Page 75 of Ensnared

Azar’s walking off the helipad when spots begin dancing across my eyes. “I think I’m about to pass out,” I whisper. “Humans do that when they lose a lot of blood.”

Elizabeth.

The way he says my name, it feels like a caress. “Again,” I whisper.

Elizabeth, stay with me. Axel will be here very soon.

But I can’t. No matter what I do, the darkness beckons. Finally, I can’t fight it any longer and it pulls me down, down, down.

When I finally wake up, I’m still tired. I’m so weary, so bone-deep exhausted that I wipe my eyes before opening them, but they still burn. Whatever room I’m in is bright, painfully bright. I cover my burning eyes with my hands.

I’m in a van with several people, but I don’t know them.

None of them is my mom or my dad. That makes me cry. “I want my mom.” I’m sucking my thumb. I know I’m not supposed to, but Mom’s not here to yell at me, so I can do what I want.

Only, when she doesn’t show up to yell, I’m sad. I thought she might.

The people in the van keep speaking words I can’t understand, and it’s cold. So, so cold. I shiver. I wrap my hands around my arms, but it doesn’t help much.

The man who’s driving looks back at me and says something I don’t understand. Then the woman next to me and the man in the front passenger seat both laugh. I don’t think what he said was nice. That means he shouldn’t have said it at all.

“Who are you?” I ask.

No one answers me.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Still nothing, but the woman next to me looks a little uncomfortable. She won’t meet my eye and keeps looking out the window instead.

“I’m scared,” I say. “I want my mom.”

“Your mother not here,” she snaps. “Quiet.”

She does speak some English. “Can you call her? I want to talk to her.”

“Quiet.” The man in the front passenger seat is wearing a large, wool cap. He scowls.

“No.” I glare at him. “I won’t be quiet. I want to see my mom.”

He throws his can at me, which happens to be full of beer, and it hits the side of my head. It hurts, and it also spills beer all over me. Now I’m colder, I smell, and my head aches. “I want my mom.” The tears return, but this time they’re mixed with something new.

Anger.

I clench my hands, but I’m too afraid to do anything.

Yet.

The ride goes on and on. No matter how many times I ask, no one tells me who they are or where we’re going. The ground’s covered with snow. The car’s freezing. Wherever we are, it’s nowhere near Houston.

Finally, the woman says something, and the men snap to attention. When I look ahead, I realize we’ve reached something. Something huge. A very tall, very scary looking snow-covered mountain. The van stops, and they force me to get out.

“I’m c-c-cold,” I say, my teeth chattering. “I don’t want to get out.”

“Here.” The woman hands me a coat that’s far too large, but I pull it on gratefully. It’s not easy to button, and it’s so big that I can’t seem to keep both shoulders in place, but it’s better than just my Hello Kitty hoodie, which is clearly not even close to warm enough.

She hasn’t been kind, but the woman has been a great deal better than either man, so when we start walking, I make sure to keep close to her. At first, the walk’s not so bad. It’s cold, but the more I move, the warmer I feel. They pass out sandwiches, but no one gives one to me, even when I ask.

We must’ve gone a very long way—more than the mile they sometimes make us walk at school—when I finally give up. “I can’t go any more.” I sit down on the rocky ground and fold my arms. “My legs hurt. I’m cold. I’m hungry. I’m not moving.”