Getaway by Zoje Stage

Author:Zoje Stage [Stage, Zoje]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: None
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2021-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

22

Her mind raced during the rest of the hike back to Boucher. Where once her mantra four miles an hour or get shot in the back had been a macabre form of motivation, now it was sickeningly real.

Gale corralled them back to their camping site, which he’d evidently left in a hurry: the ditty bags were upended; Beck’s sleeping bag, three-quarters unzipped, had been carelessly tossed aside, its two halves like crumpled butterfly wings.

Imogen couldn’t read Tilda’s or Beck’s expression, aside from their obvious apprehension. It was beyond frightening how well Gale handled his multiple hostages. As if he’d done it before. He didn’t even need to keep the gun in view, having successfully taught them that he would use it, though he kept his knife drawn. They were the flock and he the attuned sheepdog. Imogen hated the image of herself as a sheep—hated it so much she decided to make use of it, let it fuel her fortitude. Farm animals were butchered; she wouldn’t allow that to be her fate.

He gathered the three walking sticks and stashed them near his own disorderly collection of stuff. Then he allowed Imogen and Beck to take off their packs. With the knife, he directed them where to stand: in a line, two feet apart from each other.

“What are you going to do with us?” Tilda asked.

“As little as possible.” After positioning himself where he could watch all of them, Gale ordered Imogen to retrieve their nylon rope. “Know you got it, to tie yer stuff up in a tree.”

It took Imogen a minute to search through the packs. Gale didn’t hurry her. All things considered he seemed rather cheery and calm, a marked improvement from how jumpy he’d been at Travertine. Tilda’s escape attempt had bolstered his confidence; he’d established the pecking order. He sipped from a canteen and watched Imogen scurry about.

“Yer gonna be my little helper,” he said to her, “’cause this one lied to me, and that one’s a piece a work. Yer the only one who ain’t pissed me off yet. And you are little.” He grinned at his own wit. As Imogen handed over their bundles of cord—some short pieces, and some quite long—he beamed as if she’d delivered a bag of gold. “Perfect. Thin and strong, just how I like it. All righty then.”

He clicked his tongue as he pointed at Tilda. “Where ya wanna sit? Over here? Against this rock?”

“I’m not going to run again—across that fucking deathtrap.”

“While I kinda believe you, it don’t matter. This is how it’s gotta be now, and you got no one to blame but yerself.”

As Tilda walked over to the rock he’d indicated she scowled at Imogen and Beck as if they were the ones about to tie her up. She plopped down in the dry dirt and kept her head turned away, refusing to look at any of them as Gale bound her wrists together. With a quick slice of the knife, he cut a second piece of rope and knotted it onto the cord above Tilda’s hands.

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