Chapter Seven: In the Dark, Revisited
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The light lancing through the crack in the door overhead grew dim and finally went out. She sat in the dark, on the tight-packed earthen floor, cold seeping into her bones from the rough stone wall at her back, and waited.
At some point she jolted awake from an unintended doze, scrambling to her feet and crying out "Who's there?" into the darkness.
There was no answer. No sound of movement. No tell-tale breath sounds in the darkness. She was still alone.
Gradually she let her fists drop. Her limbs were trembling, her heart racing, system awash with residual adrenaline.
I have to get out of here.
In a burst of panic she rushed up the stairs and threw her body against the unyielding wooden doors, battering them over and over without regard for the pain.
Finally the adrenaline burned itself out. She sat on the bottom step, cradling her bruised shoulder, and let a few silent tears stream down her cheeks.
You know better, she thought accusingly. Stop acting like this is the first tight spot you've been in. No more panicking.
She brushed away the wetness on her face roughly, impatiently, and took a deep breath. Rose. Paced to the far wall and back, thinking. She was beginning to feel angry, now, and anger was good. She could use anger.
Another deep breath.
"Okay," she said aloud. "Your first job is to survive. That means no more using yourself as a battering ram. It's a waste of energy, and you risk getting injured."
She continued pacing, rubbing her arms absently. She was beginning to feel cold again- another reminder of her body's vulnerability.
"Your second job is to escape," she said with determination. "Preferably before those men come back."
Or before dehydration sets in, she added silently. The thought sent a cold tendril of fear snaking up the back of her neck. Shaking it off impatiently, she made another circuit of her prison, trailing a hand along the walls this time; feeling for moisture, and finding none.
But it's not a problem, because I'm going to get out. I'm not going to die down here.
"Find a way, or make one," she whispered into the darkness. "I am not going to die here."
How's that for a mantra, George?