Devils in The Wild

Chapter One

"What are you doing," I whisper yelled at Sara. Half of her wiry body was immersed in the old, yellowed fridge and I could hear some shuffling.

"Eating," Sara replied. She came out of the fridge holding a container of mandarin oranges. Her blonde hair was up in a messy bun, her t-shirt was no longer grey, and her jean shorts were fraying more than they should. She plopped herself down on one of the rickety chairs around the old, solid, round table and set the box between us.

"We're being held hostage and you decide to raid the kitchen?" I say even though I'm starving and can't help but take an orange for myself. None of them look like they've gone bad. When I take one I can't help but notice how horrible my hands look. My nails are all chipped and there is a lot of dirt and grime under them.

"He didn't say the fridge was off limits," Sara mumbled around the orange. He didn't say using the phone was off limits either but you don't see me trying to use it when he could come in and shoot us at any moment, I thought to myself. Ever since we got captured I've been trying really hard not to freak out and get mad, so all I do is nod my head and grab another orange. I know that none of this is her fault, but it's hard not to get mad when she stays so upbeat all the time. She acts like some knight in shining armour is going to kick down the door and save us.

"Listen up you mashuganas! You are going to walk to the back bedroom quietly and stay there until I say so. Got that?!" Our captor barked at us. He was holding his semi-automatic handgun and while it wasn't pointed directly at us, I had no doubt he would use it. We both flinched and got up as fast as we could. Sara's chair tipped over. "Quietly!" He hissed. We scrambled towards the hall at the back of the old kitchen and went towards the last door. The walk was short due to the fact that we were being held in an old trailer house.

The trailer was stuck out in the middle of the woods and looked as if it hadn't been used in over thirty years. The rugs were worn down and stained everywhere. The walls had dents and holes in them. The beds were musty, the whole place smelled like skunk spray, and all the windows were either broken or filled with dead flies. The bathroom looked as if Death lived there; all the sinks, tubs and toilets were yellow and rusting.

"Stay in here and keep quiet," our captor growled at us. He shoved us onto the floor and slammed the door. As Sara and I sat up the lock clicked into place, they were the only new thing in here. I took time to look around the room. The window across from the door was boarded up and moldy. There was a twin bed along the left wall with floral bedding and one measly pillow. There was another twin bed of the same style along the right wall, and a closet to the immediate left of the door.

Sara went and sat on the left bed while I went to lie on the right. I stared at the ceiling and wondered aloud, "What's gonna happen now?"

"We're going to stay here and try not to get shot. Eventually someone will show up and take us home. I know it," Sara insisted. There she goes again with her stupid savior theory.

"In case you haven't noticed, we are literally in the middle of nowhere. I don't think anyone could find us even if we had trackers in our brains," I proclaimed. With that I flipped onto my side and tried to go to sleep. It took a while for my head to clear, but eventually I drifted off.