Page 67 of Crucible
After reaching the end of the first cookbook without finding a recipe that seems possible for my limited skills, I don’t even bother reading the others. Wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand, I stand on unsteady feet and walk toward the kitchen.
The sound of something snapping and then a pained squeal draws my attention toward the side door just off the kitchen. I didn’t understand what could have made the sound until I searched behind the trash can and saw a wooden mouse trap and the gray furry rodent caught under the clamp. It squeals and wiggles to be free, but the trap’s hold on it is too strong.
Join the club, Ratatouille.
Shuddering, I leave it there since I’m no fucking exterminator. I pour myself a glass of water and sip it slowly as I wait for the feeling that I’m about to vomit to fade. When I’m sure I won’t pass out, I walk the cabin for the third time since my arrival.
You know how you walk into a room and immediately know something is missing, but you can’t put your finger on it?
The feeling started yesterday when Khalil showed me around, but it’s amplified now that I’m alone, and I don’t have Khalil, Thorin, or Seth watching my every move. I don’t realize what’smissing until I’m back in the den, staring at the back wall in disbelief.
The weapons are gone.
The crossbow, rifles, spare hunting knives, and other shit that I can’t even name are missing. There’s also a noticeably empty space on the console table that I could have sworn had been occupied before.
A record player?
No.
A radio. And not the kind that gets your favorite music station.
There had also been a huge map on the adjacent wall, but it’s gone now.
It takes me a moment longer to piece together why Thorin, Khalil, and Seth would go through the trouble of moving all of their gear.
They’dhidit.
My guess is while I was out of it.
I eye the tall metal locker in the corner. There are chains with thick, rusted links wrapped around the handles and a padlock to secure it.
To keep me out of it?
Definitely.
Instinctively, I turn and round the couch until I’m standing over the footlocker they use as a coffee table. Had that lock been there before? I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. My memory is good but not photographic good.
Collapsing on the couch, I stare at the floor, but then all I can see is me on my knees that first night, so I close them until the memory fades, and I don’t feel so dangerously close to splintering apart.
Thorin, Khalil, and Seth didn’t just refuse to help me. They stripped and locked away anything I might use to save myself ifit came to that. They stacked the deck so that I don’t ever stand a chance.
Feeling this raw and angry need to fight for my survival rise inside me, I open my eyes.
As cruel as it was, Seth had at least helped me see that it was weak to wait around, hoping to be rescued.
No one’s coming for me.
I guess I knew that. Every day that I’m not found lowers the chance in the eyes of the world that I’ll ever be.
If I’m going to survive this mountain and its men, I have to stop thinking of myself as the Aurelia before the crash—the popstar and the celebrity.
America’s sweetheart.
I’m not that girl anymore—if I ever was.
I’m the fallen star that may not gleam brightly anymore, but I’m stronger for it. If I’m going to be saved, I have to do it myself.
I mentally run through a list of everything I’ll need to make it off this godforsaken mountain.
