I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT KIMBERLY AND THE PREDATOR OC AND THE CRIMINALS!

Case Twelve

By

Predy96

Chapter 1

Kimberly Lindbergh never considered the fact that she just might one day be captured by some lunatic. She lived in a nice neighborhood, had many friends, and her father was the chief of police. It was, she always thought, a crazy idea that anyone would want to capture her. Even if she was the hottest girl at Midtown High School. She was on the cheer squad, made excellent grades, and was constantly being asked out on dates. That was why she had no idea what to do when she really was kidnapped. She was currently duck-taped, bound, and gagged in the trunk of a speeding vehicle going Lord knew where. Her current predicament, for lack of a better term, sucked. Kimberly was now wishing she had learned what to do if she was kidnapped.

Her father, Raymond, had tried to teach her, but she had scoffed, laughed, and waltzed out. Who would want to kidnap her, she had said. Go figure. The ropes on her wrists were really starting to burn from all the jolting and bumping. What to do? She felt a sharp sting on her thigh, just below the small skirt she was wearing and winced. She tried to reposition herself so as to see the cause of her pain, and found that it was, in fact, the blade from a pocketknife! She could have cried. Finally! She scooted as close as possible without setting off her nerves in her thigh. She grabbed the silver handle and fumbled with it for a moment before finding the ropes. She began to rub the blade against the tight knots and silently prayed it would work. Another bump caused her to hit her head hard and lose the knife, but not before it gave her another cut. She squealed as the blade cut deeply into her soft flesh. Tears welled up.

Kimberly searched desperately around for the knife and found it, in a corner. She ground it against the ropes and they finally snapped loose. She brought her wrists up and rubbed them, hands slippery from her blood. She brought her right hand down to her skirt and lifted it, revealing her thigh, which was bleeding profusely. Her white panties, which were far too small, were soaked with her blood. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, gathering herself. Kimberly took the knife and sliced off a section of her skirt, then wrapped it around her thigh. It slowed the bleeding some. She heard the brakes squeal and the car stopped with a jolt. Kimberly hit her head again.

Where are we? she thought. She heard the click of the lock and the trunk opened, throwing in bright sunlight. She shielded her eyes, which was a big mistake. Her captors laughed and grabbed her arms, irritating the slash marks. She struggled against them, but it was futile. One of the men, who had a slash across his right cheek, smacked her across the face, making her cry out in pain.

"I suggest you quit fighting, little missy, before something bad happens to ya!" he sneered. Kimberly quit her struggling, and hung her head, face stinging. Her captors laughed again, and the one holding her pushed her forward. Her cuts stung sharply, and she was forced to endure the pain as she walked. They were headed to a large building, a storage facility no doubt. There were few windows, and a rusty fire escape ran the length of the front. She turned her head to glare at the four men tailing along.

"My father will find you," she said, trying to sound brave, "and when he does, you will pay for your crimes!"

This remark elicited loud bursts of laughter. The man behind her shoved her again, and she stumbled. Kimberly had barely regained her balance before he pushed her again, this time into an open doorway. The interior was dark, with very little light. Kimberly was tossed roughly to the cement floor. The man with the scar flipped a switch, and a bright light flared on. She squinted, her eyes hurting in the brightness. When she regained her sight, she saw that she was correct: this was indeed a storage facility. Crates and shelves were piled high with objects everywhere. A door led to another room just to the right. For now, the men were busy discussing what to do with her, so she might be able to…

She got to her belly and began to silently crawl to the door. She kept her gaze on her captors, and gradually inched closer and closer. Almost there, just a little bit more. Too late!

"HEY! YOU!" one of the men shouted. Kimberly gasped and got up, wincing at the pain. She ran, screaming. She looked behind her, and saw them gaining. She went as fast as she could with the gash in her leg. She felt the torn cloth come undone. Her wound began to bleed from the strain. She cried out in pain and began to limp, the blood running down her leg and making little puddles in her wake. She turned a corner and saw another door. A shelf was beside it. And on that shelf was a crowbar. She drew in short breaths, gasping from fatigue and blood loss. She put a hand out to steady herself and grabbed the crowbar. Kimberly heard the men not far off and limped behind a pile of crates, climbing them to hide. She had to stop the blood flow. She was beginning to feel faint. She pulled up her skirt to examine it. Her wound was wide open and bleeding profusely again. It seemed to be worse. She felt tears sting her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

Oh, God! Oh, God, it hurts! she screamed inside her head. She tore some more of her skirt and tied it into an even tighter knot this time, biting her tongue to keep from screaming at the pain. She was now wearing little more than a tattered and bloody rag now.

"Spread out! The little bitch can't have gone far!" ordered the leader. "Brock, you go that way. Herbert, you take the right. Nickelback, you check there. I'll check this isle."

Kimberly cowered further into the stack of crates as the man called Herbert drew near. He was bald, and Kimberly recognized him as the one who had been abusing her. She gripped her crowbar tighter, and waited. He drew closer, closer, closer. He passed her. Kimberly snuck down the pile of crates and crept up behind him. She raised the crowbar high above her head. She brought it down and was satisfied with the thump that it made when it connected with his head. Herbert fell forward and hit the cement hard. He would not be getting up any time soon. Blood pooled around his head where he lay. Kimberly stared at the downed man in hate. She wiped her face where his blood had sprayed onto her. No one touched her like that and got away with it. She spit on the twitching body and stepped over him. She stopped dead at the sound of multiple clicks.

"Thought you could escape, sweetheart?" said Scarface. Kimberly slowly turned around, bloody crowbar shaking in fear. All three kidnappers had Glocks pointed at her head, and they were loaded.