Fatal Getaway

Fatal Getaway

 By Claire Smith

        I awake and instantly wish I hadn’t. I can’t determine whether my throbbing head is from being knocked out or the suffocating smell of decay that surrounds me. I wish I can go back to sleep, but I know I need to stay awake. It is dark and I cannot see anything, though I wonder if I really want to see what’s entombed with me. My face is wet and sticky; I trace the wetness to my forehead. I wince in pain when I reach the wound that knocked me out. I try not to breathe through my nose, as the smell becomes more overpowering. I put my hands above my head and hit a hard surface. In the darkness I trace the contour with my fingers.

           I am in a car trunk. My headache seems to disappear with this realization. I’ve seen so many movies with similar scenes. Maybe I can get myself out of this, though I fear the statistics are not in my favor. The car isn’t moving, and I don’t know if I should take that as a good sign or not. I still don’t know who my assailant is, but at the moment, I don’t care. I begin fumbling around in the dark with my hands and feet, trying to find anything that I can use to my advantage. There is some type of bag to my right, shoved far back in the trunk. I feel uneasy about what it might contain. After what seems like an eternity, my fingers find what feels like a Zippo lighter. I take it and flick it. It starts and sputters, then goes out. I try again. And again. Finally, it holds the flame.

           I look around my surroundings, which suddenly seem much smaller than they did in the dark. I look to my right, and realize it is a large duffle bag. I consider investigating the contents, but the overwhelming smell in the trunk persuades me otherwise. Instead, I focus on moving it aside. Once moved, a “Let’s Go Green!” shopping bag is revealed. Peeking out of the bag is a collapsible shovel. Upon further inspection I discover duct tape and heavy rope. Nothing that I can use, but I know what is will be used for if I can’t free myself. I reach my arm around the side of the bag, searching. I feel something cold and hard; metal. I sit up on my elbow and retrieve the object with my left hand. A crowbar. Perfect.

            Suddenly, the car rumbles to life, and jolts forward. I am thrown against the duffle bag, and then roll back with the car’s movement. This is my chance. I hold the lighter up to the crease where the car and the trunk hood meet. I put my finger where I want the crow bar, and close the lid to the Zippo. Crowbar now in hand, I wedge it where my finger just was. I pull, push, and pry, but nothing happens. The car hits a bump, which flings me into the trunk lid. I gather myself and continue. I put my feet on the ceiling of the trunk and push. I try to make as little noise as possible, as I’ve just realized aside from the engine, I am making the only other noise. I kick a few times. I try this in unison with using the crowbar. Finally, after minutes of grunting and groaning, a sliver of light appears. My quest for freedom is bolstered. I re-adjust the crowbar and start wedging the trunk lid open. I don’t want it to fly open and alert my abductor, so I struggle to keep one hand holding the hood as much as I can. Finally, the latch breaks, and the hood almost comes free of my grip. I look out through the opening. I realize the car is leaving a downtown area, though I do not see any people. This is my moment. I push open the trunk latch and dive out of the car and onto the pavement. Despite throwing my hands up, I hit my head on the ground as I fall. For a second time, I feel a throbbing pain in my head, and start to feel lightheaded. I see blood pooling around me. I hear a screech of tires and look in the direction of the sound. I see the car I just fell from and realize it looks similar to one that’s recently been all over the news. A moment later, two ruddy looking construction boots appear in my line of vision. I look up. Just before everything fades to darkness for the last time, I realize who my assailant is.