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Her stomach lurched, and her heart jump-starting like she’d been shocked with a defibrillator.
Cass clambered to her feet, keeping her gaze glued on the blue of the sky above the clearing. The branches of the trees surrounding her created a frame, but for the moment she saw nothing more than the dotted whites of fluffy clouds, and the black speck of a bird far above.
The drone grew louder. It was coming this way; she was sure of it.
Suddenly, the plane appeared in the patch of blue sky above her. The small aircraft was flying low.
“Hey!” she screamed at the top of her voice, waving her one good hand. “Help! Down here! Please, I’m down here!”
She waved frantically, desperately hoping whoever was flying the plane would see her.
“Help! Please help me!”
There was no possibility that whoever was flying the plane would hear her, but that didn’t stop her screaming. It was an automatic reaction. The drone of the engine grew louder, and her heart raced, her palms growing sweaty with anticipation. Was it possible they were looking for her? From how low they were flying, and the way they circled back around, it certainly felt like it might be a possibility. But she didn’t want to hope, still not fully trusting her own senses. This might not even be real. She could be dreaming or hallucinating, or a bit of both. It wasn’t as though it hadn’t happened before. She was starving and dehydrated and in pain, having gone through a hideous trauma. It wouldn’t be surprising if her head was making things up.
But no, she was sure the plane was real.
“Please, stop. I’m down here. Help, please!”
She watched in dismay as the plane flew out of sight again.
Had she missed her chance?
Though it had gone out of sight, the noise of the engine didn’t fade. Was it landing nearby? Had it seen the other plane on the small landing strip and decided to take a closer look?
At the possibility she might be rescued, tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t thought she had any capacity for hope left, and yet now the emotion filled her.
The noise of the engine grew louder, before suddenly reducing and cutting off altogether. Did she dare hope it had landed?
“Help!” she continued to yell, though the shouts hurt her throat, and she was still fairly certain no one could hear her.
But they might. They’re closer now. Someone is here. You’re not alone anymore.
“I’m over here! Please, help me!”
If the pilot had landed to take a look at the other plane, they might be aware of her. If they got back into the plane and took off without trying to search for her, she thought she might give up. How much more could she take? To have her hopes build up that high, only to have them dashed again, was just too much.
The walk back to the small airstrip was a good hour. The chances of whoever was flying the plane somehow happening upon this clearing was slim. If the pilot had seen it from the air, they might have an indication of which direction to head in, but that was all. Everything looked the same here, and it was easy to get disoriented. She wasn’t sure she’d find her way back either.
Cass was in bad shape. Though the blood flow from her hand had eased, she was in a huge amount of pain. The water she’d drunk had gone some way to rehydrating her, and she felt one hundred times more alive now that she had the sugar inside her than she had when she was chained to a tree, starving and dying of thirst. But did she have it in her to walk for an hour, and try to find the new arrival and the plane? Her feet were still chained as well, which would make the walk even harder. She’d made it out here with both feet chained, however, so surely she could make it back again.
She needed to try. Finding the plane—even the original plane—was her best chance of getting out of here, and more than anything, she wanted to get out of here. She wanted to see people and buildings, and never again have to look at a tree or a bug.
She wasn’t going to just wander out into the woods, however. A small amount of water remained in the plastic bottle, and she’d only eaten one of the Twinkies. There were also the other items he’d brought—the rope and knives. They were items she might be able to make use of, and if she found the plane right away and didn’t need them, all the better. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the knife she’d used to cut her hand—the same knife that had been embedded in the killer’s throat—so she left it where it had fallen from her grip, beneath the tree, covered in blood and dirt.
Scooping all the items back into the bag, she slung it over her shoulder. She stood up and almost collapsed again, stars floating in her vision. Her blood pressure was low, she was sure of it, and she needed to take it slowly.
It felt strange to be leaving. Stupidly, she still felt some kind of sanctuary in the small clearing, even though she’d almost died here. Was this how people who suffered from Stockholm Syndrome felt? She’d read of women who hadn’t run from their captors, even when they were taken out in public. Suddenly, she understood them. This place had almost killed her, but now she found she was more frightened of what lay beyond the trees than this clearing. Over the past few days, they’d almost come to a kind of understanding, and taking that first step into whatever lay ahead for her now was daunting.
But she had to do it. The hard part was over, and she needed to dig deep and find her way to rescue.
Sucking in a breath and repositioning the bag on her shoulder, Cass stepped out of the clearing.