If captured, knowing the right moment to escape can be a critical part of getting away.
A voice from outside the house interrupts our little chat.
“Al Smith. The place is surrounded. Let the hostage go and come out with your hands where we can see them.”
My body relaxes. Sweeney’s here.
My confidence boosts. Even I know that Al is out of Mo’s league. Mo is strong and smart in survival. But Al is a whole different breed. Like a lion against a kitten. Al doesn’t care who gets hurt and he’s desperate. Not a good combination. Whereas, all Mo cares about is me being safe. Which makes him vulnerable.
Sweeney speaks into a bullhorn. “Come out with your hands up and we won’t use force. Leave your weapon and the hostage inside until we have you in custody.”
Al laughs and takes a swig of beer. He sneaks over to the window and peeks out. “These guys have their heads up each other’s ass if they think it’s going to be that easy.”
He yells a few obscenities at the window. Not sure if they can hear him or not but it seems to make him happy.
Al twirls his knife and faces me. “Time to play.”
My heart jumps. To be honest, I don’t know why Al’s even keeping me alive. Unless he thinks it’s safer for him to have me as leverage. Or unless he has other plans for me. I know one thing. I’m not going down without a fight. A lot has gone down in the last year and I’ve made it this far.
I’ve lost so much already that I have nothing else to lose.
I scoot to the edge of the couch and plant both feet on the ground. If this guy comes at me, I’m going to attack him with every ounce of fight I have. I keep my eyes on the knife in his hand. Knife fights are harder to control than gun fights. They usually end up with more wounds because it’s up close and personal. Whereas with a gun, you have a better chance of getting away. However, the survival rate is better with a knife so in this case I guess you could say—in some sick way— that I am lucky.
Al will probably stab me, but my chances of living are better this time over last time.
Al moves toward me and stops a few feet away. He puts his knife in his belt and grabs a roll of duct tape out of his bag. “Forgive me for not trusting you.”
He pounces like a cat on a molehill.
I scream as he yanks me to the floor. When he presses one knee in my chest, the breath is forced out of my lungs. I gasp for air as he duct tapes my hands together in front of me. Once he’s done, he shoves a green bandana into my mouth. “For old time’s sake.”
I gag on the soiled cloth. Takes me back to the time when Al, and his buddy Billy, trapped me in the woods after finding me spying.
Only that time, Mo saved me.
This time, I’m on my own.
I flail around on the floor as he laughs above me, watching. Eventually, I give up and go limp from exhaustion. The cloth minimizes the amount of air I can suck in to catch my breath.
Al leans over me as I curl into a ball on my side. “I’m going to give your boyfriend a little love. Be right back.” He peeks out the back door and then moves the furniture barricade aside. He cracks the door and sneaks out.
Meanwhile, Mo and Sweeney are in the front with who knows how many cops.
I try to scream for help but my voice is muffled. My arms are throbbing in pain from being yanked like they are going to rip from their sockets any minute now. I thrash around and grit my teeth as the pain gets worse.
Eventually I give up and lie on the stinky rug, watching the back door. Praying Mo will come busting through. Hoping to see Sweeney’s face.
I hear noises outside. Clanging and twanging. But I can’t make out what is going on.
My body has a delayed reaction to the adrenaline pouring through me. I start to hyperventilate. My lungs hurt from trying to take in huge gulps of air. My head is dizzy from the lack of oxygen. I use my tongue to try and move the bandana to once side, hoping to allow in a little air. I close my eyes and settle down. I can’t freak out. That’s exactly what Al gets off on. Panic and control.
I hear a couple gunshots and some yelling.
I wait, not knowing what to do.
Please let Mo be okay. The last time I lost him, I was lucky to get him back.
I can only hope my luck hasn’t run out.
Pounding footsteps thump across the back of the house. A scream. Then a yell. Then another gunshot.
I stare at the door, waiting for the outcome.
Will it be the hero coming to rescue me? Or the returning villain?
The door bursts open and Al slides in, laughing. He slams the door and races to the front window, peering through the sheets.
“Special delivery!” he yells out the glass.
Outside a horrible sound circles the building. Snarling, screeching, growling.
Al laughs with his back toward me. “Always did love a good show.”
I try to work the bandana out of my mouth.
Al hears me struggling and pulls it out. “Wanna see for yourself?” He picks me up by my bound arms. Then he yanks me to the window and holds me against it.
Outside, the skinny lion charges the gate.
Before the group of men can barricade him, the lion bursts through and attacks one of the officers. Even though the animal is skinny and barely alive, he is also starving.
Sweeney draws his gun and fires.
I scream out as the poor lion crumbles to the ground.
I slide down the wall and hang my head.
“Awww, your people don’t like them animals after all.”
I don’t take the bait he’s dangling in front of me. Trying to egg me on. I need to keep pretending I’m on this lunatic’s side until I can get away. “I guess not.”
Al laughs from behind as the walls close in on me. He’s obviously amused at the aftermath of his plan. “One man dead, one less animal in the world. I am 2 - 0.”
“Can you please release my arms for a second?”
“Why should I?” Al looks at me sideways like a dog listening to a high-pitched sound. He removes his knife and pokes it into my cheek. “You gonna cause me trouble?”
“So I can get eaten by rabid animals or shot by those people? No thanks, I’m safer in here.”
His eyes show a vulgar hunger and he licks his lips. “I can do more for yah. That’s for sure.”
Then his ears prick like a predator on the Serengeti. He presses his back against the boxes and slithers around the room until he reaches the back door.
Meanwhile I sit on the floor and start working my hands out of the tape. Twisting and pulling. If I can get free and out that front door, I have a slim chance of surviving. Only I’m not sure how many lives I have left.
I stretch and rip and pull, keeping my eyes on Al in case he checks on me.
“I know someone’s out there.” Al mumbles through the curtain.
The tape loosens and I stop to make sure he didn’t notice.
“Probably in the cages.”
He places both hands on the glass and squints.
I move to my knees and wait. I judge the distance to the front door and then watch Al. He’s so focused on finding a possible intruder, he doesn’t realize I’m about to escape.
I breathe as I rise up to my feet, keeping myself calm, steady, and focused.
On the count of three in my head, I jump up and race to the front door, tripping over boxes and paper and junk.
I scramble for the door.
“Hey! Al hollers and charges after me.
I grab the top of a pile and pull it crashing down between us. Al barrels through the paper barrier like a bulldozer. My hand trembles as I fiddle with the chain lock, sliding it out of its groove. As Al fights his way over the pile of stuff, I throw open the door and run. “Help!”
The men still fighting off wild animals spin around.
But Mo and Sweeney are nowhere in sight.
Al grabs my hair and yanks me back inside when the back door explodes open.
“Freeze!” Sweeney yells. He holds up a gun and points it straight at us “You’re done Al. Don’t even try it.”
Al’s muscles tense as he grips me tighter. The knife comes up to my throat again. “I’ll kill her. I swear to God. Call your men back.”
“Let her go, Al.” Mo says calmly. He’s standing right behind Sweeney.
Static comes across the radio and a group of men back up and step away from the lot of parked cars.
Al pushes me out the door. “Move it. No funny business.”
I take small steps as he pushes me across the porch and down the stairs. Sweeney and Mo follow behind us. I can see them in my peripheral vision.
Al hollers commands. “Have them drop all the weapons. You too!” I hear a clank on the porch as a weapon falls from Sweeny’s hands.
“Kick your gun to me.” Al demands.
The gun slides across the planks.
“Pick it up.” Al pushes me down to a kneeling position. I hand the gun to him. He puts the knife away and points the gun at my head.
I close my eyes and try to go somewhere else. The feeling of cold steel on your temple is enough to shut you down.
“Now, I’m leaving.” Al pushes me toward the cars. He glances between the men at the fence and Sweeney and Mo who are still flanking us. “And I’m taking her with me.”
“No you’re not,” Mo says. “I won’t let you.”
I want to keep my eyes on him, but I don’t want to see fear in his eyes. Or hopelessness. I know—as well as he does— that if Al gets me in that car, I don’t have much hope of getting out of here alive.
A squeaky sound draws my attention away from morbid thoughts of a sure death.
The skinny mommy monkey peeks around the side of the house. She squeaks again and then scans the yard nervously. When she spots me, she whimpers and lumbers toward me, carrying her dead baby in one arm. I want to make a loud noise, maybe shoo her away, but Al prevents me from making any movements.
She stops every few feet to assess the danger level. Each time, she moves closer and closer.
Al obviously hasn’t seen her yet. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’s watching Mo and Sweeney. Or maybe he’s preoccupied with getting to the car alive.
The mommy monkey races in my direction. When she reaches me, she clutches my ankle and squeaks again.
I shake her off with the hopes of scaring her away.
“What the hell...?” Al kicks the monkey. She tumbles across the yard, dropping her dead baby on the soft grass. But she quickly gets back up, picks up her baby, and comes toward me again. This time, she is more cautious. And this time, her hand stretches out as if asking for food.
I don’t want Al to kick her again. She can’t handle that many harsh blows. This time, I gently nudge her away with my toe. She pauses and stares with round eyes. She doesn’t understand why I’m pushing her away. I nudge her again, this time a little stronger.
Please, please go away before you get hurt.
“I’ll take care of this.” Al raises his gun. “Bye bye, little monkey.”
I yell at him, “No! Don’t!”
He fires and the bullet hits the monkey in the leg.
I scream as she drops to the ground. She crawls across the grass with her foot dragging.
Al raises his gun again. Even as hurt as she is, she crawls straight to her dead baby. She’s still protecting something that is gone. Because that’s what she’s supposed to do. Tears well in my eyes.
“So long, monkey.” Al says.
Rage burns inside me.
When he lifts the gun, I swing around and grab his wrist. We struggle with the weapon until he punches me a couple of times in the ribs. But no matter what he does, I refuse to let go. We fight and twirl around, but I tire faster. He’s twice as heavy and his grip three times as strong. He pries the gun from my hand and points it in my face.
A heavy load slams into Al, knocking us both off our feet.
My head hits the ground and I see nothing but a yellow blur pouncing out of the woods.