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It’s not a deep hole, but it’s deep enough that I can’t get out on my own, which was likely the point of throwing me in here. This was well-planned. It seems that everything they are plotting is connected to their belief that I am essential to their survival. A crumpled blanket lies frozen and wet inside the pit, with extra sweaters nearby.
Planned indeed.
“You can’t just leave me here,” I scream at them, mustering any energy I have left. “I’ll die tonight.” The cold alone will kill me if not an animal or the lack of water or food. As the temperature starts decreasing sharply, goosebumps rise on my skin. It’s a stark contrast to the day’s earlier teasing warmth from the sun.
It’s even colder down here.
It’s Nigel who answers me. “This is where you get to stay. It’s your new home, London, so settle in. We’ll be back.”
I shuffle myself up and scramble to the side, trying to climb despite my lame arm. “How long do you plan to keep me like this?” I scream. We are so deep in the wilderness. Micah will never find me—if he’s even looking.
Nigel’s stalky silhouette looms above me, and he shrugs. “Maybe forever, or perhaps, until you decide you’d like to cooperate. You don’t seem like you want to work with me, London, and that insults me. We used to be such a team.”
Me. Not us. And here I thought he and Ezra were aligned.
I bite back a snarled response. He completely used me at the time, and I easily fell for his lies. However, perhaps I should thank him. After all, he’s the reason I fell so deeply for the twins, and my bone-crushing love for them was worth it.
Nigel disappears, and Ezra slides into my field of vision.
He hesitates, just for a second.
But a second is all I need.
“I can help you,” I say calmly, almost in a whisper, hoping Nigel doesn’t overhear. “Instead of just leaving me here to die, I could help you hunt, help you find food. You know Micah taught me a lot about trapping animals.” I pause, waiting for him to respond, but he remains quiet and still as a statue.
His eyes stay locked on mine, his face torn between conflicting emotions, which urges me to continue. “Otherwise, you’ll die. Both of you will wither away and fucking rot. I’m the best chance you have, Ezra.”
His only chance since, clearly, Naomi is not in the picture any longer.
“You don’t know that,” Ezra says, running his hands through his hair. “You don’t know anything.”
I slap the side of the pit with my good hand. “Bullshit. You ate all your food. You’re beyond desperate right now—I can tell by how thin you are. Ezra, I can help you go back to the others. You don’t need him.”
He shakes his head. “No, fuck that. You need to experience what we all went through this winter, London. You have no idea.” He seems to be battling with himself—a part of him wants to help me, I know it.
I shut my eyes. “Please, Ezra. Don’t let him do this.” Chills run through my body, and not because of the ice in the air. My injured hand is infected. It burns and oozes from where the wire scraped my bones. My nightmare is playing out, and I’ve seen firsthand what can happen.
I truly don’t know if I will survive the night. The only other nights I slept outside in the elements like this were when Maison or Micah were with me, at least.
“Ezra,” I plead again, and he pauses for a moment as if wanting to say something meaningful.
“I can’t help you, London. I’m sorry,” he says before disappearing, leaving me in this dark hole alone with my misery.
“Please don’t do this,” I shout once more out of pure desperation, grasping my hair and pulling it. “Please, please, please.” My screams are reduced to shallow whispers, swallowed by the silence around me. I don’t know what’s worse: the vast emptiness of the Alaskan wilderness or the inky stone walls crushing every ounce of hope out of me.
The air embodies death.
The wind doesn’t rustle the trees in this place; there are no trees. No waves crashing, no calming sound of the creek.
Just frightening silence as I lie in the unsettling quiet, grasping my throat, sliding my thumb over the tiny cut. The realization of how narrowly I escaped death hits me like a punch to the gut.
Even though I’ve thought about death more than I care to admit over the past couple of days, the human spirit has an innate will to live. That is why Nigel, the miserable creature that he is, is still alive. Given the choice, the instinct for self-preservation compels most individuals to choose life, even in the most dire of circumstances, only considering the latter when life doesn’t seem like the best choice anymore.
I’m getting close to that point…
Once in a while, through the sounds of my chattering teeth, I hear the earth crack, as if these stone walls might come tumbling down. Eventually, I wrap my hands around my knees and shiver, holding on to one sliver of hope: Ezra apologized to me… He’s never once apologized for anything, and that is what is keeping me from drowning in panic.
Too tired to keep my head up, I plant my face against the ground and shudder as the cold pool of slush nearby trickles into my mouth and nose. My bones are chilled to their very core. If I’m lucky, I will suffocate in this slushy snow.
