She dug her elbows deep into the muck, pulling herself forward and further under the old, abandoned farmhouse. To keep from groaning, she bit into the dirty, oil rag tied over her mouth. Her wrists and ankles were raw from the ropes that still held them together.
Only minutes before, she had noticed the door to the house had been left unlocked. Her heart still raced from the initial adrenaline rush. She had scooted her way out, down a few broken steps, and into the sunshine. Then she had wiggled into the crawl space.
She took a slow, shaky breath and tried to listen. Surely someone had heard her, with all the noises she had made. But so far, no one had come. It was eerily quiet. She dug her elbows deep into the muck again. It was only a matter of time.
***
She lie on her back in the muck, saturated with the smell of rodent droppings and dead things. She had pulled herself to the center of the crawl space, despite her wrists and ankles being bound. Once there, she had wiggled down into the muck as far as she could.
Time passed. The light coming through the cracks dimmed as the sun began to set. Still, all her muscles remained tensed, waiting for the worst. Days earlier they had shared their intention to kill her after they were done with her.
She held her breath as she heard the familiar sound of an old truck creeping up the gravel drive. Doors slammed, and she could hear boots tromp up the broken steps. The front door creaked, but didn’t swing shut. One of her captors cussed. “She’s gone!”
***
She blinked as dust rained through the cracks in the floorboards. Heavy boots stomped through the small abandoned farmhouse. The front door creaked back open. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”
A voice growled back. “Yeah, all we need is for her to find that other farm.”
Her eyes widened and she sucked in a quick breath. She waited, quivering, as the voices faded. Once they were gone, she struggled in the muck until she could roll back over onto her stomach, despite the ropes around her wrists and ankles.
She dug her elbows in, pulling herself forward. She began to explore the crawl space, finding random bits of wood and metal. She came to an old, rusty blade. Tears filled her eyes and a sob escaped.
***
The rope that had bound her hands and the dirty, oil rag that had been tied over her mouth now lay in the muck next to her. Lying in a fetal position, she shifted her grip on the old, rusty blade and continued sawing at the rope around her ankles. It fell to the ground. She sniffed, tears flowing freely.
It was now pitch black. The sun had finished setting. Her body ached and her wrists and ankles were raw, but wriggling toward the entrance to the crawl space was easier than her journey in. She stopped just inside. Waiting. Listening. Watching.
There they were. Just entering the clearing from the trees to the East, flashlights swinging. “Let’s split up.”
She waited a couple beats after they disappeared in other directions and scrambled out of the crawl space. She stumbled into a haphazard sprint toward the East. Toward the other farm. Her adrenaline kicked into gear, declaring a fortunate stroke of serendipity.
***
She kept moving, though her legs felt like rubber and her lungs burned. Another field. Another tree line. She broke through and saw a light across the next field. The farm. She could make it. She staggered toward the light.
She pitched forward when she hit the porch. Choking on sobs, she caught herself and pounded on the door.
The door jerked open and an older man stood there frowning, shotgun in hand. “What?” His eyes widened when he saw her. He shouted over his shoulder. “Hon, come ‘ere!”
She was ushered into the farmhouse by an older woman who immediately sat her on a kitchen chair. The woman brought over a basin of hot water. “Let me see those wrists, deary.”
The man grabbed a phone, with shotgun still in hand. “I’m calling the police.”
For the first time in days, she felt hope.
***
This post was inspired by the hope*writers September 2021 Instagram Writing Challenge daily word prompts.
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