You need to get out of here, Betsy. They could come back.
What was she going to do? She didn’t even know where she was. How was Ink going to find her?
She couldn’t just lie here and give up. Maybe they were coming back. Maybe they weren’t. Either way, if she stayed here, she’d die.
Adrenaline rushed through her, filling her with energy. She used her good hand to press against the wall of dirt. She forced herself up and stumbled a step forward, slamming into the other side of the hole. It wasn’t that wide. Maybe three feet. But unfortunately, it was deep enough to be over her head. She leaned against the dirt, her right arm hanging uselessly against her side as she stared up at the hole above her head.
Fuck.
How was she going to get out of this? Even if she could somehow climb out, one of her arms wasn’t even working.
“This is impossible,” she moaned.
Fight, Betsy.
A cough overtook her, reminding her that she still wasn’t a hundred percent and this cold air wasn’t doing her any favors. But she had worse things to worry about right now. She felt around, searching for something she could use to get out of here.
But there was nothing to hold onto. Nothing to use to boost herself out. She rubbed her good hand tiredly over her forehead, knowing she was probably leaving streaks of dirt behind. On a good day, she likely wasn’t strong enough to pull herself out of this hole. With a throbbing head, aching body and a bullet wound?
Not. Happening.
So what to do? Wait for Ink to magically find her? How? There was no way he could find her here.
There was a noise from above. She froze. A few pebbles drifted down the hole then someone appeared above her. She let out a scream, unable to help herself. She couldn’t make out the person’s face, it was growing too dark.
A light shone from behind him, keeping his face in shadows.
“Hello.”
Okay, she didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t Thing One or Two.
“This almost feels like déjà vu.”
“Déjà vu?” she asked. Was she hallucinating this? What did he mean, déjà vu?
“Yes, déjà vu is the feeling that one has lived through the present situation before. I mean, it’s not quite the same but very similar.”
“I know what déjà vu is,” she said, completely confused.
“Then why did you ask? Did you suffer a hit to the head?”
How did he know that?
“Yes,” she said cautiously.
“Explains how they managed to get you through the forest and into this hole. Dug you a grave, did they? Surprised they didn’t just leave you out here for the wolves.”
“I don’t think they thought of it,” she murmured, feeling kind of out of it. Was she really having this conversation with a stranger while standing in her own grave?
“Hmm, kind of nasty to bury someone alive. Even I have better standards than that.”
She swallowed heavily. What did that mean? He had better standards? Did he regularly kill people?
Was he going to kill her?
“Who are you?”
“Why, I’m sorry. How rude of me. Hello, Betsy. I’m the Fox.”