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Allison Massie was chilled to the bone and her throat was raw from inhaling the freezing air. She’d been walking on foot for what seemed like forever, and her legs felt heavy and bulky. She had walked aimlessly in the cold, and for a while, she’d gotten lost in the woods. Fortunately, she finally found her way out and crossed over the highway. As she walked down the road, she spied a barn with lights on. She walked through the door and was enveloped with warmth. She was surprised and pleasantly pleased at the change in temperature. She looked around and noticed that she was in some sort of a chicken-hatching facility. Cages of chickens four feet deep and three levels high looked down at her from both sides of the barn. It was weird to have hundreds and hundreds of pairs of beady eyes staring at you as they sat on their eggs. Allison held her arms close to her body and walked the length of the barn and back, and she could feel the chickens watching her. It was an eerie feeling but certainly preferable to where she had been.
Allison stumbled over to several bales of hay and sat on the floor. She noticed two tarps stored on a shelf, shook the dust off of them, and covered herself with them as she snuggled against the bales. As she warmed, she thought about the past few days. Her need for insulin made her brain hazy, and she had difficulty sorting memories. She realized she didn’t even know the date or how long she’d been missing. She wondered if Dr. Dude was dead. She didn’t know what had compelled her to hit him in the head with the shovel, but she was terrified he’d be able to get up and follow her. Why had he kidnapped her? Why hadn’t he hired her for the dental hygienist job in his office? What had her interview even been about? Allison shook her head and tried to focus, as she examined her jumbled mind for clarity. She lay against the hay, closed her eyes and then opened them quickly. Did she hear voices? She listened closely, afraid to breathe.
Yes, it was two men, farmers, dressed in overalls and warm jackets for the weather. They were talking and moving down the rows of cages and collecting eggs and cleaning out cages. Her heart beat sharply, and her lungs burned. She needed to cough, but held it back. As she watched the two men work their way toward her, she frantically looked around for a place to hide. It was difficult to see in the low light of the barn, but she spied a wheelbarrow turned on its side and inched her way toward it. Perhaps her slender body would fit into the body of the wheelbarrow. She curled up into a fetal position, and in the process, knocked loose part of her diabetes medical-alert bracelet.
“What are these tarps doing down here on the floor?” one of the farmers asked the other.
“Doan know. Beats me. Think the wind could’ve blown ‘em off the shelf?”
“I wouldn’t think so. It’d have to blow two of them down, and that’s jest not likely,” he surmised as he looked around the barn.
Allison’s heart was hammering in her chest. She knew the farmer could hear it. Should I identify myself and ask for help? No. I only want the police to help me. She willed herself to settle down and tried her best to quiet her breathing, but her breath kept coming in short, sharp breaths. I need some insulin, I need insulin. Her mind panicked when she thought of her need for insulin. She knew she couldn’t keep active without her medicine.
My blood sugar is low and I’m freezing cold. I know Dr. Smirkowitz gave me some insulin, but I don’t think it was long acting. That’s why I can’t breathe or focus better. My head and brain feel like cotton. Allison’s anxiety level climbed and she found it more and more difficult to breathe in her cramped position.
“Well, I’m gonna walk around and take a look,” the first farmer announced.
“You help yourself, but who do you think would be out hiding in a barn on a freezing, snowy night like this?”
“Doan rightly know but suspect it’s someone who wants to get in out of the cold, a squatter, something like that,” the first farmer answered as he moved the ladder closer to the next bank of cages.
“Well, you keep on lookin’ if you want, but I’m gittin’ the rest of these eggs, checking the generator and goin’ home. I got plans to sit by my woodstove and have a snort, maybe a couple of little snorts, of Jim Beam,” his friend announced.
“Yeah. I like that idea,” the first one said as he scratched his head. “I might join you. Whoever’s here, if anybody is, can spend the night and try to stay warm. If the person is still here, we’ll git ‘em tomorrow.”
His friend gave a short laugh and nodded his head in agreement. “You’re getting’ smarter every day, Bert. You get the eggs, I’ll check the generator. We sure don’t want the chickens too cold to lay tonight,” he muttered. “That’d be a real problem.”
“Ain’t that the damned truth,” Bert said as he moved the ladder to the final row of cages, opened each door, and carefully collected the eggs and changed the straw.
Allison took a deep breath and watched until the men finished their work, bolted the door, and left the barn happy at the prospects of warmth and whiskey. Then she slithered out of the wheelbarrow and returned to the bales of hay. She removed the tarps again from the shelves, wrapped them around her as tightly as she could so maximize body heat. I’ll find help in the morning. I’ve got to rest. If I sleep, my body will not need as much insulin.
Then she fell asleep.