What the hell?
I try to scramble to my feet, but there’s a sharp kick to my ribs and I yelp in pain.
“Stop! Stop!” I shriek, flailing my arms. “STOP!”
Before I can turn however, someone is pulling material across my eyes – it’s scratchy like an old burlap bag. I immediately recoil, trying to claw at the fabric. But another person – maybe the same person as the initial attacker – grabs my hands and starts binding them behind my back with a thick rope. The rough cord cuts into my wrists, but my assailant only tightens it against my struggles.
“Why are you doing this? Stop!” I scream again, but to no avail. I’m knocked to my knees, and someone begins to bind my feet together with another coarse rope.
I feel hot tears begin to run down my face, although from fright or anger I’m not sure. What the hell is going on? Why am I being abducted?
And then I hear her voice.
“Throw her in the truck,” Karina hisses loudly. Rough arms lift me off the cold soil. They drop me nearly as quickly and I wince at the pain when I hit hard metal.
“Quiet,” Karina hisses again. “And hurry up, you stupid asses!”
A few moments later, I feel the truck rev to a start, its engine ominous.
“What are you doing, Karina?” I shout, in the hopes that someone else might hear me. “Help!” I cry out.
“Shut up,” she snaps, shoving me hard as I hear the tailgate slamming shut. “Everyone hates you. Just shut the fuck up, Juniper.”
A moment later, the truck begins trundling down the road and I feel my heart begin to race anew, panic welling in my chest.
I’m not sure how long we drive for, or even what direction we’re going in. There are at least two girls in the bed of the truck with me, and I try to plea with them, but it’s no use.
“Please, just let me go,” I beg. “This is a misunderstanding.” But one of the girl kicks me in the ribs, making me cry out, and another voice sounds out.
“Karina said you’re a bitch,” she says dismissively. When I try to make my case again, one of them kicks her foot dangerously close to my head. I can smell the soil on the treads of her shoe, and I recoil, terrified that she might actually try to knock me out the next time I speak.
I try to count the minutes we spend driving, but I’m too scared and in too much pain to be able to focus. They wouldn’t drive off the property, would they? But the problem is that even if we don’t, the Lazy R is massive and remote. One could easily be dumped anywhere on the ranch, and no one would find the body for days.
I try to control my panic but I have no idea what is going on or how far Karina is willing to go in her attempt to teach me a lesson. We ride along for what feels like at least an hour. The air around me has turned even colder, the daylight fading beyond the hazy cloth that covers my eyes. How long has it been? Six hours? Eight? When we finally lurch to a stop, I’m completely disoriented and shivering against the metal truck bed.
Then, the tailgate clangs open and several arms roll me from the back of the truck and onto the hard ground. I land with a thud, wincing in pain. The girls push me a little further away, and I know immediately that we’re far from any of the roads that run through the Lazy R. Instead, I’m in the middle of nowhere, blindfolded and tied up.
There’s a crunch of feet on leaves next to my head and suddenly someone’s hot breath blows over my face, palpable even though the rough burlap cloth.
“Do you know where you are, Juniper?” Karina’s voice sounds even more sinister as she leans close to my ear. When I don’t respond, she keeps talking. “That’s right, you don’t have a damn clue. And even better,” she leans in closer enough that I can smell sour bologna on her breath, “no else does either.”
Karina steps away from me, raising her voice slightly to make sure I can still hear.
“No one is ever going to find you,” she sing-songs. “Poor little Juniper, she’s always wandering off, getting lost in her deep and profound thoughts,” Karina taunts, her voice full of mockery. “It’ll be just a sad, unfortunate accident,” she coos, her tone full of false concern. “‘I don’t know what happened to Juniper,’” she narrates, “‘One second she was weeding the pumpkin patch and next thing I know, she’s wandered off like she always does.’”
As hot tears begin to slide down my cheeks, I realize all the way down to the pit of my stomach that the horrible girl is right: I do tend to get lost in my chores and frequently have had someone sent out to look for me among the orchards.