Chapter IV

I NEVER SAW THE BUSagain.

Sometimes I would think of it, wish for it—the quiet dark, the smell of dirt and vinyl and metal. If given a choice between the bus and where I went, I would have chosen the bus.

But I didn't know that then. All I knew was that I had been freed from a dark prison. I had escaped. Only I hadn't. It was a reprieve at best. Where I went was hell on earth. But he called it "paradise."

Humid heat slapped me in the face, and daylight burned my eyes. My throat was dry, and I coughed. The kind of hacking that rattles your whole body. I staggered, hands on my knees, and steadied my breathing. Did I even remember how to speak? Consonants and vowels came to me, but my tongue couldn't shape them. There was pain, sharp and intense, like a thousand tiny paper cuts all over my body. A rock dug into my shoeless foot, its point angled right into my arch.

The man thrust a plastic water bottle in my direction. I palmed it in both hands, water sloshing over the side, and guzzled. I coughed, and my stomach cramped. The water burned as it came back up. The man stepped back, narrowly avoiding the splash of vomit. He yanked the bottle from my fingers. One of the dogs darted forward and licked my feet.

"Sip it," he said. He held the bottle within my reach. I grabbed for it, but he pulled it back. "Sip it," he ordered again before finally handing it to me.

I did as I was told, studying him over the curved edge of the plastic. He'd seemed so tall, staring down at me from the hatch, but now I realized he had only a couple of inches on me. A red bandana covered the lower half of his face. It reminded me of a photograph I'd seen of May Day protestors in Seattle. They wanted to put an end to capitalism. What did this man want?

"Follow me," he said, and started walking, the panting dogs loping alongside him, one of them with a bulging stomach, pregnant.

But I stayed put.

Giant Douglas firs and redwoods sprung up around me. The forest was thick, so dense that you couldn't see beyond two or three feet in any direction. We weren't on a trail. Tall grass, shrubs, and thorny bushes brushed against my calves. The air was stifling and stagnant, aside from the bugs. It was summer. When everything bakes. Rots.

The man stopped when he saw I wasn't following him. My legs wouldn't work. My muscles spasmed and ached.

He stomped back and ducked, so his face was in my line of sight. "There is only one rule. Listen carefully, because I will only say it once. I tell you to do something, you do it, or you go back in the hole." My body trembled at the mention of my prison. "Do you understand?"

"I don't think… I—I can't move," I said, keeping my gaze trained on the ground. A shiny beetle crawled under a leaf and then around my pinkie toe. My stomach screamed. I wanted to eat it.

"Look at me," he said. I brought my head up. His eyes were blue and empty, like an irradiated lake. I couldn't hold his stare, so I averted my gaze. Over his shoulder, a woodpecker pounded on a tree oozing sap. "You'd be amazed by what the body can do under the right amount of pressure. Now let's try this one more time. Follow me, or you go back in the hole." He wore army fatigues, camo pants, and a sand-colored shirt. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Smile. You should be happy. That's the problem with women today. Never happy."

He started walking again, his heavy footsteps trampling the undergrowth. A shiny black gun was tucked into a holster around his waist.

I couldn't feel my legs, and I was hyperventilating, but my body was moving. For a moment, I was grateful. The fresh air in my lungs was hot but sweet and the earth beneath my feet felt solid. There was life all around me. I didn't even mind the mosquitos biting the thin skin under my eyes.

I bet you're wondering if I tried to escape. That's what everyone wants to know, right? Why didn't she try to escape? I thought about it. My eyes were wild, darting all over that forest, considering what direction I should run. How far would I make it? But I was physically outmatched. The man was stronger, better rested, and nourished. In the distance was the rush of water. I remembered a survival show I watched once. What did it say about water? Find the source and follow its banks—eventually, it will lead you to a road.

The man sighed. "I know every inch of this forest—every tree, every rock, every stream," he said. "There is nowhere for you to hide." He turned but kept talking, voice as steady as his pace. "If you run, I'll send the dogs after you." There were five dogs in all. Sleek German shepherds with black eyes and sharp teeth. He snapped his fingers and the dogs' ears perked up. "I whistle a certain way and they attack." He stopped, grew quiet, and I was too afraid to speak. The idea of the escape worn down to a nub.

We walked for hours following a marked path, trees bound with orange ribbon. My jeans snagged on thorny bushes, and my ankles brushed against poison oak. The next day, I would develop a rash and scratch it until it bled. The man stopped once and let me have more water.

"Who are you?" I licked my lips and handed the bottle back.

He dipped his head. "Michael. You can call me Michael." I counted the famous Michaels I knew. Saint Michael. Michael Jordan. Michael Jackson. Michelangelo…

"Why… why are you doing this?" I kept my eyes trained on a fern sprouting from a decaying log.

"Me?" He tucked in his chin, surprised and offended. "I'm not the problem." He started walking again. "None of this is my fault." He went on. I only remember snippets. Words that filtered through the pain and numbness. Men were being abandoned. Left behind. He had no other choice.

After that, we fell silent. I promised myself I wouldn't ask him any more questions. Ever. I folded my arms around myself and pretended all of this was a bad dream. I pinched my upper arms, but I didn't wake up. There was no escape. To live meant to follow.

Blisters formed on my heels. The skin on the bottom of my bare foot split open. Pain shot through my calves. I almost fell over twice. But I stayed upright, my legs moving as if answering a call. The dogs wound through the forest, and overhead, a plane glided through a bank of white clouds. I looked up, stunned to see something so ordinary when everything felt so extraordinary. Waving my arms or calling for help would be useless; the plane was a speck of dust in the sky. I watched it disappear.

We walked through a creek, water flowing like a silver string. The trees thinned and dissolved into a clearing. A meadow came into view. I saw buildings, all desperately in need of repair—rusted, weathered, in danger of crumbling. Later I'd have nightmares about earthquakes—the walls collapsing, pinning my legs, crushing my skull. Who would find my body? Weeds and vines curved around the bases of the structures. Evidence of human activity was everywhere—piles of garbage, blue tarps sagging with water and dirty leaves, a rusted car without its wheels, a row of dog kennels caked in feces.

Michael led me to the center. We passed a silo, the door padlocked, then rooms set into the ground like a bunker. Through the bars on the windows, I glimpsed dirty mattresses and crumpled sleeping bags. We finally stopped at another building, with thick plastic sheeting covering the windows and door.

Michael parted the plastic and gestured for me to go inside.

I kept my head down and didn't budge. Michael kicked my knees from behind, and I fell through. The dogs yipped and howled. The plastic sheeting fell into place behind me with a whoosh as I landed hard. The packed-dirt floor felt like concrete. Plumes of dust rose up, almost choking me. The air was humid with heavy breathing and body stink.

I wasn't alone.