glanced around the room and saw my boots by the door while my coat hung on a hook. Removing the warm gray blanket—which I noticed wasn't Egyptian cotton but something far scratchier—I tiptoed to the door.

My leg throbbed so I lifted my skirt and found a bandage on my thigh. My eyebrow lifted. "Why would a psycho killer want to heal my body if he was just going to torture and kill me?"

There was a tapping sound that moved closer, followed by a bark right outside the door. My eyes widened as I covered my mouth.

Crap. I needed to stop having conversations with myself, especially now that I'm being held against my will. I didn't want the monster to use my words against me for his games of torment.

"Kitty, did you hear something?" a deep voice called from behind the door.

I had to get out of here, and quick. Despite the throbbing of my leg, I shoved on my boots and threw on my coat. Looking around, I noticed light coming in from a tiny square window high up the wall. While it was minuscule, I felt confident I could get through it. And my mom thought my time obsessed with parkour wouldn't pay off.

I knew how to twist and squeeze my body to get through small spaces. That's a lesson every person should learn. You never knew when you would be held captive by a bacon torturer.

More than being able to twist my body, I could easily get to that window. I assessed the space and figured I could use the bed as leverage. Pushing off the wall, I ran and hopped up on the bed, leaping toward the window . . . but fell short.

I landed on the floor with a loud thud. More barks came from the door. I stilled and waited for them to subside.

"Let her get her rest. Then we can interrogate her." The man's voice sent a ripple of fear down my back.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought back a wail. Marrying Derrick was looking a lot more preferable than being stuck in this cabin. Curse my body's natural tendency to always choose flight instead of fight when faced with something bad. Maybe if I had stood up to my fiancé, I wouldn't be lying here about to die.

No time for feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to live.

I got up and after a few seconds of taking in the room; I came to the decision to push the bed closer to the window. That would decrease the distance needed to jump.

Walking around the bed, I secured my hands on the frame and pushed but it didn't budge. I tried again and leaned hard against it, throwing my body weight against the frame. Nothing.

Going to the other side, I pulled. That got it to move an inch. I groaned and tugged at the bed, panting by the time I had the bed in position.

There was no time to rest. I had to escape. I went to the door and pushed off, racing toward the bed. I jumped as if my life depended on it . . . because, well, it did.

When I landed, my fingers were gripping the edge of the window frame.

All I had to do was pull my body up with the tips of my fingers. The only problem was that I was never good at that part. It was the reason I gave up parkour. My fingers were weak, and the others in the class nicknamed me "princess fingers."

"What in the name of pickle fries is going on in here?" I heard the man's voice come from behind. I hadn't heard him come in the room as I struggled to pull myself up. He was a stealthy one.

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