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“What’s wrong with you? Sit, doctor.” Sergey steered Tess toward the bathroom.
Although she assumed Sergey said something raunchy, Tess discounted the comments and ignored the scuffle behind her. Once in the bathroom, she locked the door, used the toilet, and scrubbed her hands using dingy soap under the frigid running water. The mirror reflected her cheekbone, which had darkened to violet since morning. She shook water from her hands and exited the bathroom, careful to avoid eye contact with Sergey as she trod back to the cell.
After their captors departed, she bit into one of the sandwiches, but it tasted like cardboard. Anxiety stole her appetite, and she grew somber while contemplating the peril awaiting them. Unable to make herself eat, she set her sandwich on the hay bale. “Escaping alive isn’t a certainty, and we could die tonight.”
“You’re not having doubts, are you?”
“No, but I can’t sugarcoat the risks we each face.” When she registered the concern imprinted in Mark’s expression, she softened her voice. Facing danger’s onslaught, everything fell away, unimportant, leaving nothing precious but life itself. “Thank you for trying to save Riku last night. You risked your life by stepping forward, and I can’t help thinking if you’d stayed silent, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Mark clasped his hands together. “I’m a doctor, which means I’m bound to honor my Hippocratic Oath to heal. ‘If it is given to me to save a life, all thanks.’ I’m sorry I couldn’t save your friend.”
“You gave your best. And don’t worry about me, because I refuse to die at the hands of these pigs.”
“I’ve got your back.”
She gazed at him while trying to decipher his mood, which exhibited determination, fear, and an unexpected green sprout of curiosity. Daylight faded hours ago, and minutes ticked by in slow motion while she waited for night’s dark cover. As the evening grew still, only a steady, bitter wind sounded beyond the barn. Nighttime arrived, signaling it was time to go. She delayed until fifteen minutes of quiet had passed to ensure their captors were far from the barn.
Mark shoved the hay bales away from the carved hole in the wall, exposing the narrow chute. He stood watch by the metal bars above the cell door and scanned for their captors. “All clear.”
Tess brushed her hair back from her bruised cheek, took a couple deep breaths, and stretched her arms up high to lengthen her body. Remembering her pocketknife, she extracted it from her jacket and held it in her palm. “Here. In case you need it.”
He stepped forward and pocketed the knife. “I’ll give you a hand.”
She crouched and stared into the dark, square hole to plan her descent. “On my back, feet first, so I land upright.” On the floor, she lay down, knees bent, and stuck her feet into the opening, heels pointed to the bottom. Scooting her hips into the opening in the wall, she angled her feet to gain more space. “Give me a lift.”
“Ready?” Mark knelt on the ground behind her and slid his forearms under her back to lift her to the chute’s opening.
Tingling electric energy ran through her body from the touch of his warm hands as they guided her torso into the opening. “Now, shoulders.”
He eased her body through the opening of the feed chute.
“I’m stuck. I need to twist.” Her mouth grew dry, and her shoulders wouldn’t budge. Focus. In the claustrophobic, tight space, she lay flat and crammed her arms over her chest to squeeze her body into a narrow log, tilting at a slight diagonal to compress even more. Bit by agonizing bit, she scooched inches at a time and eked her way through the tube. Complete darkness filled the chute, and she fended off panic by taking slow, steady breaths to keep her rib cage compact.
“Everything okay?”
His voice sounded muffled. “Yes.” A blockage near her feet slowed her progress, and she stretched her toes to tap at something. “I’ve got fresh air, and there’s something rubbery at the bottom. A flap.” One more slide, and her feet popped through the bottom’s opening. Frigid air swirled around her ankles. She exhaled to empty her lungs of air before she resumed scooting downwards. With morbid amusement, she rebirthed her grown body in the breech position, feet first, out the grain chute. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be reincarnated as a cow in her next life.
After one last slide, the flap swung and whacked her face. She tumbled into a heap on soft earth smelling of grass, mud, and grain. Disoriented, she paused to allow her vision to adjust to the darkness, and the sound of heavy panting nearby alarmed her. Given she had zero cover, she chose to play dead on the ground, leaving her injured cheek exposed to the raw air.
A huge black shape loomed above, then meandered closer.
For God’s sake, now what? Earthy warm breath blew in her face, and something scratchy and wet licked her cheek. A distinct bovine “moo” sounded. She wanted to laugh out loud. The cow mistook her for dinner, given she reeked of grain. She waved the cow away with a muddy hand and ascended from the ground.
Hugging the edge of the barn, Tess scanned the clearing for places to take cover, if needed. A stack of hay bales towered next to two water troughs. Keeping close to the wall, she sidestepped until she rounded the corner. Across from the gate, she recognized the shed where Yuri interrogated her. A trailer stood in the distance, and bright lights glowed through the windows farthest from the barn. In the quiet night, all she could hear was the muted sound of farm animals. Time to make her move.
Crouched low, Tess crept toward the front of the barn. After she cast a glance to confirm she wasn’t being followed, she studied the entrance. The sliding doors were joined by a metal bar latched above adjoining handles. Praying the bar wouldn’t squeak, she lifted it and slid the door an inch to the right. Once she opened the door several inches, she squeezed through the narrow opening, then slid it back and left the bar open, so the door appeared shut from the outside.
She tiptoed across the barn to the cell. The prospect of freedom sent her hope skyrocketing, and joyful tears sprang to her eyes. For a precious moment, she relaxed her body, the first time since last night’s gunfire, and she beamed. “I made it.”
“Great. I’m ready to go.” Mark was waiting with his hands wrapped around the bars above the thick wooden door.
In the dim light, she fumbled to unlock the metal bar and slide the door open. Out of nowhere, the sharp point of a knife clamped against her throat. She gasped.
“Don’t move,” a voice hissed.
A vodka-tinged breath exhaled near her ear, and a rough hand seized her left arm.
Her earlier daydream of a sun-drenched beach crashed into pieces. Trigger-happy Sergey was behind her. All hope she harbored of escaping unharmed vanished. Afraid to breathe, lest the knife nick her throat, she avoided inhaling. Damn it, how did she not hear the door slide open behind her? Worse, Sergey was touching her.
