Abby frowned, confused. “But Miguel kil ed Sara.”
“I know.” I sighed, trying not to get impatient with her just when she was starting to open up. “Maybe he lost his temper.”
She nodded vigorously. “Which is exactly why I said not to fight him.”
“If we don’t fight, we won’t get out.”
“And if we do fight, we might not get out alive.” It was my turn to frown.
“Your logic sucks, Abby.”
“So does yours.”
I laughed, and it felt so good, I did it again. After a moment of hesitation, Abby joined me, and her smile was radiant, almost bright enough to make up for the tiny, grimy windows.
Feeling a little better, more from laughter than from the meal, I walked to the center of my cell with my hands on my hips, studying the enclosure carefully. The cinder block basement wall served as one side of the enclosure, and the remaining sides were made of a series of one-inch aluminum bars, welded to a square frame of the same material. The frames were attached to the floor with huge metal screws and secured with bolts more than an inch in diameter. The metal was welded together at the corners and bolted directly into the cinder blocks at the back.
Overhead, a nearly identical frame was covered with a sheet of steel mesh, and either bolted or welded to al three aluminum sides and the cinder block wal .
“What are you doing?” Abby asked around a mouthful of hamburger.
“Checking for weaknesses.” I pulled on each individual bar, making my way around the cage until I’d tried them al . It was a long shot, but I had to try. Not one bar budged, which wasn’t surprising.
Next, I tried every bolt I could reach. None of them moved. I stuck my arms through the bars on the front wal and pulled on the lock, wedging my feet against the frame for support. I’m pretty strong, but the damn thing didn’t even creak. It was made of aluminum, too. Great.
As a last resort, I looked up, studying the steel mesh. The basement had a low ceiling—only about seven feet from the floor—and the top of my cage was maybe six inches below that. I could reach it easily, but tugging on the mesh would do me more damage than good. It was made of a single sheet of steel, punched through with row upon row of vaguely diamond-shaped holes. And each edge of each hole was sharp. Very sharp, from what I could see. Any attempt to grab the mesh would shred my hands, seriously hampering any other escape effort I might come up with.
Having exhausted al of my options, I sat down on the mattress and took another swig from my water bottle. “So, what happens when I need to pee?”
Abby wadded up her empty burger wrapper and dropped it into the paper bag.
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Not horribly yet, but yeah.”
“There’s a coffee can back there by the wall. See?”
Following her pointed finger, I saw an empty plastic Folgers canister just outside the bars at the back of my cel . “That’s what I was afraid of.” Wiping sweat from my face with my sleeve, I trudged to the back corner of the cage and pulled the canister through. I had to hold it by the bottom because it was too wide to go through with my fingers wrapped around the sides.
Abby smiled sympathetical y. “It takes some getting used to but they come empty it pretty often. They don’t like to smel it when they’re down here.”
“I don’t blame them.” I stared into the container in distaste. “I’l just hold it.”
“Why? They aren’t going to let you out to use the restroom. Besides, Ryan said you were in a cage for nearly two weeks, once. What did you use then?”
“Something similar to this, actual y.” I tilted the can toward my nose and sniffed. It was clean and still smelled like coffee. I could really use some coffee, I thought, uncomfortably aware that the smel of my makeshift toilet was making my mouth water. Yuck.
“They can’t keep us in here forever,” I said, tossing the can into the corner with my other trash. “They have to know we’ll escape eventually.”
“Why would we?” She ripped the top edge from a tiny paper packet of salt and upended it over her fries. “You didn’t escape the cage at the ranch.”
I smiled ruefully, lounging on my mattress with my bottle of water. “Only because no one gave me a chance. But unless I’m wrong, Miguel is going to want to join me in here eventually—”
“You can pretty much count on it.”
“—and he’l have to either bring the key with him or leave the door unlocked.”
I paused, picturing his face covered in blood. “Every time he opens that door, he’l be giving me a chance to escape. He must know it’s only a matter of time.”
Abby plucked one fry from her carton. “He’s probably counting on keeping you too busy to snatch the key.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure he can’t.”
“What if he brings another tranquilizer?”
I thought aloud, watching her eat. “I don’t think he wants me sedated. He had ample opportunity to do whatever he wanted with me while I was unconscious, but he didn’t. I think he wants me alert and scared.” Sick bastard, I added in my head.
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Last time he had the element of surprise. He’s lost that now, and I’ll be watching for a needle. If he brings one, I won’t give him a chance to use it.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that,” she said, her skepticism obvious as she munched on a limp fry.
“I know.” I sighed, trying not to get impatient with her just when she was starting to open up. “Maybe he lost his temper.”
She nodded vigorously. “Which is exactly why I said not to fight him.”
“If we don’t fight, we won’t get out.”
“And if we do fight, we might not get out alive.” It was my turn to frown.
“Your logic sucks, Abby.”
“So does yours.”
I laughed, and it felt so good, I did it again. After a moment of hesitation, Abby joined me, and her smile was radiant, almost bright enough to make up for the tiny, grimy windows.
Feeling a little better, more from laughter than from the meal, I walked to the center of my cell with my hands on my hips, studying the enclosure carefully. The cinder block basement wall served as one side of the enclosure, and the remaining sides were made of a series of one-inch aluminum bars, welded to a square frame of the same material. The frames were attached to the floor with huge metal screws and secured with bolts more than an inch in diameter. The metal was welded together at the corners and bolted directly into the cinder blocks at the back.
Overhead, a nearly identical frame was covered with a sheet of steel mesh, and either bolted or welded to al three aluminum sides and the cinder block wal .
“What are you doing?” Abby asked around a mouthful of hamburger.
“Checking for weaknesses.” I pulled on each individual bar, making my way around the cage until I’d tried them al . It was a long shot, but I had to try. Not one bar budged, which wasn’t surprising.
Next, I tried every bolt I could reach. None of them moved. I stuck my arms through the bars on the front wal and pulled on the lock, wedging my feet against the frame for support. I’m pretty strong, but the damn thing didn’t even creak. It was made of aluminum, too. Great.
As a last resort, I looked up, studying the steel mesh. The basement had a low ceiling—only about seven feet from the floor—and the top of my cage was maybe six inches below that. I could reach it easily, but tugging on the mesh would do me more damage than good. It was made of a single sheet of steel, punched through with row upon row of vaguely diamond-shaped holes. And each edge of each hole was sharp. Very sharp, from what I could see. Any attempt to grab the mesh would shred my hands, seriously hampering any other escape effort I might come up with.
Having exhausted al of my options, I sat down on the mattress and took another swig from my water bottle. “So, what happens when I need to pee?”
Abby wadded up her empty burger wrapper and dropped it into the paper bag.
“Do you?”
“Yeah. Not horribly yet, but yeah.”
“There’s a coffee can back there by the wall. See?”
Following her pointed finger, I saw an empty plastic Folgers canister just outside the bars at the back of my cel . “That’s what I was afraid of.” Wiping sweat from my face with my sleeve, I trudged to the back corner of the cage and pulled the canister through. I had to hold it by the bottom because it was too wide to go through with my fingers wrapped around the sides.
Abby smiled sympathetical y. “It takes some getting used to but they come empty it pretty often. They don’t like to smel it when they’re down here.”
“I don’t blame them.” I stared into the container in distaste. “I’l just hold it.”
“Why? They aren’t going to let you out to use the restroom. Besides, Ryan said you were in a cage for nearly two weeks, once. What did you use then?”
“Something similar to this, actual y.” I tilted the can toward my nose and sniffed. It was clean and still smelled like coffee. I could really use some coffee, I thought, uncomfortably aware that the smel of my makeshift toilet was making my mouth water. Yuck.
“They can’t keep us in here forever,” I said, tossing the can into the corner with my other trash. “They have to know we’ll escape eventually.”
“Why would we?” She ripped the top edge from a tiny paper packet of salt and upended it over her fries. “You didn’t escape the cage at the ranch.”
I smiled ruefully, lounging on my mattress with my bottle of water. “Only because no one gave me a chance. But unless I’m wrong, Miguel is going to want to join me in here eventually—”
“You can pretty much count on it.”
“—and he’l have to either bring the key with him or leave the door unlocked.”
I paused, picturing his face covered in blood. “Every time he opens that door, he’l be giving me a chance to escape. He must know it’s only a matter of time.”
Abby plucked one fry from her carton. “He’s probably counting on keeping you too busy to snatch the key.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure he can’t.”
“What if he brings another tranquilizer?”
I thought aloud, watching her eat. “I don’t think he wants me sedated. He had ample opportunity to do whatever he wanted with me while I was unconscious, but he didn’t. I think he wants me alert and scared.” Sick bastard, I added in my head.
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Last time he had the element of surprise. He’s lost that now, and I’ll be watching for a needle. If he brings one, I won’t give him a chance to use it.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that,” she said, her skepticism obvious as she munched on a limp fry.
