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7 Honor

The sound of beeping woke me. I jerked awake, blinking against the dark as reality came crashing over me. I scrambled to my feet, looking up toward the top of the hole. The sun was no longer in the sky. It was dark. It was night. I was in the center of the woods.

Even down in this hole, I could hear the wildlife singing in the night. I heard the rustling of leaves and wondered what was up there, praying it wasn’t him.

The beeping sound cut through the darkness again, and I noticed how the screen on the phone illuminated the hole, casting a bluish tone over everything.

It was a text.

My knees sagged in relief, and I felt my lower lip wobble. Finally, I would be able to get help. I glanced at the screen, hungry for contact with the outside world. There was no name for the person texting, only a number. The area code was one I didn’t recognize.

You’re late. U coming?

I had no idea what kind of person my kidnapper could be friends with, but right about now I’d take my chances with anyone.

Please help me.

The signal was still very low and it took the text forever to send. It took so long that I began to lose hope. I began to think it wouldn’t go through. But then the phone made a little whooshing sound and the message posted.

It took even longer for the person to reply than it did for the message to send. I waited, clutching the phone, praying I would get an answer.

What’s wrong? Shitty hand?

I was kidnapped by the owner of this phone. Plz help me. Call 911.

That’s a sick joke.

I’m not jkin! I swear! I typed furiously. My stomach churned. What if this person thought I was just pulling a prank? What if they thought the man who owned this phone was being funny.

I swiped an angry tear off my cheek and cleared out of the texting screen to pull up the keypad and dial 9-1-1. The phone rang.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” said a calm voice over the line.

I gasped, so grateful it worked.

“State your emergency.”

“My name is Honor Calhoun. I’ve been kidnapped. I’m being held against my will.”

“What is your location?”

I’m sorry, but I was offended. She didn’t gasp in outrage. She didn’t ask me if I was okay. She was like a damn robot on the other end of the line, asking me to take some stupid survey about orange juice or vitamins.

Hell-O! I wanted to scream. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?

But I didn’t. Instead, I replied, “I have no idea. I’m in the woods. In a hole in the ground.”

The operator paused. I figured that was the biggest “Oh shit!” reaction I was going to get. I could hear her clicking away on a computer and I imagined her assembling the cavalry, riling the troops.

Go save Honor!

I’m a writer. I’m dramatic. Let’s all move on.

“Stay on the line while we try to locate your phone,” the woman said. Clearly, she never wrote a thing. She probably didn’t even like to read.

Ring. Ring.

Hello?

I’ve been kidnapped. Someone wants to kill me!

Hold please.

I’d get better service at McDonald’s.

“Listen to me,” I said, ignoring her. “I’m in the woods. I’m scared. My name is Honor Calhoun. I live on Main Street in Slatington. Please come find me. Send help.”

“Hello?” the operator said. For the first time, emotion showed in her voice. “Ar… you… th…?” Her words broke up, the connection failing.

I gripped the phone tightly, suddenly sorry I made fun of her voice. She was the only one who could help me.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“We’ll do every…. we can—” the woman said, but her words were cut off when the phone lost its signal.

I groaned in frustration and pulled the phone away from my ear. I glanced down. Less than half the battery remained.

I thought about calling back. I knew it would probably be useless. Maybe in a few minutes whatever signal was out there would come back. Maybe she heard enough of what I said. Hopefully she got my name. She wouldn’t forget about me. It was her job to help.

Right?

If I couldn’t depend on someone else, then it was up to me to get myself out of here. I tucked the phone into the pocket of my jacket and looked up. The sky was utterly dark. With all the trees above, I couldn’t even see the moon or any stars. I could barely see two inches in front of me.

Waiting until morning to at least try to get out of here wasn’t an option.

I walked over to the wall and laid my palm against the loose, moist dirt. It crumbled slightly beneath my touch. I pushed harder against it, satisfied when it packed down. Using the toe of my right foot, I drove it into the side, kicking a little, trying to delve my foot in and catch hold. When part of my foot was solidly encased in dirt, I reached above my head and forced my fingers into the earth.

I started to climb.

I took my left foot and brought it up, trying to drive it into the side just a little higher than the right. It was more difficult than I hoped. I fell several times. Each time I got a little more desperate; each time I got a little more tired.

Eventually, I made it a little ways off the ground. My arms and shoulders trembled with exhaustion. I felt as if I’d just carried about fifty pounds worth of groceries up three flights of stairs and across a living room.

I paused in my efforts and leaned my forehead against the wall. The earthy smell of dirt washed over me. It was strong and outdoorsy. Any other time, I might have thought it was pleasant.

Now it reeked of death.

The phone in my pocket beeped and startled me. I let out a little shriek and jerked, falling off the wall and tumbling onto the ground, landing on my back.

I sucked in a sharp breath, which caused even more piercing pain than I already felt. My side ached. It felt swollen and uncomfortable, and I just wanted to lie there and cry.

I allowed myself a few long seconds to brush the sweat and dirt off my face. The phone beeped again and I pulled it out and held it above me, staring up at the lit-up screen.

I couldn’t understand why sometimes the stupid thing worked and sometimes it didn’t. This guy seriously needed a new cell provider. Of course, I would rather it only work a little than not work at all.

Prove it, the text read. I couldn’t even be angry by the request. If I suddenly got a text from someone claiming to be kidnapped, I would probably want proof too.

I cleared out of the messaging screen and pressed the camera button.

If he wanted proof, I’d give it to him.

After making sure the flash was on, I held the phone out away from my face. Right before I snapped the selfie, I grabbed the locket out of my pocket and held it up beside my cheek. I don’t know why. It just felt like the right thing to do.

I snapped the picture and then pulled the phone down to view it.

I grimaced. I looked like hell. I looked worse than hell. I looked like something that crawled out of a grave on some B-rated horror movie.

The bottom fell out of my stomach. What I was experiencing right now could totally be part of a horrible B-rated movie.

The entire picture was cast in that yellow-ish kind of glow that a flash provides. My face was streaked with dirt. My skin was pale, my eye was completely swollen and dark, my lips were caked with dried blood, and my hair was half falling out of its pony. Beside me, the necklace was clear, and I nodded, thinking that was good.

I sent the person my photo.

If that wasn’t enough to get some help, then nothing would be.

The picture failed to send twice. The little red exclamation point beside it drove me mad with desperation. By the time it went through on the third try, I’d bitten down three of my fingernails until they were bleeding.

It was cold down here. Parts of my body began to go numb, and I huddled against the wall, pulling my knees in as far as my side would allow, and then wrapped my arms around them. I rocked back and forth, trying to create warmth.

Trying to create comfort.

I was watching the screen when I got another text.

What’s your name?

Honor Calhoun. Please, God, let this person believe me. Let them help me.

I’m going to get you out of there, Honor.

I started to cry. I said I wasn’t going to cry. I said I wouldn’t give my kidnapper the satisfaction. This wasn’t about that.

This was about the hope that burst through me. This was about the possibility of me actually living to see tomorrow. This was about another human being who was going to make sure I wasn’t alone.

I’m scared, I texted.

I know. We’re going to figure this out.

What’s your name? I needed to know. I needed something to hold on to. Something to whisper in the dark of the night.

Nathan.

I gripped the phone tightly.

There was now something standing between me and absolute death.

His name was Nathan.