I wake to the sensation of pain—pain in my shoulders and elbows, in my ankles, a dull ache in the back of my head. I try to shift my weight, and that’s when I realize that I can barely move. It’s not that my limbs aren’t capable, but I have the dawning awareness that I’m held fast. I am bound in some way.
I’m in darkness, and as I attempt to drag myself toward consciousness, I feel the coarse fabric of the blindfold against my cheeks. Next, I am aware of the material in my mouth. Made of burlap or some kind of sackcloth, it tastes of mildew, dust, and blood. Something trickles across my forehead. It tickles, and I wish I could wipe it away.
I’m lying on my right side on an irregular surface. I feel vibrations transmitted through the floor, especially where some angular object presses against the area of my kidney. The frequency of the vibrations is familiar. I must be in an automobile moving over an unpaved road. As if to confirm my guess, the vehicle clatters through a pothole, and I’m tossed in the direction toward which my head is pointed. The top of my head thumps against bare metal, and I know that I’m in the trunk of a vehicle.
I feel lightheaded from the exhaust fumes leaking into the trunk. I need to get out of here. Think! I test the bonds on my wrists. They’re tied together palm-to-palm in front of me. I try to bring them toward my face, but I immediately feel a tugging at my ankles that tells me I’m hogtied—whatever immobilizes my hands is tied to the bonds around my ankles. I pull to test the knots, and the restraints feel tighter around my ankles and wrists. Damn!
What time is it? How long have I been unconscious? Does my editor even know I’m missing? What would anyone want with me?
Note: Once again, no idea what to do with the assignment, which was to write something inspired by the notion of the “worst driver.” I went in my own direction. (We can safely assume that the vehicle in question has a driver. If we further assume that it was possible to avoid that pothole, then we could surmise that he or she is a bad driver. I know, I know. It’s a tenuous connection.)
See also Exercise #34 and Exercise #48.
© 2008 Edward F. Gumnick
So, here’s an earlier part of the same story, which makes it seem like a book then. The description of waking up tied and gagged is excellent.