Page 25 of The Wolves of Forest Grove

Iawoke with a sting in my cheek and aching bones, but the migraine I’d had prior to falling asleep had gone.

It was a small mercy, but one I couldn’t be grateful for since when my eyes adjusted, I found myself still inside the cave-like space. Without the presence of light, it was impossible to tell what time of day or night it was, let alone if I should be awake or sleeping.

The meager meal of sliced fruit in a plastic cup and a box of crackers Devin had left for me lay open a foot away where a mouse feasted on the corner of a discarded bit of cracker, its beady eyes watching me as its body shook.

My first instinct was to shoo it away, but who was I kidding?

It wasn’t like I could stomach any more than a few tiny morsels I’d already managed to get down and keep down before I eventually passed out.

“Someone might as well eat it,” I whispered to the tiny rodent instead.

I reached over and grabbed another few crackers from the open bag.

The mouse began to scurry away but paused before it vanished from view. I held out the crackers to it. “Here,” I told it. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

The little critter hesitated, running this way and that on a zigzagging path that eventually led it back to the discarded cracker. It resumed eating the small piece that was left and then came for more, inching slowly closer.

“Go on,” I told it, a small smile tugging at my lips made the bruises on my cheek sting. The little mouse drew forward and took the proffered crackers. It stared at me as still as the bits of wood and stone around it, and then it skittered away with its bounty.

I stared at the spot it’d vacated, the smile slipping from my lips in favor of a frown. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, but it wasn’t the first time I’d passed out since Devin left, which made me wonder if it’d somehow already been two days.

My stomach growled and ached painfully, and my bladder felt about ready to burst. I’d had to relieve myself twice already, afraid I’d burst if I hadn’t. But the acrid stench of my urine was gone, which meant Devin must’ve come in at some point to clean it away while I slept.

I eyed the crackers and fruit suspiciously and then saw another mouse, different from the one who I’d just shared my meal with. It was smaller, it’s color a darker gray. And it was dead.

Laying only a handful of feet away from the bounty of food it’d clearly been feasting on.

“Shit,” I cursed, wanting to cry and barf and scream all at the same time.

I felt around my clothes. Beneath my dirty and torn jacket, I was still wearing the jeans and long sleeve shirt I’d had on when I left Jared’s cabin. My bra was still in place beneath my shirt. My zipper was done up, the button buttoned.

He’d drugged me, that was why I kept passing out.

There was something in the food. Had he injected the fruit?

Sprinkled sleeping pill dust over the crackers?

There’d been a funny taste in my mouth after I’d eaten, I remembered that, but I’d attributed it to the blood still in my mouth and not having brushed my teeth in a couple days.

I’d been wrong. Whatever the drug was, it’d killed that mouse…and it would kill the other one I’d just fed. My chest burned.

Sorry little guy…

I groaned in fury, kicking at the wall. I could feel it now, the grogginess. My body felt heavy and sagging. My mind foggy and swaying.

I held my head between my hands and tried to clear it, taking in deep breaths.

At least he hadn’t touched me.

He hadn’t, right?

My body didn’t feel violated. My clothes were still in place and there was no pain down there.

I needed to get my wits back before I passed out again.

Shoving my fingers deep down my throat, I upturned what little sustenance I had left in my body.

I reached for the last dregs of water left in the large one- liter bottle that’d been in the bag to wash out my mouth, but paused.

Noticing for the first time a strange shimmer in the water.

I chucked the bottle across the room and it hit the opposite wall with a noisy plastic crunch before rolling to the floor and spilling what was left its contents over the stone. He’d drugged everything.

The fucking bastard.

In my rage, my vision wavered between blurred and crystalline sharpness as I seethed alone in the dark. Something small, slim, and metal caught my eye next to where the dead mouse was laying motionless amid the debris from the wooden crate Devin had shattered against the wall in his rage.

It was a nail. A slightly bent, slightly rusted nail, but the sharp tip of it sparked an idea.

I lifted the manacle on my wrist and inspected the keyhole with shaking fingers.

I’d never picked a lock before, but this one was old and wide.

Surely it wouldn’t be so difficult. With a renewed fervor, I clambered over to the nail and snatched it up, dropping it twice before I was able to settle my nerve-racked body enough to hold it steady.

Fuck. I needed to get control of myself. The dull knife of anxiety was creeping over me, made stronger by the fact that my body was weak. It was always worse when I hadn’t eaten right. Wasn’t hydrated.

Forcing myself to vomit up what little I had eaten probably only made it worse, but I prayed it had the effect of turning up any leftover drugs that hadn’t already been absorbed into my bloodstream.

I just needed to focus. To get out. Then I could stuff my face with all the huckleberries I wanted—after I was done running the fuck away from here. Wherever here was.

I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t focus on what I would do once I was free or what other trial might face me once I got through that door. I needed to take the first step. Exit.

Then figure out the rest.

Fitting the end of the nail into the rusted opening was like trying to thread a needle with my vision swimming so badly.

But eventually, I got it in. I wet my mouth, shirked off my jacket, pressing my back against the cold stone.

The chill seeped into my skin and had the desired effect, lending me the momentary alertness I needed to do this.

From what I knew of locks, very little I had to admit, there was a tumbler thing inside that needed to be pushed up and rotated out of the way for the lock to come undone.

I didn’t even know if this was true for all locks, or if, like the movies, you needed two slim pieces of metal to pick a lock properly.

Grunting as I pressed upward into the narrow channel of the lock, I heard a little click and nearly cried with relief, dropping the nail.

Except when I pulled on the manacle, it didn’t come free. Instead a small bit of something fell from the keyhole.

My fingers were trembling too badly for me to be able to pick it up, but on closer inspection, I saw that it was a small bit of metal.

Please don’t tell me I just broke the damned lock…

I threw my head back and let the hopeless moan I’d been trying to hold back escape. It rose in tempo and volume all on its own, the fury chasing out the weakness.

Fuck him, I thought to myself. Fuck him!

That fucking bastard wanted me to sit here, loopy and out of it on drugs until he came for me. Was I really going to give him what he wanted? Was I really going to make it this fucking easy?

My father’s voice answered the question for me in my mind, as though he was sitting in the makeshift jail cell with me.

Hell, no.

You pick your ass up, Allie Grace, and you keep going.

I nodded to myself, wondering offhandedly if this was the onset of hysteria.

I didn’t bother with the nail this time. I didn’t know how to pick a lock. It was a stupid idea. But there was something else I could do.

I cursed myself for not having thought of it sooner.

There were a couple centimeters of space between my wrist and the manacle.

If I pulled as hard as I could on my arm and tried to slip my hand through the circlet of metal, it was close—the bind was clearly made for a larger wrist. But no matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t quite get it off, not even when I greased the thing with water, and later, when I’d tried saliva instead.

I tenderly pushed against the spot where my thumb connected to the base of my hand, wincing at the tender flesh just below, where the manacle had been rubbing in my sleep. If it didn’t have the bump of my thumb joint to go over…

My stomach roiled.

Was I really going to do this?

This time it was Viv in my mind. Fuck yes, you’re going to do this, she hissed in that lovingly neurotic way only she had.

Viv would do it. Hell, she would have already thought of it and done it and escaped.

So, then why was I hesitating?

Goddamnit.

Before I could change my mind or really think it through, I snatched up an errant piece of broken crate and slid it between my teeth. Then pushed the manacle as far down my forearm as I could and bent my thumb inward, pressing the palm of my opposite hand flat against it to hold it in place.

I could feel the joint straining already. All it would take is one good thrust with all my body weight and it’d be done.

I closed my eyes and bit down.

…and did what had to be done.