Not One of Us(79)

“Where to?” Cash asked Buddy.

“Number eighteen.”

The answer made no sense to me.

The truck made a sharp right, and the pitch of the tires changed. We were on the main road, heading past the dock. The sounds of other vehicles passed by—so close, and yet I could do nothing to signal my distress. A boat horn sounded from the gulf. Probably the last of the shrimp boats headed to open water for the first day of the season. Tourists as well as the locals would be heading home about now.

I struggled to rise up and pound on a window for help, but Uncle Buddy yanked on my hair, pulling out a handful.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened.

I moaned around the gag. “Please, stop.” My words were garbled, but I’m sure he understood what I was trying to convey. He let go of my hair and leaned back in his seat, smiling and waving at a passerby.

My heart pinched as I thought of my grandmother and Zach waiting for me at home. How many hours would pass before Mimi called the police? Too many to do any good, I was sure. And that was even if she was thinking clearly today. Poor Zach. With Mimi’s descent into dementia and me gone, what would happen to him? He’d be dependent on the kindness of strangers. Or—my heart dropped as it occurred to me—Uncle Buddy might become his guardian.

That horror redoubled my determination to escape. If that meant lying to these two bastards, then I would. I’d never been much of an actress, but I’d do my best.

Cash turned the truck left. We were heading downtown.

“Here.” Cash tossed a blanket over the seat to Uncle Buddy. “Better cover her up to be safe.”

Thick wool was thrown over me, scratchy and hot against my skin. It smelled of musk and wet dog. With each breath I drew, the wool formed a suction over my mouth. Suffocating. The dark was as complete as though I were buried in a coffin.

From outside came the muffled sounds of people talking and laughing, other vehicles humming along the road, an occasional blast of a horn. I longed to be free. To feel the fresh gulf air with its tang of salt, to see the decorated ships with their colorful triangular flags and Old Glory flapping in the breeze.

Another left turn, and the sounds grew more distant.

“Anyone on our tail?” Uncle Buddy asked.

“Nope. We’re good.”

I swallowed my despair and tried to refocus on where we were. We must be on the Shell Beltway, which led to 1-10 toward Mobile. Only a minute later, Cash took another left. But which road? It could be any of a dozen dirt roads that lined the highway. The truck veered left, and the ride became bumpier. The tires dug into less-compacted sand. My body bounced painfully as we ran over a deep pothole. The road must have narrowed, as tree limbs scraped along the truck sides, resulting in a metallic screech that sent indigo flames zapping my brain. It was one of the few sounds that actually sparked an unpleasant physical jolt through me.

We were driving farther and farther from a chance encounter with anyone.

Abruptly, the truck stopped. My heart beat wildly. Now what?

A door opened. The blanket was lifted. I squinted up at Uncle Buddy. Cash’s rough hands grabbed me under my arms, and he pulled me out of the truck. Unceremoniously, he dropped me to the ground, and I fell on one side, the pain in my dislocated shoulder flaring on impact. Despite the agony, I rolled my bound body from his booted feet, afraid he’d kick me.

Uncle Buddy stooped down and grabbed my legs. “Don’t want to carry her inside. She’s too heavy.”

Cash loomed over me, a silver buck knife glinting in the bright sun. He swooped down closer, and I let out a strangled scream. I braced myself for more pain, and Cash chuckled. But instead of plunging the knife into my chest, he angled it toward my feet. With a deft, experienced twist of his wrist, the ropes fell from my ankles.

“You’re going to be a good girl, right, Jori?” Uncle Buddy asked. As though I were a child and he was taking me out for a walk in the park. There was even the tiniest suggestion of sadness, as though he were a reluctant disciplinarian who had my own good at heart. “No kicking,” he admonished.

I nodded my agreement.

“And no screaming,” he continued. “I don’t think anyone would hear you, but . . .”

I vigorously nodded, eager to have the gag removed. Instead of untying the knot at the back of my head, he took Cash’s knife. The cool blade against my face sent shivers down my spine. The lethal edge of the blade ripped through the fabric, and it fell off.

I took long gulps of air, thankful for the small mercy. Cash reached for my arm, and I scrambled backward.

“I can stand on my own,” I said, not wanting his rough handling to make my injury more painful. It was an awkward struggle with my bound hands, but I rose to my feet.

Across from me was a small hunting cabin with Uncle Buddy’s signature placard hanging on the front door: ENIGMA OUTDOOR EXPEDITIONS, CABIN #18.

“We’ll head inside for a talk,” Uncle Buddy said.

I walked as slowly as possible without giving them a reason to clamp their hands over me and drag me inside. A quick glance in all directions revealed no one else was around. This might be my only chance. I darted forward, but Cash grabbed my wrists from behind and jerked me against him.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he grumbled in my ear.

The only hope I had left was that Tegan would somehow find me. But that hope was small—last I’d seen her, she’d been busy with event security.