Taken (7 page)

Pull yourself together
, I told myself sternly.
You
have to stay positive. You'll never make it if you give
up.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out the chain I had found snagged on the inside of my jacket. I was one hundred percent positive that it belonged to the man who had grabbed me. It didn't look like much—there were probably thousands, maybe even millions, of chains just like it. But it might give the police something to go on. It might help them catch the guy. I wiped the tears from my face.
There
was a positive thought to help keep me going:
I
could help the police catch the man who had taken those other two girls. I could help to catch a serial killer. But in order for that to happen, I had to keep going. I had to get back home.

I slipped the chain back into my pocket, closed my eyes and tried to picture myself safe at home. It almost worked too. I was just drifting off when a clap of thunder, like the sound of the earth splitting apart, woke me. A moment later, it began to pour.

NINE

M
y first thought: Stay dry.

My second thought:
Water!

I sat up and scrabbled for the metal bowl, and set it out to let it fill with water. I unscrewed the cap of the canteen and set it out too. But its mouth was so small that I knew it wouldn't collect much.

I sat huddled under the tree, watching the water hit the bottom of the bowl with so much force that it bounced right back up again. I held the sheet of plastic over my head like a little roof. It kept the top half of me dry, but the ground around me was packed hard, which meant it couldn't absorb all the rain that was coming down. Water ran in streams between the rocks and the exposed roots of trees. It wasn't long before the butt of my jeans was soaked through. I knew I had a decision to make. I could either look for some place to shelter during the storm, or I could give up trying to stay dry and take the opportunity to collect as much water as I could.

I thought about how thirsty I had been those first two days and about how far I might still have to walk. I also thought about the complete lack of water sources on my journey so far.

It didn't take long to make up my mind.

I jumped up and started to claw at the ground with my hands. I think I broke every one of my nails ripping at the hard-packed earth. Then I remembered the utensil set. I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and unsnapped the spoon and fork. I used them to gouge the earth. They weren't perfect—what I wouldn't have done for a shovel!—but they worked a lot better than my fingers. I dug with both hands. I dug as deep as I could, until finally I had a large hole about six inches deep. I lined it with the sheet of plastic and anchored the edges of the plastic with rocks.

The whole time, the rain hammered down.

I sat next to the hole, my knees pulled up to the chin, my arms wrapped around me, my head down, shivering all over. The temperature had dropped since I'd settled down to go to sleep. Or maybe it only felt that way because I was soaked to the skin. I started to worry again. What if I was coming down with something? Or what if all this cold and wet made me sick?

I told myself to stop saying those two words. I didn't need any more
what if
s in my life. I needed water and food and shelter. I needed to get home.

The rain poured down. The hole filled and then overflowed. It got colder. I couldn't stop shivering. My teeth chattered. Thunder rolled and roared overhead. Lightning flashed across the inky black sky.

I heard a deafening sound, like an explosion, followed a few moments later by a crash, as if something had fallen out of the sky and plummeted to the earth. A tree, I thought. A tree had been struck by lightning, and from the sound of it, it wasn't far from where I was sitting. I gazed apprehensively at the pine tree that towered above me. I thought about those stories you hear from time to time about people getting caught outside during a lightning storm and taking shelter under a tree and then getting killed by lightning because lightning always strikes the tallest thing around. If you're under a tree that gets hit by lightning, electricity goes into the earth and kills you. I scrambled out from under the pine tree and sat in the open. It was like sitting under a waterfall, but I couldn't think what else to do. I put my head down and rocked back and forth to try to get warm. It didn't help. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep. It didn't come. The rain battered my head, my shoulders, my back.

The rain was still coming down at daybreak. But even though the clouds overhead were thick and gray, the forest gradually brightened a little. The sun was up there somewhere, but it didn't look like the rain was going to let up anytime soon.

I staggered to my feet. My body ached all over. My clothes were so wet that they dripped. My sneakers squelched with every step I took.

I drank as much water as I could hold from the bowl and poured what was left into the canteen. I filled the canteen the rest of the way to the top with the water I had collected and screwed on the cap. Then, carefully, I gathered the edges of the plastic sheet and tied them together with the rope, trapping the rest of the water inside. I set this plastic globe of water into the bowl. I would carry it with me and drink from it before starting on the canteen. Whatever else happened, I wouldn't have to worry about going thirsty for a while.

I gathered my few things, picked out two landmarks to guide me and set out into the dreary day.

The rain didn't let up. And I hadn't been imagining it; it really had gotten colder during the night. My breath plumed out in front of me.

I walked quickly, thinking it would help me warm up. But all it did was make me hungry. I stopped and peeled some bark from another birch tree. I chewed it while I trudged on.

Finally, late in the afternoon, the rain stopped. But the sun stayed hidden behind gray clouds.

I walked and walked, picking out landmark after landmark. I hoped I was going in the right direction, but with no sun visible in the sky, I had no way to check for sure.

I kept moving until it was almost dark. Before I settled for the night, I made an arrow out of twigs and pointed it in the direction I had been walking. I wished the sky would clear so that I could see the stars. If I could find the North Star, I could check that I had been walking in the right direction and hadn't veered off course. But the clouds hung on, obscuring the moon and stars.

I was exhausted from walking all day and shivering the entire night before. I hunkered down, pulled the rain-soaked blanket over my shoulders and tried to sleep. Pretty soon I found myself in the middle of a crazy kaleidoscope of a dream. There was my dad, alive and smiling as he rode his bike beside me down our street. Then my grandpa appeared on the other side of me, his long gray hair flying out behind him, even though in real life I had never seen my grandpa on a bicycle. Suddenly they vanished, as if someone had switched them off, and I was walking down a long dark corridor. Light seeped out around the edges of a door up ahead. Someone was laughing. I approached the door cautiously and pushed it open.

My mom was sitting on a red velvet sofa in front of a fireplace. She was laughing merrily at something, but I couldn't see what it was. I walked toward her. As I got closer, I saw that there was someone with her. A man. My mom turned to look at me. She was smiling radiantly. I had never seen her look so happy. Then man turned too, and I saw that it was Gregg. Like my mom, he was smiling. But both their smiles faded when they saw me. Suddenly they weren't happy anymore.

I woke with a jolt, but nothing felt real. Instead of shivering, I was hot all over. The forest floor was thick with mist. From somewhere inside it, I heard the snap and pop of fallen twigs and branches being crushed underfoot. But under the foot of what— or who?

A face broke through the mist. It was my father. Blood was running down his face, but he smiled and beckoned to me. I got up and followed him home.

TEN

I
woke up the next morning exactly where I had fallen asleep. The sky was gray, but the rain had stopped. My clothes were still soaked through, and I was shaking, but now, instead of being cold, I was burning up. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

When I awoke the second time, the sun was high in the sky. I drank from the canteen, refilled it with the water in the plastic bubble, packed everything up and staggered to my feet. My head spun, when I bent down to pick up a stick and plant it in the ground, and throbbed as I went through the process of orienting myself. When I finally set off into the west, every joint in my body ached.

What was wrong with me? I stumbled with every step I took. My feet felt like granite boulders. I tripped over a tree root, a rock, another tree root. No matter how much water I drank, I was still thirsty. It felt like someone was pounding on my temples with a hammer.

I walked, I stumbled, I tripped—until finally I couldn't make myself take another step. I sank to the ground. I was sick, and that scared me. Was it from being wet and cold for so long? Was it from drinking bad water? Had I poisoned myself? Was it from all the birch bark I had eaten? I forced myself back to my feet. I had to keep moving. I just had to. If I was sick, that made it all the more critical for me to get to my destination as soon as possible. I couldn't let anything slow me down.

I stumbled on for what seemed like an hour but was probably more like a few minutes. The next time I tripped and fell, I didn't get up. Instead I curled up on the ground and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, it was pitch dark, and I could see the stars overhead.

I cursed myself.

I had wasted most of a day sleeping. I would never get home. I was shivering uncontrollably. My forehead was as hot as a burning coal. What if I couldn't move when the sun came up? What would I do then?

I felt like crying. But instead I got angry with myself. Crying didn't do any good. All those tears after my father died had proved that to me. Crying didn't make me feel better. It didn't change anything. And it sure wouldn't get me home.

Grandpa had told me that any situation usually comes down to two choices. He said they were usually the same two choices.

My situation was that I was lost in the woods and desperately wanted to get home. But I was sick and tired—and discouraged.

The two choices I had were to either curl up into a little ball and cry and hope that someone would eventually rescue me, or, I could get a grip on myself and accept that it was all up to me. The only person I could rely on to get me home was me. That meant I had to keep my wits about me. I had to keep going. I had to refuse to give up.

I also had to accept that at that exact moment there was nothing I could do. I had to wait for the sun to rise again.

Well, almost nothing.

The stars were out. Since I had been too tired and too sick to mark my direction with an arrow before I went to sleep, I could use the stars now to take a reading and to double-check my direction in the morning.

I searched the sky until I found the Big Dipper. I focused on the two stars that made up the end of the dipper and followed them across the sky to the brightest star there was—the North Star. “If you walk toward the North Star,” Grandpa said, “you'll always be walking north.” I dug the knife out of my pocket and scored an arrow in the ground. I felt a little better. I settled back and waited for the sun to rise.

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was high above the treetops. I still felt sore and feverish, but my headache had faded and I was hungry and thirsty again. I opened the canteen and sniffed the water. Was it making me sick? Should I throw it out? Then what would I do? Thirst won out in the end. I drank deeply and refilled the canteen with the remaining water from the plastic bubble. I stepped unsteadily out into the sun of a little clearing up ahead. My clothes were still damp, but they were no longer soaked through.

I used a stick and my watch to recalculate where west was and checked the direction against the north-pointing arrow I had made in the ground the night before. I was relieved to find that I hadn't veered off course. I set out into the morning.

My stomach growled. I was so hungry that I felt weak. But there wasn't a single birch tree in sight. Instead I was surrounded by pine trees and, up ahead, a stand of cedars. Maybe that would change. I kept walking.

Pine.

Pine.

Pine.

Cedar.

Pine.

The sun began to sink again.

I had to eat something—anything.

A rotting log blocked my path. I stared at it.

Grandpa and I had come across plenty of rotting logs on our hikes. Once Grandpa had broken one open to show me what was inside. It was filled with fat, squirming, worm-like creatures, writhing all over each other in a heap. Grubs, Grandpa said. He picked up one of the squirming creatures and popped it into his mouth. I watched in astonishment as he swallowed it, grinned and rubbed his belly contentedly.

“I know they don't look appetizing,” he said.

Appetizing?

“They look disgusting. If you're trying to gross me out, Grandpa, you're doing a great job.”

“They taste better than they look.”

“That's not saying much.”

Grandpa laughed. “They're also rich in protein,” he said. “When I was a couple of years younger than you are now, I decided to show my father how grown up I was. While he made one of his treks into town, I went out hunting on my own. I thought I'd surprise him with some rabbits or maybe even a deer when he came back. It didn't work out that way though.

I got myself good and lost. Worse, I managed to drop my rifle over the edge of a ravine. Pretty soon I had no choice—it was either eat grubs or starve. So I ate grubs. They saved my life.”

“I'd rather starve,” I said. I'd meant it too.

But that was when I with my grandpa and we had a small camp stove with us so that soon after that we were eating stew and washing it down with hot tea. Now I was on my own with no stove, no tea and nothing to make stew out of. Apart from strips of birch bark, I hadn't eaten anything in days. And I had no idea how much longer I might have to walk.