Gripping the ladder, I pull on it, testing its strength. Then I step back. This is nuts. I have no idea where the ladder even goes.
Another round of yells echoes down the stone walls. “No, we have to have bread! Slightly, weren’t you supposed to make a loaf of bread?”
“No, it was Tootles. He didn’t do his job.”
A deeply offended “What?” follows that accusation.
An argument ensues.
I peer at the other trees and try to see if there’s a way out beyond them, but the rest of the room is bathed in shadow. With a gulp, I grab the ladder and start to hoist myself up the tree. It smells of camphor and mulch, not a bad scent at all, but definitely not something I’m used to. Diligently, I climb. Despite the wobbling of the ropes. Despite the fear of someone overtaking me from beneath. Despite the worry about what I’ll find above me.
One foot after another, I keep going until I feel like I must be in the very tip top of the tree. I get woozy at the thought of it, then wonder what the hell those frat boys laced the hot dogs with. Ketamine? LSD?
I keep climbing, the tree trunk closing in as I rise. My breaths start to get shallower, and I can feel panic tiptoeing through my brain like a cartoon villain. This has to end. If it’s a dream, I need to wake up, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
My elbows hit the trunk with each move I make, and now my knees start to do the same. I’m sweating from the effort. Who knew rope ladders were the most difficult of all ladders? My shoulders ache as I pull myself higher, my feet wobbling on the rungs.
I have to be almost there, though I don’t know where ‘there’ even is. When I feel extra movement on the ladder, I freeze.
“Moira?” My name wraps around me like a suffocating fog. It’s my kidnapper.
I move faster, but now I feel the ladder swaying steadily beneath me. He’s climbing. At least it sturdies my steps to have his weight below me. I climb faster, sweat rolling into my eyes as I push myself as quickly as I can go.
When the slightest hint of a breeze rustles through my hair, I gasp. If there’s air, then there’s an opening. I look up, scanning the darkness for some hint of a way out. Nothing’s there. I can’t give up now, not when I can feel the ladder vibrating with quick steps. He’s faster than me. No, no, no! I’m climbing with frenzy now, my muscles aching as my back scratches against the smooth wood as I continue my ascent.
Right when my panic begins to overtake me, a scream lofting from my lungs, I catch sight of something overhead. Light. Not bright. By no means blinding. But it’s something different.
“Thank god.” I struggle upward toward it, using the narrowing trunk to brace myself as I push higher and higher until I can see a rounded hole, just enough room for someone to pass through.
When I grip the side of the tree, my hands slip on the dark wood. I quickly wipe them on my shoulders then try again. With a heave, I pull myself up and use my legs to kick against the back of the trunk. Not graceful, not athletic, nothing but brute effort by an uncoordinated nerd—but it works. I tumble from the trunk, land on my shoulder, then flop flat on my back.
Overhead, leafy branches sway in the breeze, and I swear I can see the shape of some sort of structure, but I can’t quite tell. A sliver of a moon lights the landscape around me, and millions of stars twinkle, winking gently as I rub my aching shoulder.
I glance at the tree and see the rope ladder still swaying. It spurs me into motion. I have to get away from here before mykidnapper shows up. With a groan, I sit up, then clamber to my feet. I have absolutely no clue where I am. A grove of trees in the middle of a wood I’ve never seen before—where do I go from here?
There’s no good answer, but I know staying in this spot is the best way for me to get caught. So, I take off, running toward an opening between the trees.
Now, I’m not a runner. I’m not an athlete in any sense of the word. I’m a book person. I can fantasize all day and create elaborate adventures, but those are for my characters. Me? I’m a fan of sitting by a window with a book in my hand. So, as I sprint through these unknown woods, it doesn’t take long for me to get winded.
I have to stop and take in deep breaths as I peer around at the foliage. Plants with fanning leaves surround me, some of them almost as tall as the trees. Large flowers bloom at intervals, their thick vines twining this way and that, layering the ground and stacking on each other in waves of green. Up ahead, the largest mushroom I’ve ever seen seems to smoke slightly.
I cock my head at it, but I don’t have time to investigate. Not when I hear a low growl coming from somewhere off to my right.
“Shit.” I take off away from the sound and splash through a stream, then up the slippery bank on the other side.
Branches tear at my sweatshirt as I run, my shoes covered in muck and my body soaked with sweat. But I can’t stop.
I took a self-defense class when I was a freshman. After weeks of practice, the instructor pulled me aside and told me that, for me, my best bet is to run away. “Don’t fight.” His eyes were soft, apologetic. “You aren’t cut out for fighting. Just run.” I wasoffended at the time. But now? Now I see the sense in his words, because I stood no chance against my kidnapper when he snuck up on me in the dorm. My only chance is to get far away and hide until I can figure this out.
The woods never seem to end, the plants and flowers seeming to block me in on every side as I push ahead, running blindly under the glittering stars.
When I climb another small rise, I stop at the top, then gasp when I look out onto a wide, black sea. Far offshore, I see a ship. Like one from forever ago, one you’d see at a theme park with polished wood and portholes for cannons. It flies the pirate flag, the skull and crossbones one favored by bikers and cosplayers the world over.
“Where the hell am I?” I take another step forward, but the ground beneath me crumbles, and I tumble down a slope dotted with small, twisted trees and bushes. They scratch as I roll and finally flounder on the sand, my entire body aching as I lie still.
“Shhh, did you hear something?” A man’s voice carries to me over the sound of the surf, his accent hinting of somewhere sunny and warm.
I don’t move. Too scared to breathe too loud but still winded from running, I exhale into the sand, the grains coating my lips. Crap, that’s going to lead to random crunches between my teeth for days.
