Ransom for a Song by Phyllis Clark Nichols

Author:Phyllis Clark Nichols [Nichols, Phyllis Clark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781734452242
Publisher: Phyllis Clark Nichols
Published: 2020-05-05T05:00:00+00:00

The pain in Paco’s knees was sharp, unrelenting, and radiating now through his thighs and calves. His legs were as useless as the legs of the marionettes he played with as a child. He lay motionless until the blue pickup was out of sight, and when he attempted to move, he passed out from the tortuous pain. When he came to, the night sky was black. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he had to get help, and he had to let someone know about Miss Carlyle and Dr. Pipkin.

Paco tried moving again. His hands became bloody from pulling his full body weight through the rocks and mud to get to the vehicle. Dragging his battered legs across the uneven ground sent painful shocks all the way up his spine. The thug had left the van door open on the driver’s side. If he could just get to the van, he had a chance of getting help. The frightened look on Miss Carlyle’s face before the kidnappers closed the tailgate was enough to motivate him to crawl another yard.

He gripped the floorboard and pushed up as hard as he could to get within reach of the steering wheel. Maybe he could pull himself up. With both legs broken, he had no leverage. The horn was less than a foot away, but it might as well have been across the road. The orphanage was near, and surely they’d hear the horn the way sound traveled through these mountains. One last push. The heel of his right hand brushed the horn. Its blast penetrated the night’s silence for no more than a second before his body gave way to the pain and he slipped back into the mud. Not enough to get anyone’s attention. Not this time of night.

He lay there, crying for relief and praying for help to come soon. He thought of his cell phone. It had been in his hand when his assailant attacked him. Why didn’t he think of that before he crawled to the truck? Even if he could crawl back through to where he was, the brush was thick, and finding the phone was a long shot. His hopes were fading into the night sky when he remembered the umbrella behind the driver’s seat. If he could get to it, maybe he could use it for leverage or to pull himself up.

The darkness was thick and heavy, and he had to feel his way. He placed the palms of his hands on the floorboard and pushed, holding himself up with his left hand and straining to reach the umbrella with his right. The space between the back of the seat and the door opening was so narrow he was barely able to pull the umbrella through. This flimsy contraption, purchased at a roadside market, would never withstand his body weight, but maybe he could lodge it between the seat and the steering wheel.

He fell on his first attempt but got up to try again.

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