Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“No, sir,” I said. “I don’t want rabdog barf in this bed with us. Let’s make sure you can handle what you’ve had.”
As though he understood my words, he heaved a dramatic sigh and plopped on the blankets, then looked at me with something akin to gratitude.
Yeah, okay, I kind of melted.
“You need a name,” I told him. “I refuse to call you Toto, though.”
He didn’t appear impressed.
“I’ll call you Nugget for now. If you think of something better, you tell me.”
Earl chuckled, the sound of his merriment warming me further. But he sobered quickly, the gravity of our situation keeping us both grounded in the moment. “I hate that you’re here, but I’m also glad.” He cringed. “That’s an awful thing to say. I’m sorry. It’s just, you’ve been much needed medicine for me.”
I totally understood. “I’m so glad you’re here, too. We have to escape, Earl,” I whispered. Maybe I could get to water and summon Iris. A little extra help wouldn’t be amiss. You couldn’t collect favors from dead girls. And if not the water maiden, maybe I could sneak out, rig a gurney, and drag Earl through the forest. Or coax a couple rabdogs to pull it. “I refuse to spend my final moments in the digestive tract of someone like Tommy.”
“An experience I don’t recommend. One star,” Earl quipped with enough dry humor to draw an unexpected bark of laughter from me.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks. “My humblest apologies. I shouldn’t make light of your misery.”
“There’s no need for apologies. Better we joke than sob.” Determination etched the old man’s features. “These cannibals are a superstitious folk. They perform certain rituals for each stage of the, uh, baking process. Soon, Tommy will return for you. To prepare you, as he claimed. But I don’t want you to worry none, Moriah. I’ve had a ton of time here and nothing to do but think. I’ve come up with a surefire plan for escape. All I’ve needed is a pair of hands. Yours, to be exact. You do what I say, and we can get home.”
CHAPTER 9
DINNER INTERRUPTED
Earl’s plan played on repeat inside my head for the rest of the day, all night and throughout the morning. I waited on edge for Tommy’s return. Finally, as the sunlight filtering through cracks in the tent reached peek brightness, he entered the hut.
My breath hitched, a single word blasting through my head. Showtime.
As usual, his keys jingled. A sound I would despise for the rest of my life. He wasn’t smiling, and he hadn’t come alone. The two burly guards accompanied him. He held a length of chain.
No one spared the sleeping Earl a glance as Tommy freed my chain from the stake, then yanked me to my sore, cut feet. A surge of adrenaline dulled the other aches and pains that flared in overworked, abused muscles.
A guard tied my wrists together with rope. Nugget remained on the bed and slept as well. Only difference was, Earl faked it. At least, I prayed he faked it. He had a part to play.
“Afraid to face me alone?” I taunted. “Had to bring reinforcements?”
“You all think you’re tough in the beginning.” Tommy motioned to the canteen with a tilt of his chin.
The second guard swiped it up and checked the inside. “Empty.”
That’s right. Not a drop remained. I’d had some, yes, to build up my strength as the hours passed, but I’d continued to share with Nugget, who seemed to have doubled in size. Amazing what nourishment and love could do. And so quickly, too. The little darling had inched closer and closer to me throughout the night, until finally snuggling in at my side. His presence had comforted me when I needed it most.
“Good girl,” Tommy said, leading me via the chain outside. Clink, clink, clink. Metal key beat against metal key, and I ground my teeth. The guards flanked my rear.
Apprehension prickled my nape as sunlight highlighted a crowd of men, women, and children. They formed walls at both my sides, creating a pathway. No one spoke a word or moved as they observed my forward procession. My heart provided an ominous drumbeat that kept time with my footsteps. If any facet of the plan went wrong—nothing would go wrong. This would work. Because it must.
Tommy led me toward a type of public square within the camp, heading for a wooden pole close to a rectangular table littered with what must be the “seasonings.” Glass vials filled with cleaning soaps and scrubs, oils and spices, exactly as Earl had described.
Step one: Get to the table.
Panic attempted to hijack my good sense when the pathway ended mere feet away from the pole. Too far from the table! I’d have to do something.
I could do something. Before Tommy could tie me to the pole, I threw my weight into his body, knocking him down. As he fell, creating slack in the chain, I darted past him and purposely crashed into the table. It toppled, along with the vials. Nothing broke or spilled, dang it, everything capped. Behind me, shocked, horrified gasps abounded.