Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
I’m eating for two.
After all the drugs he gave me, am I still pregnant? I don’t even know how far along I am. Six weeks? Eight weeks? Would I know if I miscarried?
My chest squeezes.
I’m a nurse. I know the signs, and there’s been no blood. No cramping. I also know that without medical equipment to confirm, there may be no indication at all.
No. I’m fine. The baby’s fine.
Wherever he’s taking me, I can’t stop him. I can’t risk a plane crash.
With any luck, a bystander saw him loading a human-size crate onto the plane. Surely someone will remember a bush pilot with Brad Pitt’s face leaving with unknown cargo around the time Monty Novak’s wife went missing.
He’s still holding up the earphones. As if he can feel my glare burning the back of his head, he gives the headset a shake.
I snatch it out of his hand, shove it on my head, and climb into the co-pilot seat.
“The first chance I get, I’m going to gut you,” I say into the mouthpiece.
“No, you won’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Unless you know how to fly a plane—and we both know you don’t—I’m your only way to the ground. Alive. Secure your seat belt.”
That’s why I’m not restrained. He knows there’s fuck all I can do to him up here.
“Where are you taking me?” I latch the harness.
“Hoss.” He motions at the view beyond the windshield.
Directly in front of us, a cluster of man-made structures stands out against the emptiness.
First thing I notice is a greenhouse. With condensation clinging to the glass walls, what else could it be? A shed-like structure sits beside it with tools in the windows. If it’s a workshop, it’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen.
More buildings border the perimeter. A smokehouse, and another shack for drying fish or harvesting meat.
Amid it all stands an impressive, two-story log cabin on massive pilings that anchor it to the permafrost. Solar panels line the roof, and smoke plumes from twin chimneys. Overlooking a fast-flowing river, it sits on the edge of a cliff in solitude and contemplation.
An eccentric estate in an unknown location, worthy of a James Bond villain.
I shiver.
Snow dusts the rooftops and sloping hills. It’s not even winter, yet this lonely, strangely beautiful place may be the closest thing to a fictional ice planet one will ever find on Earth.
It feels so far away and alien. So hard to access. No roads. No escape.
“The only way in and out is by plane.” He circles over the buildings, making a wide circuit.
I can hike out. Follow the river and find my way home. With sufficient gear and the motivation to survive, I can do it. I’m fit enough. Strong enough to make the trek.
He veers the plane, flying away from the property.
“Where are you going?” I crane my neck, watching smoke curl from the cabin’s chimneys.
“Look around you.”
As he sweeps over the hills, the unforgiving scenery stretches to the horizon. Miles and miles come and go. All of it the same. All of it bleak. The stark vastness strangles my hope.
That’s his intent. He wants me to see the lay of the land and understand the impossibility of crossing it on foot.
“There are no roads within a hundred miles in every direction.” He makes another wide turn. “The pipeline road is closest, but not even the most experienced hiker can walk that far. Not in this terrain. The region is underlain with permafrost, and the surface is largely wet tundra with only a thin layer of low-growing vegetation. Nothing to eat. Very little to hunt. It’s not survivable.”
This can’t be happening.
Despite being gagged, restrained, drugged, and put in a fucking box, the past four days could’ve gone much worse.
He hasn’t raped me. Hasn’t beaten me. Hasn’t shown aggression until I provoked him. Overall, he’s been rather…tolerable for a kidnapper. It’s made me complacent and bold. For a hot minute, I even let my guard down enough to encourage bantering.
But as the plumes of chimney smoke reemerge on the horizon, it hits me.
I underestimated him.
He wouldn’t have left a fire burning unattended. Someone else is there. Maybe multiple someones.
Nausea surges, turning my stomach. “How many?”
“Hm?”
“How many others have you taken? How many captives do you have stashed away on your land?”
“You think I have a harem of women in Hoss?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Well, someone’s burning a fire.”
“That’s true.”
“Who?”
When he doesn’t answer, my mind runs wild.
This is the nightmare every woman fears. Every time she takes a wrong turn into a dark alley, wakes alone in her bed to a thump in the night, or breaks down on a deserted road without cell service, her mind jumps to the worst outcome. Who’s lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce? How loud will she scream? How fast will she run? How hard will she fight?
We’re always brave in our imaginings, but now that I’m in it, facing the most horrific reality possible, I don’t feel brave.