by Rachel Hanna
Whatever she'd tumbled into, she thought it was more serious than grazing rights.
The Sheriff's Office put out a BOLO. Their posse would go up in the morning if Hannah wasn't found before that, scouring trails in the area Knox knew she liked to run.
Tanner was out with the chopper, systems check, getting ready. Michael and Angel were on their way in.
Knox had tried the animal shelter, alarming the person who answered the phone, and asked for numbers for Hannah's friends, but Saturday evening the only person at the shelter was a volunteer who offered to text Knox with emergency contact numbers for the other staff. He said fine, and kept searching for information.
The chopper was powering up when an incoming call from an unknown San Diego number came in.
"Knox."
"Um, hi," said a female voice. "You don't know me. I'm Hannah's friend. Jenna."
Knox went rigid at attention, turned fast to the desk and got ready to take down any information she had.
Which was none. Just that Hannah had gone out for a run, and the general location, which he already knew.
"She didn't give you any kind of mile markers or trail names?" His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears.
"Mile markers? Never has," Jenna said and went on to name the state route Hannah preferred, which he already knew, but the rural areas stretched for miles. Her Jeep would be parked somewhere along there, but even with the chopper it would take a long time to search and once they found the vehicle there was a ton of forested foothills to search.
"She called right before she hit the trail," Jenna added. "That was seven o'clock. She hasn't checked in since, though."
"The start time is more than what I had," Knox said and was ready to disconnect when Jenna said, "Wait. There's one more thing."
Which turned out to be everything. His heartrate quickened as he asked "How often does she tie on the tape and where?"
"At eye level for her, all along the edges of the trail. She counts or has a specific number with her so she can reclaim them all. But she doesn't start until she's some distance up or has left a main trail."
It was better than nothing. Another three minutes with Jenna didn't turn up any other information. He asked her to keep her line clear, to call if she heard anything, and disconnected.
If only Hannah started tying pink tape on plants at the beginning. But of course at the start of a trail, she knew her way. He needed to track her phone. Without having installed any devices to track her and because it wasn't his account, he hacked. Fast, simple, should have done it earlier.
Hannah's phone showed up on a map, blinking. Knox transferred the data to a tablet and ran for the chopper. Driving distance wasn't far but his gut said every second counted.
Once they got to the canyons there'd be miles of foliage they couldn't see through from the air. Following her on foot would take hours to run. Knox shouted at Tanner, gestured to the dirt bikes in the hanger. Tanner gave him a thumb's up.
They were airborne minutes later.
* * *
The guards checked on her roughly thirty minutes after they'd cuffed her to the table. Hannah saw one of them peer into the tent and start away and sheer anger took over.
"Hey!" she shouted.
Surprise seemed to bring him back. He stared in at her.
"Who's supposed to come talk to me? I have to go – " she stumbled but it hardly mattered. "Find my dog. Get home. My husband is waiting."
The guard stared at her like she was speaking another language, then said, "Cool your shit. You're not going anywhere."
"You can't do this!" Hannah said. "I'll – sue!" Because maybe if she pretended she thought they were legitimate – legitimate anything – they'd let her go. Playing the idiot card. It might work. "And I need a bathroom!"
She didn't. But if they uncuffed her –
"Does this look like the Hilton to you? Shut up." He went away again.
Hannah went over the times in her head again, how long she'd been gone, how long till nightfall, because she really, really didn't want to be there after dark. She went over what she didn't know – how many of them, for one thing, which didn't matter, because she'd already seen more than enough automatic assault rifles or whatever they were. They were bigger than she was and it would only take one to put a sizable hole in her.
The light began to slant, long and yellow. No one came. Panic ratcheted up higher with every minute. They could conceivably just leave her there until she rotted. She had carb blocks and water and nothing else.
--until she rotted.
She wasn't that lucky.
Was she?
The table was some big huge thing they'd dragged up for some reason. She'd have expected –
OK, no. She didn't expect anything. Not like she was expecting to run into survivalists or white supremacists or even really, really organized growers.
Still. A camp like this, paramilitary or something, she'd think hard angles and metal furniture and C rations or whatever they were.
"You care what they eat?" she asked herself just to hear her own voice.
Just to give herself the courage to try what she'd just thought.
Leave her there to rot.
Rot being the operative word in the wet air of the coast. Even inland in the canyons the air was wet. When her father came to visit he complained about being cold. Sure, the California coast was chillier than Arizona in the summer, but the biggest difference was the humidity. The coast was wet.
Wet rotted wood.
If I were lucky, this never would have happened.
Then in a panic, she tugged the cuff against the ring set into the wood, grimaced when the metal on metal made a ringing sound, wrapped her fingers around cuff and ring both and started pulling.
Nothing. Of course. Because that was insane.
But she did it again anyway. It wasn't completely insane to think whoever these people were, they'd been around for a while. Maybe their equipment and furniture had also. Maybe she wasn't the first person chained to this table. Maybe even if she was, the person who drilled the bolt into the table didn't have mad carpenter skills but just the bolt and a general idea.
Maybe she had to try again because sitting here waiting for them? Not fixing anything. So she gave another hard yank. And that time she felt something. The smallest possible give.
Hannah leaned forward across the table to where her arm was stretched. The ring dug into the wood, driven in with the bolt.
The bolt rocked back and forth, probably because enough people had strained against it. The reiteration of that thought made her feel sick.
The motion of the bolt moving did not.
Hannah pressed her fingers into the wood beside the bolt. Not like it was helpfully rotted through or soft and wet to the touch. That would have been good for her except even the yahoo who chained her to the table would have noticed it and then she'd have been screwed all over again. Or something. The wood wasn't rotted straight through. It wasn't completely soup. But it was soft and it was rotting and from the feel of it, the bolt could be dug out if she had something to dig with.
A fast look around the room revealed nothing. Her captors hadn't helpfully left her any screwdrivers or pry bars or scissors.
She remained half standing over the table, staring around herself, more panicked now there seemed to be a chance. The slightest possible sponginess to the wood. A bolt sunk into the table.
The need for something to dig with.
She had carb blocks, water, her fanny pack.
… her keys.
* * *
In the chopper, Knox was on the job. Tracking the GPS on Hannah's phone. Pinpointing the position. Tracking the trails on a topographical map and the less scientific method of Google Earth. He could see trails stretching in and out of the greenery. He couldn't guess which she'd take.
He used his training to remain calm. Calm could find her. Panicked could screw up everything.
"There are probab
ly growers in there," Tanner said, circling lower to get a look at the highway. Cars beneath them were slowing, drivers probably leaning forward stupidly to try and glimpse the craft above them.
Knox said tightly, "Right. She's seen them before." Part of the reason he got her the pepper spray. Which was really more a palliative sop for Knox's concern than anything useful.
Tanner didn't bother looking at him. "She's got guts."
Knox didn't answer. He used binoculars to scan the roadside below them. This was perfect growing area. He knew that. He knew she'd seen them before and probably if she was anywhere she'd run before, they'd seen her more than she'd seen them. If they honestly thought she was just some batshit crazy runner, she shouldn't have a problem with any of the growers.
Obviously she'd had some kind of problem. Because it was 5:30 and she hadn't called.
The position pinged. "We're right over it," he shouted to Tanner. "Set her down."
The gravel pullout for traffic was deep enough for them to land without blocking traffic. It backed a little ways into the foothill. Knox was out of the chopper the minute the blades slowed. He'd seen the glint of taillights in the foliage. He sprinted low under the still turning blades.
Straight to her Jeep. Locked and empty.
He pounded one fist against her Jeep, making it rock. Hands on either side of his eyes, he looked in the window and saw the phone hooked to the charger in the dash.
She'd gone up without her phone.
There was no GPS on her to track her now. No way for her to make contact.
On the bikes it would be so much harder to hear her. No choice. They had to move fast. They no longer had the GPS coordinates to guide them.
Just miles of trails and sundown coming in an hour.
Chapter 8
When she heard the guards coming again Hannah let go of the bolt and slid her keys back into her pack. She didn't have time to rezip it as she sat back down but they'd already searched her twice. No reason they should expect she'd come up with anything new since they'd chained her there.
The minute the face appeared in the tent entrance she demanded a bathroom, a phone call, a lawyer, food, a blanket – she was still talking when he went away. Either she'd convinced him she still thought they were some legitimate group that obeyed the laws of civilization or she'd convinced him she was a crazy chick.
She didn't care which. He'd gone away without coming closer to see what she was doing. Hannah reached back into her fanny pack, feeling for her keys. They'd slid down behind the rolled pair of extra socks she carried in case she ran through water or got a blister or –
Or needed something to wrap an annoying can of pepper spray in because it was rolling around in there and on her waist she'd caught it with her arm too many times.
How did I forget this?
Simple. She wasn't used to having it and because so far, with one enormous guy holding each arm, it hadn't really mattered.
Now, it might. Because her keys had just dug down to the bottom of the bolt which didn't go all the way through the thick wood of the table top and therefore wasn't bottled to any kind of washer or whatever would hold the bottom of a bolt. She didn't have to keep digging past the bottom, didn't have to dig around some kind of base.
She just had to start twisting, rocking, pulling and straining and –
The bolt popped out like a champagne cork and Hannah tumbled over backwards, sprawling on her butt.
She was up again in an instant, digging in her pack for the spray, heading to the door of the tent. They'd just been there. From what she could tell on the huge watch she still wore, they checked about every ten minutes.
She probably had about five minutes left. She'd like more. She wasn't prepared to wait through the next visit. The guard might decide to check the restraints. Or the person who was going to talk to her might decide to finally show up.
And if she waited, she'd lose her confidence.
Hannah went to the door of the tent and looked out.
They got lucky.
The trail that led up out of the turnout was a single path.
Tanner was right behind Knox. They were both armed, assault rifles over their shoulders, side arms on their belts. Tanner carried a pack with basic medical and water.
"She apt to go off path?"
That question made Knox tense up and instantly relax. "No. Snakes, ticks. Not interested."
"There's that at least," Tanner said, sounding like he thought Hannah was crazy.
Knox felt his lips curve into a grim smile. He threw his leg over the dirt bike and revved the motor.
They went straight up the path, fast. First time the trail forked they found a strip of pink surveyor's tape.
They veered right and kept going.
There was no one in sight outside the tent.
Hannah gulped air. Stupid, but the tent felt safer now. It was hard to make herself step out of it.
Just go.
She kicked off and ran straight for the underbrush directly across from the tent. Trail wasn't in that direction. She'd be lost in minutes. Which was better than the alternative here.
She got halfway there when one of them shouted.
Three-quarters of the way there when the hand grabbed the back of her shirt.
Hannah spun in the guard's grip, clawing, spitting, shouting over his shouts. She brought the canister of pepper spray up, directed it straight into his face and hit the button.
The guard screamed, dropped her shirt. Hannah turned instantly to run.
Trailing the handcuff still attached to her left wrist.
He caught it easily, yanked her back, sending her off balance. She careened into the guard. He shoved her off, keeping hold of the free cuff, the one with the bolt still attached.
Hannah used the momentum to lash her free hand across his face. He grabbed at it with his, the hand not holding the cuff, and she used the spray again, but this guard turned his head, ducked, came up under the stream at her.
She brought her hand down, not hard enough on a guy like that, but she caught the bridge of his nose as he started to rise.
The guard bellowed, lost hold of the cuff just long enough for her to pull it from his fingers. He grabbed again, his aim off, his eyes watering.
Hannah didn't hesitate this time. She brought her foot down on his knee, driving it back and to the side.
There was a sickening crack and the guard bellowed.
She could hear others coming towards them. Her back was to the camp and she had no idea how close they were.
She didn't stop to find out.
She fled into the foliage, moving as fast and hard as she could, over uneven ground, into the wooded area, nowhere near as afraid of snakes as she was of the men behind her.
No idea how many. No idea how close. No time to stop and check. Just put as much distance as she could between her and them and worry about the path in the morning.
If there was a morning.
They still had an hour's worth of light. The bikes meant they had no element of surprise if she had run afoul of a grower. Then again, the advent of at least two men shouting for her might be enough to make anyone harassing her go away.
They stopped at every pink ribbon, turned off the bikes and shouted for her.
She didn't reply.
Hannah timed her run. Ten minutes. That put her a mile and a half more or less from the place where she'd kicked the guard and run.
She couldn't hope to get down off the foothill without being caught. Couldn't hope to get down tonight. The better part of twenty miles had never felt long to her before.
When she hit the mark on the longest mile and a half she'd ever run, she flattened herself against the trunk of a tree, unmoving, trying not to breathe.
Waiting.
She heard them coming minutes later, the sound of dirt bikes on beautiful trails enough to break through her fear for one idiotic instant before she panicked again, ready to rabbit, ready to throw herself d
own the side of the hill. Instead she stayed still, quivering, her breathing too hard and fast to quiet.
They'd never hear it over the bikes.
Bikes could spark a fire even in this wet climate. She knew real fear, then. Everything inside her tensed, ready to push off the tree and run.
The bikes shut down.
In the sudden silence, Hannah's ears rang very loud.
The instant the bikes shut off, two voices shouted her name.
Hannah froze. Fast check of memory. Had they gotten her name? No. She still had her pack. License in it. No one had ever taken it out.
For one horrible second she couldn't force her voice to work, the fear of giving away her location stronger by far than the fear of not being found.
Then she pushed herself away from the tree and shouted.
"Knox!"
He dumped the bike. Slashed a finger across his throat. Tanner cut his bike.
In the silence, one heartbeat passed.
Hannah screamed again: Knox's name.
Then wordless.
They ran. Pounded up the trail toward her.
Her voice had come from the underbrush.
The guard wasn't the one she'd kicked.
Didn't matter. He was plenty angry. He grabbed her by the hair, spun her back into the tree she'd been leaning against.
Hannah screamed and went silent as the air was punched out of her.
The guard's huge, dirty hand went over her mouth before she could get her next breath.
Held tight against him, unable to breathe, she thrashed.
"She was right there!"
Knox didn't bother with Tanner's directions.
He just kept running.
Into the green.
The guard was dragging her backwards.
Away from Knox.
His grip on her mouth and nose stopped Hannah from getting any air. The world started to gray around her.
