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Sunday, June 21, 2015

21 Born to Make the Kill

As she explored the area around the spare, her knees had come to rest on something soft. She felt for it now with her right hand and located her purse. Hope again sparked and she searched for her cell phone. When it wasn’t there, optimism waned for a moment, but with a determined dismissal she continued the search the purse’s contents. There’s got to be a weapon here somewhere. Despite her resolve, except for a fingernail file with a pointed end, nothing materialized. She set the purse in the space next to her head and slipped the file into a small pocket on the outside of the bag.

She kicked the blankets from her feet and felt the other side of the trunk cavity. They brushed against a cool, stiff fabric. She trapped it between her feet, bent her knees so she could reach behind her with her right hand and grabbed her black leather jacket. She draped her torso with it. Are the rest of my clothes there, too? she considered and stretched out again. Her muscle stiffness and the many wounds objected, but she found other cloth with her feet and the pointed heal of one of her black leather boots. Not much of a weapon but we’ll see. She decided to fetch them later.
She rolled to her back and with her right hand surveyed the area between her body and the rear of the car. Immediately, she came in contact with something hard. It felt like a steel pole. Okay, it’s no tire iron but … She remembered her head bumped into something as the car sped off earlier after Tony’s warning at gunpoint, and rolled to her right to explore the object with her left hand. She slid her hand up along the rod and struck something attached to the top—a light fixture. By feel she recognized it as the one they used during the screen test and remembered the wire cage covering the light bulb.

An idea began to form. A formidable weapon may be within her grasp, one much more serious than a nail file or boot heel. Her memory took her back to the farm. Her dad used a similar floodlight when he worked on his tractor at night in the barn. She knew a small powerful bulb could be accessed with the release of a protective wire cage. She felt around at the bottom and found what felt like the hinge, so she reached to the top of the fixture and located the latch. It came open with an easy tug. Inside, her fingers grasp a small halogen lamp, about three inches long and a half inch in diameter. Clasped on each end by a fitting, she pulled it free one end at a time. With it secure in her hand, she held it with as much care as if it was the antidote for a deadly poison she had swallowed. In the dark she felt behind her for her purse and then placed the tube carefully in the outside pocket next to the file.
She slid her left hand down the pole as far as she could reach but couldn’t touch the bottom. Afraid to move it for fear she would bump something and make a noise the three men would hear, she tightened her body into a fetal position. Her stiff muscles complained, but she clamped her teeth together and scooted as much as she could toward her feet. Once there, she continued her examination of the pole until her hand touched the base. A mental picture of it formed from her memory at the warehouse and she felt for the retracted tripod legs. She lifted them. The base was free.

While she was there, she snatched her clothes and boots and took them with her as she stretched her body back out. As she placed them in the space next to the purse, she noticed the clothes still wrapped around a wire hanger. Another possible weapon.
She reached again for the top of the light. It too lifted free. She felt around the back of the fixture to where she thought the power cord would be and found it on the floor loose. With her left hand she lifted the poll and rolled to her back. Her right hand free, she pulled the cord up and coiled it into her left. Now, with the cord looped, she rolled back to her right side and slowly wrapped the cord around the pole. If she had a chance for one good swing or jab, she didn’t want the cord in the way. When she felt the male end of the cord against her hand, she wove it through the wire into a knot and tied it off.

Satisfied there was nothing else she could do but wait for an opportunity, she lay on her back and tried to slip her clothes on. As she did, her stomach growled and she had a sudden craving for a double shot vanilla latte. It must be morning. No sooner had she realized this first spasm of hunger meant she had passed the night confined in this steel space, than a second, more serious urge cried out for immediate relief. A painful cramp in her bowels reminded her she hadn’t seen the inside of a bathroom since she showered for the screen test, and she needed one now.
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