Don't know where this story even came from. She just kinda popped into my head. This if for all those Cullen Bohannon lovers out there. RR
Maybe she was dead.
She thought her eyes were open, but the darkness surrounding her was so complete that it had to be impossible. The only indication that they were in fact open were the small star like speck in the blackness.
And the silence. God, was the silence deafening. Only moments ago she could remember hearing the soft thump of her heart, the sound of her sneakers hitting the pavement at in a sort of rhythmic pattern.
What the hell had happened?
One minute she was running around her block in broad daylight and the next she's lying in a field in total darkness.
The idea of being in a field had just occurred to her. Under her limbs she could feel the blades of dried grass rubbing against her skin. It was talk too. She could feel it scratch against her ears and neck.
Quickly, she did an inventory of her body. Nothing felt broken or sprained. No head ache or stomach pains. Besides a bit chilly, she felt completely fine. The weight of her grandmother's necklace still pressed against her chest. She sat up straight and was once again overwhelmed by the impenetrable darkness. No car lights or street lamps. No nearby houses with windows glowing from within. Just... black.
Had she been kidnapped? Hit over the head or drugged, causing her to forget the events that brought her here? She felt like she was in the beginning of a Law and Order episode. Right before detectives find the victim... or right before the killer does.
Just as she was about to throw herself into a panic, thunder erupted. At least that's what she thought. It was a low rumble at first, but quickly grew louder. Faster. Closer. Until she could feel the ground beneath her tremble.
Horses, dozens of them, broke through the wall of black and circled around her, their patches of white fur all but glowing in the darkness.
Someone spoke and she realized there were men atop the massive creatures. She could see nothing more than a faint outline of their silhouettes. They spoke in a language she didn't understand and that quite honestly sounded made up.
"Where am I?" She tried to ask, hoping they knew English. She heard feet hit the ground and stomp towards her. Angry fingers latched onto her hair and all by dragged her through the grass.
She let out a broken scream of fear and pain as she clawed at the persons hands and arms. But it made no difference.
Something hard came down on her temple and the darkness returned, with it came unconsciousness.
Two days later:
She sat outside the tent, her hands bound tightly by a rope, like a dog on a leash.
These people were going to kill her. It was a miracle they hadn't already. They'd branded her like cattle, beaten her like a rag doll, and taken her clothes. The sad excuse for a dress she wore now was torn and short. It didn't keep out the cold, and the material irritated her skin.
She had to get away.
From the second she'd opened her eyes in that damn field, she had been trying to figure out where she was. The only logical thing she could come up with is that she's been kidnapped by some secret Native American cult.
They had yet to feed her, so she knew her time was running out. If she was going to escape, it had to be soon, while she still had energy to do so. Albeit, not much.
So she waited until nightfall when the man who held the other end of her leash had fallen asleep. In the daylight, she'd managed to get her hands on a small stick. The children had been playing with it to poke at a dead snake. It wasn't sharp, but she didn't need it to be.
When she was sure he was asleep, she crept up beside his snoring figure. The stick was thick enough to hold strong as she thrust it into the front of this throat.
His eyes widened and his mouth opened to scream, but she knew she'd hit his trachea. No sound rolled off his tongue as he bled out in his own tent.
Once he was dead, she ran.
