What the rescuers find when the morning comes. Probably some more campfire tales!

This chapter ends this second book. The next one is being written. I want to thank Bill and Asheligh for their help and to those that PM'd me. I also want to thank everyone for reading and your comments.

Chapter 31

I awoke to total darkness while being jostled from side to side suspended in a mental limbo. Awareness crept back to me in sluggish stages. My first thought was this wasn’t my bed, and where was Mom? Then I remembered Whateley and finally staying at the Donner household. But I didn’t recall their bed being this hard or cold or metallic; I was laying on my side in a fetal position. Fleeting images of a spinning house tumbled through my mind. While this certainly wasn’t Kansas, I was sure I wasn’t Dorothy, neither was I in a tornado or even a house.

Where the hell was I?

I discovered in trying to look at my surroundings that my hands and feet were zip tied. I was gagged and blindfolded with my hands tied behind me.

Again: Where the hell was I?

Better question: Who was I? With that question a name popped into focus, Atalanta Reid. Yeah that name fit; it felt right. I’m Atalanta Reid. That realization seemed to open the floodgates and I was no longer drifting in limbo; I now had an anchor to springboard from.

Opening my senses I detected a barely audible buzz of conversation coming from behind my head. Coupled with the hiss of air below me and of the feel from a rubbery textured surface beneath my fingers came the realization that I was in the trunk of a moving car.

In the trunk of a car, bound, gagged and blindfolded!

Panic threatened to seize control of me.

Automatically I fell back on the meditative training that I had been taught. Breathe … deep, one-two-three-four and repeat; one-two-three-four...

I retreated back to what I knew; I’m Atalanta Reid and I’m a 14 year old mutant at Whateley staying with Medawihla Indians during Christmas. I had just given an exhibition run on the Devils Washboard and afterwards celebrated with eating and drinking. Was that yesterday or last night or was this the same night? There was something about drinking that seemed important. But what was it?

Why was extracting logical constructs from my mind like pulling shoes from a muddy field. Giggling I realized that that thought was a logical construct. The sputtering from the car’s exhaust forced its way past the abstract; the vehicle’s exhaust gases were leaking into the trunk and possibly into the passenger compartment. Carbon dioxide will put you to sleep and then kill you.

I needed to escape and fast!

Curling into a tighter ball I brought my knees tightly against my breasts and slowly passed my hands over my feet until they were now in front. I then removed the blindfold and gag spitting it free. Pulling up my pants leg I felt for the knife sheathed there and breathed a sigh of relief when I felt the handle. Holding it firmly in my fist I slowly pulled the knife free and moments later used it to cut my feet loose and then clamping it firmly between my knees and quickly sawing through the plastic zips that bound my hands.

Pausing to catch my breath I considered my next step. From the vehicle sounds and feeling the flimsy material separating the trunk from the occupant compartment I realized that I could kick my way into the backseat. However, that might cause us to wreck and I had no desire to crash off a mountain top.

A more pressing concern was eliminating the threat of carbon monoxide poisoning. I gripped my knife firmly and carefully switched positions where my head was now at the rear of the car. Removing the taillights from their sockets using the knife handle I carefully knocked the taillight lenses out to allow in fresh air.

Suddenly an idea occurred from out of the blue and I scratched the insulation from one of the lamps. I discovered through trial and error which two wires to short out to produce light from the bulbs. I used the light to explore the trunk’s interior; finding a tire tool that might be helpful.
Remembering a problem Daddy had with the trunk on one of his cars I scooted around to study the rods that provided tension against the lock and stabilized the trunk hinges. The rods crisscrossed each other being anchored in a slot on the opposite end and thus providing maximum tension when closed and less as it was opened.

Securing the sharpened end of the tire iron in an adjacent metal structure, I used the tire iron to pry the end loose from its slot. Being careful to ease it free I was mindful that the potential power wrapped up in it could break bones if released at once. I almost let the second rod escape as we suddenly began a steeper climb as the tire iron was almost ripped from my grasp. I regained control and quickly lowered it to the floor.
As I lay on my back and looking upward my eyes locked onto the curved hinges and I immediately began the tire iron to twist and weaken them. I was hoping that when the trunk lock was opened they’d assume the weight of the snow was why it didn’t spring open and therefore gather around to help brush away the snow. I smiled at the resulting image.

I scooted into position where my legs were coiled against my body and the soles of my boots firmly against the trunk lid’s structure. With my back braced against the trunk’s floor I was poised to shove the lid violently open.

I could feel mental acuity returning as I lay in the trunk. With fresh air replacing the exhaust fumes the effects of the drugs began to wear off. I then noticed the top of my blouse was unbuttoned and that my bra was twisted to one side.

My first instincts was shame and to cover up; the second was white hot rage. But after corralling those intrinsic actions I began to feverishly take stock of what happened at the party.

Marty!

I remembered the creepy feeling that I got from him. It had been so powerful that my immediate response was to seek the company of other females for support and validation.

Cold reality then struck me down to my core.

Marty had spiked my drink!

The other girls and I weren’t reading intentions we were reading actions! In other words I was not the first girl he had drugged.
But I was damned sure going to be the last!

As that thought trickled through me; another more powerful one replaced it, justice. I’d expose the rat that he was, removing his shield of anonymity to the village, and especially the girls.

My course charted I settled in to wait and to marshal my strength, mentally rehearsing my actions when we stopped and the trunk was unlocked. I didn’t have to wait long as I felt us slowing down.. A thin, feral grin appeared on my lips as I lay in wait. Soon after, the car came to a stop with the brakes protesting. Scant seconds later the car doors opened and slammed closed. I counted three distinct sounds as the doors closed.

I caught snatches of conversation and a curse as one slipped in the snow. I counted three separate voices. I followed them in my mind as they traveled the car’s length and rounded to the rear. I waited calmly both relaxed and poised to spring as the key turned in the lock.

“Damn, guys I could use some help with this; the snow is weighting it down.”

I heard some jeering and soft crunch of footfalls in snow as they moved to help lift the trunk lid. As the lock cleared the retaining plate and a sliver of light shone through I uncoiled my legs and struck the underside of the metal lid with all the explosive power coiled in my body and legs.

Modern collision design theory holds that forces are dissipated through the vehicle’s body and frame, using overlapping angles to direct impacts. My sideways torsion with the tire iron had deformed the hinges allowing the hinge bolts to loosen.

The trunk exploded up and out sending a shower of snow skyward, the flakes reflecting pinpoints of light from a moon that shown through a break in the clouds. I heard the cries of surprise and saw the three bodies stagger backwards. Possibly because of a production flaw or because of unequal force applied, the passenger side hinge held while the left side began to strip its threads. As the lid bounced off the roof panel and came wobbling down, my foot met it again with all my force directed at the weakened hinge. The strained and weakened joint let loose with the lid spinning off to my left; hanging awkwardly on the passenger side but tethered to the car by one twisted hinge.

I stood up in the back of the car, the tire iron forgotten in one hand staring out at the three men on their backs laid out in a semicircle before me. Marty was on my left and Dustin Bull spread-eagled straightaway with an unknown male on my left. I tasted and felt the fine mist from the snow falling back to earth. The full moon was now spotlighting the natural amphitheatre with the majestic conifers acting as witnesses.

“Now I know who orchestrated this little party,” I drawled evenly, staring down at the Were moose. He lay still; too shocked and stunned to move.

“Speak up boys or I’ll think you’re not glad to see me,” I sneered placing a booted foot on the shelf that supported the tail lamps and leaned forward.

They scooted away on their backsides before scrambling to their feet. I had counted on their reaction and immediately jumped to the ground facing them, poised on the balls of my feet ready to strike. I took three steps to my left as they countered with three of their own to my right. I stopped, and they did as well with one accord. Smiling I moved to my right and they followed suit.

Suddenly all time and motion ceased, suspended as if held in a separate space. In that moment of not-time I became an observer looking at myself from a view from behind the guys. Suddenly it was if I saw what they saw, felt what they felt, and thought like they thought. Just as quickly time snapped back to normal and I was again looking out from my body.

“Boys you invited me to this dance, but,” I added grinning with my eyes flashing, “this is a come as you are affair. If you try to make it a costume ball I’ll think you are trying to embarrass me. I wouldn’t like that …at all. In fact I’ll probably have a temper tantrum and throw things …and break things,” I added flatly.

“That’s not fair,” the unidentified male on my left whined, “we are no match for you in this form.”

“I got news for you; you’re no match for me in your Were forms either, but go ahead test me if you’re feeling lucky,” I replied.

He suddenly threw up his hands, palms facing outward, “I’m out ‘a here. I didn’t want any part of this to start with.” He continued to back away apologizing for his part.

“And then they were two,” I turned to Marty and Dustin, “but our dances were interrupted before the music stopped. Not to worry though I brought my own arrangement this time,” I laughed tossing the tire iron at Dustin’s head.

Dustin instinctively reached for it and as he did so I slipped under his outstretched hand, hitting him with a left under his arm and behind his left breast; on his unprotected ribs. The resultant thud and whoosh knocked the air from his lungs and cracked some ribs. His legs buckled and he sat down hard on his ass. A harder blow would have broken his ribs and punctured a lung, or his heart. I wanted him out of the fight not dead.

“And then there was one,” I announced picking up the tire iron and twirling it like a baton advancing on Marty who circled warily.
Like a hawk I advanced, amused as he divided his attention between the twirling metal baton and me. My reflexes were incredibly quick and I seemed to be in a zone where I could read his reactions even as he decided. After the first half dozen blows to his face connected, I stopped.

“Marty confession is good for the soul … and body. You can stop this anytime.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he blustered between swollen lips.

Splat, the sound of a right jab connecting with bone immediately followed.

“I didn’t mean any harm,” he wheezed, whipping away blood dripping from a nostril.

“Oww,” he cried as I threw another left to his ribs.

“Okay I confess,” he moaned.

“Confess to what,” I snarled.

“To taking advantage of the girls.”

“By drugging them?”

He shook his head, “yes.”

I caught a movement from a corner of my eye and whirled around as an old man stepped from the trees. He was leading a burro and propelling the third man forward.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m part of search and rescue team sent to find you. But,” he paused looking from Dustin to Marty and at the third party member he had captured, “I’m not sure who needed rescuing here. My name is Lou La’Rue.”

“Mind repeating that,” I returned smiling softly.

“Lou …Touché,” he chuckled, “but what was he confessing to?”

“You want to tell him Marty,” I asked and added when he hung his head, “Marty here drugged my drink. Some kind of date rape drug I suspect and I wasn’t the first girl he tried it on either, was I Marty?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“What now,” I asked Lou.

“We wait I guess. Chief Mayor said he’d send backup after it got light.”

We found some rope and tied the men up in the cabin then Lou went outside and cared for his animal; placing it in the lean-to beside the cabin.

Afterwards I found the cell that Sam had given me in my pocket that I’d turned off.

“Shit,” I exclaimed turning the phone on, “Sam will have my hide, I was supposed to call in yesterday.”

I punched in Sam’s number, “Hello?”

“Sam, it’s me …”

“Atalanta, are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m fine but I have a couple of guys here that might need medical attention.”

There was silence before Sam asked, “What happened to them?”

Oh, that,” I replied breezily, “They wanted to dance and didn’t understand the rules.”

“Well where are you?”

“In a cabin somewhere, here let me ask Lou where we are at.”

I relayed the directions from Lou to Sam who said they’d be here about daybreak.

“Has anybody called Mom.” I asked hesitantly.

“Ha-ha-ha, Superwoman is afraid of Momma.”

“You got that right; we all have our kryptonite,” I admitted, “does Mrs. Carson know.”

“Yeah Delarose called her.”

“You want me to call her too?” I replied blithely.

Sam laughed easily in my ear, “no I don’t, but good try though. Do call Mrs. Donner.”

I promised I would, hung up and called Eloise Donner.

The tendrils of darkness clung stubbornly at the edges of the horizon resisting the relentless dawning of a new day. Broken clouds, gusting winds, snow showers with orange and black streaks of sunshine greeted the caravan as it turned off the Sawmill road onto the opening that lead to the cabin location. In the lead Dodge AWD van Sam rode beside Ben, in the back were Gregg and the medic Steve Burman. In the second Dodge rode Joe Mayor and two of his deputies with one of the trackers that they had picked up on the way in.

Joe had changed his mind at waiting for daylight when Sam had called him after she talked with Atalanta and learned that someone needed medical attention. Not knowing who needed help or how severe the need, Joe decided that as Police Chief his presence was warranted. He had assembled a cobbled together posse and left as soon as possible, and by pushing his driver they had caught up with Ben and Sam a few hundred yards short of the turnoff.

As they pulled into the clearing Sam whistled in surprise, Ben braked suddenly and the driver of the second van swung wide to avoid plowing into the back of the lead vehicle.

“It’s easy to tell where Atalanta has been,” Sam noted dryly. Eight pairs of eyes silently looked at the scene laid out on the forest coliseum floor. The rear end of the older model heap faced them, with it’s empty taillight lenses staring like empty eye sockets in the harsh light. The trunk lid tilted crazily; held aloft by one twisted hinge that seemed to shiver in the chill wind.

Getting out of their vehicles, closer inspection revealed the snow was packed in places and in others held bodily impressions amid crimson stains. There was a huge dent in the roof panel where apparently the trunk lid had bounced off.

Sam picked up a tire iron that was lying in the snow, tossing it aside when it was obviously free of organic material.

The bray of a donkey carried on the morning air and greeted them.

They were greeted at the door by Lou, the old trapper who stepped aside to let them in. The cabin was one room, separated by a sleeping portion cordoned off with curtains. A stone fireplace, probably measuring three feet square, occupied half the back wall with a cauldron suspended over dying embers. Nearby was a half filled wood box.

In the center of the room stood a wooden table with a pair of wooden benches and scattered about three hewn chairs covered with hickory strips seats. At a far corner Atalanta sat in a chair propped against the wall, her boots hooked lazily in the bottom chair rung.
Moans drew their attention to the cordoned area where three men were bound together on the bunk. The person in the middle was unmarked; on the left Dustin was clearly favoring his left side and breathing raggedly. Marty nearest to them looked like his face had had contact with a wildcat. One eye was black and swollen almost shut; his nose lay at an angle and was obviously broken. Both cheekbones and lips were cut and swollen.

Sam eyed the devious method that they were tied up in, knowing this was Atalanta’s handiwork; recalling Manny’s telling of the manner in which Atalanta had trussed the desert bandits.

Marty and Dustin had their inside hands tied together the rope running behind the back of the middle guy. Marty’s left hand was tied to the right hand of the middle guy while Dustin’s right hand was connected to left hand of the middle guy in a crisscross manner. Their feet were tied in a similar overlapping manner that resulted in limited movement but left the trio unable to coordinate any efforts to free themselves.

Sam almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

I was in the parlor of the Donner household the day after Christmas, talking with Eloise, Darcy, Penny, and Vicki. Marty had decided confession was indeed good for the soul and the Medawihla tribe was going to deal with him internally while Dustin was being held for his western band to pick him up. They were both in the infirmary under guard, recuperating. Dale Sherman the third guy had been blackmailed into it or so he said.

I left the politics to the politicians.

I had just returned from the barn to feed and water Blackie, the Morgan gelding I had ridden two days ago. Of course while I was sorting his oats and brushing his coat I had brought him up to date on the Christmas Day Massacre as I had internally dubbed it.

“Blackie do you think it was them you caught wind of that day we went riding,” he stopped his chewing to give that thought due consideration. After careful deliberation, he shook his head vigorously and went back to eating.

“Me neither,” I agreed.

I talked with him while continuing to clean his coat and he would occasionally pause from his eating, look up at me and shake his head or whinny. He seemed to understand what I was saying, or else he was enjoying the grooming.

“Blackie you big faker,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck, scratching behind his ears, “you be careful and I’ll see you when I can, but I don’t know when that’ll be.”

He nodded sagely.

I had then returned to the house to wait on Sam, when the girls had come by to talk.

They had come over to see me off and to apologize about forgetting me at the party. The girls were fascinating to me… I guess because they were typical teenagers. Darcy the smallest of the trio bubbled with emotion with her every thought or feeling registering in facial tics and her pupils opening and closing, her reactions emphasized by her bouncing pixie hairstyle.

Vicki, the next girl in height at 5’ 5” wore her dark hair long and braided. She was the most developed girl out of the three and was constantly smiling. Penny had the look of the poster girl for tomboy and she was the only one that wore pants.

They kept up a constant stream of chatter among giggles, exaggerated ‘uhs and ahs’ and interspersed with comments on this boy or that girl’s clothing or hairstyle choice. It unnerved me a bit that their conversation seemed to travel round robin style around the table, and at times it seemed three different threads were discussed while commenting on the one off odd items, and all this with Vicki filing her nails.

As I listened to their timeworn observations I became aware how far removed from the typical teenage behavior I was, and even more so from typical teenage female behavior. How much of that was due to carrying luggage across the gender divide I couldn’t guess. When the conversations turned to my drugging, capture, and escape my reply was typically reserved.

“I was lucky,” I explained at how I was able to escape my restraints, “I’m flexible and once I got my hands in front it was fairly easy to get loose. And then I just got into the heads of the guys and confused them,” I added, gently smiling. With that taciturn answer, they were soon on to toying with a new idea.

As they talked among themselves, I reflected back to yesterday when I had called Mom, wishing her a Merry Christmas. Talking to her I found out she was none the wiser about my Christmas Eve adventure. I’d keep quiet about it until I could tell her in person.

At my feet I had my duffel bag packed and I was ready for the trip back to the campus. Sam was due to arrive shortly in a school vehicle to drive me there, even though I protested I could find the way there.

“It is what else you’ll find that worries me,” she teased.

“You’re welcome in my home anytime Atalanta,” Eloise said after the girls left to go to their respective homes.

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” I returned dryly.

“No, not at all,” she laughed easily, “We’ve overcome bigger disasters than you.”

My reply was interrupted by Samantha knocking on the front door. Eloise rose from her seat to open the door, “You’re just in time,” she said to Sam.

“What has our hellion been up to now?” Sam responded, walking into the room where I was seated.

“Who, me?” I fluttered my eyes, “Somebody is telling lies on me.”

“Are you ready to go?”

I stood, turned to Eloise and embracing her whispered, “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Not your fault,” she assured me as I picked up my duffel to follow Sam outside. The school’s van was parked outside; ironically it looked to be the same one that was supposed to pick me up at the train depot almost two weeks ago.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s not funny, get in.”

“Shotgun,” I called out needlessly opening the sliding door and placing my duffel bag on the floor before latching the door. I opened the passenger door and got in closing the door. Pulling the seatbelt I latched it in place while Sam took her place behind the wheel.

As we pulled out onto the road towards Dunwich I looked at Sam and pointed towards the distant town.

“Home, James.”