Cambria Hebert - Text

Anger infused me and I acted out, raking my fingernails down his nearby arm. I felt his skin give way, and I smiled. I just collected some DNA evidence underneath my finger nails.

He grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully behind my back and shoved me ahead. We walked along (more like he forced me along). I had no idea where we were. It was the woods. On top of a mountain. There were so many locations just like this one in this small Pennsylvania town that my guess would be just that: a guess.

I inhaled, the sharp scent of damp leaves invading my senses. I loved fall. Would that change? Would I forever associate this time of year with my kidnapping?

My foot caught on a branch and I stumbled. Instead of helping me, the man laughed and shoved me farther down. I fell, the side of my face hitting a small rock, and I felt the warm ooze of blood.

The man flipped me over and straddled me, sinking his bulk onto my middle. I held my breath and stared directly into his eyes, not flinching, not backing down.

“Most of ‘em are sniveling and begging for their life right about now,” he drawled.

Most of them?

Had he done this before? Was this like his hobby? Gross.

He ran a finger down my bleeding cheek and pulled it away, showing me the red. “You gonna beg?” he asked, sticking the finger in his mouth and sucking off the blood.

My stomach lurched.

When I didn’t answer, he pulled the finger out of his mouth and planted his hands in the dirt on each side of my head. He spread his body out along the top of mine, and I fought the shivers racing up my back. His face drew closer, his hot breath spilling across my face.

“Maybe you’ll like it,” he whispered.

I began to struggle, to kick and hit. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head and then he kissed me. It was a rough kiss, the kind that made my teeth clamp together and my jaw go solid. He ground his mouth over mine fiercely in a way that was so gross that my skin crawled. He simultaneously ground his hips against me.

I went still, playing dead. Maybe he wouldn’t like a woman who lay there like a lump.

Eventually he got tired of violating my mouth and he got up, yanking me with him. He didn’t drag me this time. He didn’t punch or threaten me anymore. He simply picked me up like a sack of potatoes and threw me over his shoulder, making sure to keep one hand on my ass at all times.

But that was the least of my worries.

I paid attention to the ground, to the sounds around us, to the smells. I listened for traffic, for people, for anything that would help me.

All I heard was his breathing. The pounding of my heart. I felt the rush of blood draining to my head and the sharp stab of pain every time his shoulder gouged into my stomach. I don’t know how long he walked. I don’t know how long I’d been gone, how long I’d been passed out. The sun was higher in the sky, which told me it must have been a while.

We could be anywhere.

His steps slowed, and my entire body stiffened.

Was this it?

Were these the last moments of my life?

I noticed something then… the bulge in the back pocket of his jeans. The top of a cell phone peaked out, tempting me.

He stopped walking altogether. Silence rained upon us. Not even a bird dared make a noise. I was presented with a choice. This entire day had been nothing but a series of choices, of attempts at gaining freedom.

I lurched my body to the right, rolling off his shoulder and down his arm. He swore and threw me back up. I made an intense gagging sound, not all of it made up (his shoulder really hurt my gut). He leaned forward like he was trying to get away from a shower of puke, and my body went with him.

I flailed my arms about like I needed help, quickly making my move. Then I gagged again.

He made a disgusted sound and pulled me off him, pushed me away, and held me out. Our eyes met one final time.

And then he let go.

I braced myself for the brunt of the hard ground. Only it didn’t come. My body was forced into a free-fall.

I dropped from the air, the bottom falling out of my stomach as my arms and legs searched for something—anything—to catch myself with.

But there was nothing.

The longer I fell, the darker it became. Until the sunlight was just a beacon above.

And then I hit.

My teeth banged together, biting into my tongue and filling my mouth with the tang of blood. I blinked, trying to rid my head of the throbbing, but it didn’t help. I looked up… up past the tall dirt walls of my prison, up to the tiny round hole at the top.

My captor stood there staring down, watching me, not saying a word.

I lay there unmoving, feeling the damp, cold dirt at my back and against my legs. I lay there and stared at him, hoping he would think I was dead, that the fall broke my neck.

He stood there a long time.

Staring.

Watching.

Waiting.

And then he stepped away, disappearing from sight, leaving nothing above me but the image of trees and sunlight.

I lay there a little bit longer, wondering if he would come back.

When I thought it was safe, I began to wiggle my prize out of the sleeve of my running jacket, jiggling it down into the palm of my hand.

A shadow fell overhead, and I stopped breathing.

He returned.

He stared at me some more. I lay there still unmoving, gripping my lifeline in my hand. Finally, he grunted. And he said three words that scared me more than death itself.

“I’ll be back.”

On my way home from work, I drove through the drive-thru and got a bucket of fried chicken and some biscuits. I wasn’t used to being up North. When you ordered iced tea here, it didn’t come sweetened. What the hell kind of person drank unsweetened iced tea? It was downright un-American.

As soon as the person at the window handed me the bucket and I drove away, I reached in and pulled out a leg, biting into the crispy, fried skin. It wasn’t as good as they did it in the South, but it was close enough.

As I drove and ate, I marveled at the views beyond the dashboard of my Wrangler. I’d been stationed here six months, and I still wasn’t used to the landscape. It was so different than what I was used to. The mountains were never ending. The way they rose right up from the ground and into the sky was remarkable.

The roads here were two-lane and curvy as hell. Driving a stick shift on these back roads was the worst. Thank God I had four-wheel drive because I had a feeling this winter was going to be a bitch.

Tall trees bursting with autumn hues filled the mountains and grew up to the roads. Rolling hills of tall grass and flowers gave way to small neighborhoods and homes perched right along the curving, dangerous roads.

Pennsylvania was a far cry from the South where I grew up. I was born and raised in Jacksonville, North Carolina. It was a Marine town if I ever saw one. The population there was probably at least half Marines. The economy was always steady because of this and there were bases scattered around town.

The land there was flat. We didn’t have the mountains in Jacksonville, but there was no shortage of beaches. Because the town was so close to the coast, on a super hot day, sometimes you could smell the salt that blew in from the ocean. Jacksonville boasted two temperatures: hot and hell. Sure, sometimes it would be “chilly” in the mornings at sixty degrees, but the sun always chased away the chill.

Here in Pennsylvania, it was always cool. It didn’t matter how high the sun rose, the heat could never compare to that of the South. I guess that was a welcome change. I enjoyed not sweating my balls off in my cammies all day long.

I came around a sharp bend in the road and downshifted, pulling up to my rental, which was one of those houses that sat along the winding road. It also sat away from the others, surrounded by trees and creating the privacy I desperately wanted.

The house needed some work, which was one of the reasons I rented it. It would’ve been easier to rent something closer to where I worked, something in Allentown. But I didn’t want to be around that much congestion. I wanted room to breathe.

Plus, working on the house was a great way to keep busy. And save on rent.

I parked alongside the home and threw open the door, grabbing the chicken and biscuits and going inside.

The house was covered in wooden shingles, making it appear like it belonged in the woods, sort of like a cabin. There were overgrown bushes along the front and the yard was already blanketed with a thick layer of fall leaves.

I unlocked the chipping brown front door and walked through the living room into the kitchen. The large window over the sink flooded the room with sunlight that filtered through the trees in the back yard. I set down my dinner and headed down the hallway, unbuttoning my cammies as I went.

I peeled off the blouse and tossed it across my bed and then bent down to unlace my boots. Once those were off, I undid my boot band that held my pants in place over my boots and tossed those onto the growing pile of clothes on my mattress.

My belt and trousers were next, along with my army green T-shirt. When I was down to nothing but my boxer briefs, I went into the adjoining bath and turned on the shower. The water pressure in here sucked. But at least there was water.

Bathing with baby wipes was worse.

I peeled off the boxers and kicked them away, stepping under the lukewarm spray and pulling the curtain shut.