The rim of the tank dug painfully into my midriff as I thrashed around in the sap, trying to wriggle my feet loose of Bethany’s tight grip. I kept my mouth clamped shut so I didn’t accidentally gasp in the thin liquid, but already I was desperate for a breath of air. Think!
Relaxing my muscles, I slid deeper into the sap, braced my hands against the base of the vat, and pumped both feet back in a vicious kick, feeling the satisfying thud of impact beneath my heels. Immediately, my feet were released. I spun around in the tank and thrust my head up toward the surface, but hands covered my face and pushed down.
My lungs were burning. I needed to breathe.
I tried to peel the fingers off my face, but my short nails and the slippery liquid gave me no purchase. I flailed at the arms above me, banging at them, grabbing for her head, but her arms were longer than mine. I was running out of time. Black dots speckled my vision.
No! I was not going to drown again. I refused.
Opening my mouth wide, I bit down hard on the fingers spread across my face. And was free. I broke the surface, coughing and gasping, sucking in deep breaths of air.
Soaked through with the sap, I climbed out of the tank like a monster emerging from the deep, dripping and trying to wipe my eyes clear. There was no sign of Bethany. I fished my phone out of my pocket and switched it on. A few wavy lines appeared on the screen, then it went dark.
Shit. So much for my plan to get hard evidence. I needed to turn this over to the cops and get myself someplace warm and dry.
Knowing the main office outside was locked, I checked the sugar shed for a phone but found nothing. Jim’s office door was padlocked and didn’t budge when I gave it a hard kick that sent pain reverberating into my knee. Fine. If I couldn’t call for help, I’d go fetch it.
I trudged out of the shed, gasping as the arctic air hit the wet skin of my face and hands. I trotted over to my car and yanked on the door handle, but it didn’t budge. I tried again, then cupped a hand around my eyes to peer inside. Vermont-style, I’d left the door unlocked and the keys in the ignition. Now the door was locked, and there was no sign of the keys.
Cursing Bethany hotly through cold lips, I rotated on the spot, wondering what to do. Her huge SUV was still in the lot, but a quick check revealed it, too, was locked, as was the door of the office block when I double-checked it. Where was she?
A movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. There! A flash of red moved between the trees just beyond the lot. I set off at a run after her, needing to get my keys. Needing to get her phone.
Racing past the trees decked out for tourists, I ducked under the brightly colored buckets hanging from their trunks and sped deeper into the woods, stumbling over protruding roots and felled logs, weaving my way under and over the obstructing tapestry of plastic tubing and supporting rebar rods.
The woods were misty, silent and cold. Within minutes, I was freezing, my wet clothes no protection against the icy chill as I chased the patch of red moving always just ahead of me.
Go back.
Had Bethany shouted the words at me?
Go back!
No, they were inside my mind.
“Bethany, Bethany! Stop!” I shouted.
The figure ahead paused as though considering my words or waiting for me to catch up. But as I drew near, she took off again, darting between the trees.
Where did she think she was going? It was too far, surely, for her to run all the way through the woods to the highway beyond. Or was it? It was too far for me — would have been so even without the sodden clothes that weighed me down and would ensure I died of exposure before I ever reached help. But Bethany was fit and strong and wearing dry all-weather gear. Only her wrists and hands might be wet. When drowning me in the tank had failed, she’d come up with a plan B — to lure me into the woods because she knew that here she could outwit, outlast and outlive me. We were in our very own game of Survivor, and I’d played right into her hands. Stupid!
No doubt as soon as I was deep enough in the woods to lose any sense of direction, she’d pick up the pace and disappear from view, circle back to the office and wait until she was sure I’d frozen to death before summoning the cops with some cock-and-bull story about my car in the lot. Then again, she had my keys. She could simply drive my Honda somewhere else and abandon it there, distance herself from my disappearance. The strategy had worked for her before.
Go back.
The words were in my brain again, and this time, I understood. They were a warning — from Colby.
Shivering uncontrollably, eyes and nose streaming from the cold, I turned on the spot, gazing desperately at the trees and gossamer mist that surrounded me on all sides. I could see no sign of the sugar works and had no idea which way to walk. I had an idea that we’d moved in a circular path through the woods and were now near the top of one of the many hills that studded the forest, so I needed to go downhill, but on which side of this knoll?
My brain felt dull and slow with cold, like the wheels and cogs of my mind were freezing up and grinding to a standstill. My fingers ached, and my lungs — as I stood panting, doubled over with my hands on my knees — felt raw. I could taste blood.
And I was just so tired. Tired of running and of thinking. What I needed more than anything was to rest, just for a minute or two. That would help me catch my breath and gather my wits. I slumped against a tree, slid down the trunk and sat on the soft mulch beneath. I yawned, and the juddering of my arms and legs subsided for a few precious seconds. There — I was feeling better already.
Go back!
“Sure. Just gimme a few minutes,” I told Colby.
And then I closed my eyes.