Page 111 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
Her squirming attracted the attention of the scrawny guy. Milo. He turned to her and smiled, revealing stained teeth, the front one chipped almost in half.
“Comfy?”
She swallowed down a thick lump in her throat and said, “What do you want?”
He reached down with his right hand and lifted his gun off his lap. It was matte black, like Ryan’s, with a chunky rubber grip and some kind of complicated sight attached to the top. “What I want,” he said, “is to put this bullet in your head, little bitch. But there’s a bit of line to do that. And sadly, I ain’t at the front.”
He turned more fully and grinned at her again. She noticed his other arm, the one gripping the steering wheel. It had needle marks running up the skin of his inner forearm, like the bites of some bloodthirsty insect.
“Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t answer, just cranked the radio louder and resumed his off-beat rapping.
She engaged all her stomach muscles and flipped herself onto her back. The plywood cracked underneath her. She swiveled her head from side to side, looking for anything that could help her. A tool. A weapon. But other than the dog bed, there was nothing.
Ryan’s rifles. She thought back to where she’d seen him stash them. Behind the driver’s seat. There was no way she could get to them. And even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to get them out of their case with her hands bound.
Milo turned his head half to her and brandished his gun again. “You keep moving around back there and I might just have to jump that line, bitch.”
She tried to remember what had become of her own gun. It was still in her shoulder bag. She cast her eyes about for it, but she couldn’t see it anywhere.
It was probably lying on that sodden and potholed Mississippi state road. Many miles behind them.
* * *
As the miles passed, a feeling of dread settled heavier on her. Milo had given up on trying to be a rap god and turned the radio off, so they drove in silence.
The back of her head throbbed, and she used the pain to keep herself awake and alert. She had a vague sense they were heading north, based on the feel of the road beneath her. There were fewer potholes and storm debris. The asphalt was smoother, and it whirred beneath the tires.
She heard no other traffic sounds, not the rumble of a truck or the purr of another vehicle passing them. So, they likely weren’t on an interstate. Still in the middle of nowhere, then.
From her position on the floor of the minivan, her view out the window was only of the sky. It was cloudless, and so blue it seemed to belong to an alien world.
Every so often, she rocked herself from side to side, fighting a cramp in her legs and pins and needles in her arms. She knew when the minivan finally stopped, she had to be ready. For whatever that was waiting for her at their final destination.
Eventually, the minivan slowed, its tires crunching over gravel, then came to a stop. She heard her captor open the driver’s door, slam it shut. More crunching, this time his boots on the loose rocks.
She peered up through the window, but there was still nothing to see, except that the sky had burned off its blue. It had to be late in the afternoon. Which meant it would be dark in a matter of hours. And the night brought with it a whole host of new fears.
Voices now, Milo’s and another man’s. Too low to make out the content of the conversation. Other than it sounded ominous.
The back hatch of the minivan opened. Bright white light filled the cargo area. Jessica squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked quickly.
The dark shapes of two men stood there, surveying her. One was the diminutive form of Milo. The other shape was taller, although equally skinny. His hands seemed overly large for his thin arms.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, they became more than just silhouettes.
The new guy was young, maybe only in his early twenties. He was pale, with stringy blond hair tied at the nape of his neck. Wire-rimmed glasses and a scruffy goatee. He smiled at her.
She struggled against her bindings again, out of reflex. Her earlier attempts to free herself had rubbed the skin around her wrists and ankles raw.
Both men climbed into the cargo area, making the whole minivan dip with their weight.
Using her feet, she pushed herself as far away from them as she could, until she hit the back of the driver’s seat. “Don’t you touch me.”
Ponytail, still grinning, ducked down to grab her legs. She kicked them out of his reach.
Milo went to shove the dog bed away, then stopped. He bent down. Picked up her cheap, faux-leather shoulder bag with the gold clasp.
