Read Online The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy) by Tarah Benner - Free Book Online
Authors: Tarah Benner
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kill me?
As the sun beat down, they started to move more slowly, as if they were getting lethargic. Then, as if the unseasonably hot sun were my own personal gift, they began to fall asleep.
This was my chance — probably the only chance I would have to break free without attracting their attention. As quietly as I could, I shifted to try to free my hands once again, but the bonds were as tight and unyielding as ever. No matter how I twisted my wrists and pulled, I could not squeeze free.
Perhaps it required more finesse. I tried to push my hands together instead, in hopes of slackening the plastic bonds like a Chinese finger trap. This accomplished nothing except to wear on my quickly diminishing hopes of escape.
I decided to focus on the hand with the loosest restraint. I pulled to the point of excruciating pain. My eyes watered, and I felt the coolness of the wind on blood and knew I had cut my wrist open. The blood trickled down my hand, and I suddenly had an idea. It was gruesome, but much better than the alternative.
I pulled again, pain throbbing in my wrist and pulsating up my arm. The blood was pounding in my head, and I could feel the fresh wound at the back from all my exertion. Tears were streaming down my face, but I pulled and pulled until the blood flowed freely.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out, I chanted in my head. Fight the pain.
If I could just slide one hand through . . .
I continued to pull, twisting my wrists in the bonds until blood coated the plastic. I felt a heavy throbbing of blood rushing to the wounds. The pain was excruciating. The zip tie moved a quarter of an inch up my hand. If I could just pull a little farther . . .
Suddenly, my hand was free. I felt a rush of gratitude and relief so strong I wanted to cry from joy.
Examining my wrists, I could see the cuts were pretty bad — especially on the one I had freed — but there was no time to worry about first aid. I wiped my wrist hastily on my shirt. It was throbbing, but I still had full motor function in my hand.
Positive my heavy breathing would wake my captors, I got to my feet as quietly as I could. I stepped slowly toward the fire, one foot at a time. Even taking great care, each step resulted in a loud crunch of leaves. There was nothing to do but move quickly and hope I could get away.
Most of my belongings were still lying where I had left them. My canteen was within reach next to my pack, and Greyson’s knife glinted near a sleeping carrier. My flint starter still hung from my keychain.
Carefully, I retrieved any food the carriers hadn’t touched and backed slowly away from the campsite. I left all my extra clothes and the supplies that were laid out, but there was nothing to be done. At least I was armed and could still start a fire.
As soon as I was on the trail out of earshot, I broke into a run to put as much distance as possible between me and the band of carriers. The bloody zip ties still hung from my less injured wrist, but I didn’t want to bother sawing off the one that was still attached until I was farther away. With any luck, they would take a long nap, and I would have a few hours before they noticed I was gone.
Adrenalin pumped through my veins, and I felt a rush of energy from the sheer joy of being alive. I had survived a carrier attack! If I made it to Sector X and back alive, I would be telling my grandchildren about this one day.
After I had put about a half a mile between me and the carriers, I began to feel dizzy. I stopped to saw off the bloody plastic restraint and splash some clean water over the cuts on my wrists, but I wasn’t sure how to bandage them. My shirt and jacket were made of the same tough synthetic material, and I hadn’t thought to bring a first aid kit along. My sweaty sock would have to do.
I ripped it in two and tied the pieces tightly around the wound, hoping it would at least stem the flow of blood. The wound in the back of my head was throbbing, too,
As the sun beat down, they started to move more slowly, as if they were getting lethargic. Then, as if the unseasonably hot sun were my own personal gift, they began to fall asleep.
This was my chance — probably the only chance I would have to break free without attracting their attention. As quietly as I could, I shifted to try to free my hands once again, but the bonds were as tight and unyielding as ever. No matter how I twisted my wrists and pulled, I could not squeeze free.
Perhaps it required more finesse. I tried to push my hands together instead, in hopes of slackening the plastic bonds like a Chinese finger trap. This accomplished nothing except to wear on my quickly diminishing hopes of escape.
I decided to focus on the hand with the loosest restraint. I pulled to the point of excruciating pain. My eyes watered, and I felt the coolness of the wind on blood and knew I had cut my wrist open. The blood trickled down my hand, and I suddenly had an idea. It was gruesome, but much better than the alternative.
I pulled again, pain throbbing in my wrist and pulsating up my arm. The blood was pounding in my head, and I could feel the fresh wound at the back from all my exertion. Tears were streaming down my face, but I pulled and pulled until the blood flowed freely.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out, I chanted in my head. Fight the pain.
If I could just slide one hand through . . .
I continued to pull, twisting my wrists in the bonds until blood coated the plastic. I felt a heavy throbbing of blood rushing to the wounds. The pain was excruciating. The zip tie moved a quarter of an inch up my hand. If I could just pull a little farther . . .
Suddenly, my hand was free. I felt a rush of gratitude and relief so strong I wanted to cry from joy.
Examining my wrists, I could see the cuts were pretty bad — especially on the one I had freed — but there was no time to worry about first aid. I wiped my wrist hastily on my shirt. It was throbbing, but I still had full motor function in my hand.
Positive my heavy breathing would wake my captors, I got to my feet as quietly as I could. I stepped slowly toward the fire, one foot at a time. Even taking great care, each step resulted in a loud crunch of leaves. There was nothing to do but move quickly and hope I could get away.
Most of my belongings were still lying where I had left them. My canteen was within reach next to my pack, and Greyson’s knife glinted near a sleeping carrier. My flint starter still hung from my keychain.
Carefully, I retrieved any food the carriers hadn’t touched and backed slowly away from the campsite. I left all my extra clothes and the supplies that were laid out, but there was nothing to be done. At least I was armed and could still start a fire.
As soon as I was on the trail out of earshot, I broke into a run to put as much distance as possible between me and the band of carriers. The bloody zip ties still hung from my less injured wrist, but I didn’t want to bother sawing off the one that was still attached until I was farther away. With any luck, they would take a long nap, and I would have a few hours before they noticed I was gone.
Adrenalin pumped through my veins, and I felt a rush of energy from the sheer joy of being alive. I had survived a carrier attack! If I made it to Sector X and back alive, I would be telling my grandchildren about this one day.
After I had put about a half a mile between me and the carriers, I began to feel dizzy. I stopped to saw off the bloody plastic restraint and splash some clean water over the cuts on my wrists, but I wasn’t sure how to bandage them. My shirt and jacket were made of the same tough synthetic material, and I hadn’t thought to bring a first aid kit along. My sweaty sock would have to do.
I ripped it in two and tied the pieces tightly around the wound, hoping it would at least stem the flow of blood. The wound in the back of my head was throbbing, too,
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