In the middle of the afternoon, two men strode toward Hannah and me as we pushed a wheelbarrow holding six empty buckets toward the lake. The men hogged the center of the walkway. Instead of indulging in a game of chicken—which I doubted we’d win—I steered the wheelbarrow to the side of the path, out of their way. They passed by without sparing us a glance. Just as Hannah had told me, women were invisible, as long as we were going about our duties.
Good.
“Is there a toolshed on the property?” I asked Hannah.
“You mean for gardening tools?”
“No. Not for gardening tools,” I said in a low voice. “We need a pair of wire cutters and some heavy-duty gloves.”
“Oh!” Understanding brightened Hannah’s face, and she bumped her shoulder against mine. “Good thinking.” The path forked and Hannah pointed to the left, away from the lake. “The toolshed is just past where they store the equipment.”
Hannah stood guard outside the clapboard shed while I searched the well-organized interior. A pair of wire cutters hung from a hook on a pegboard. I stashed them in my pocket, then frowned at the black outline of the cutters that remained on the pegboard. Uncle Mel had done the same thing—hung tools on a pegboard then outlined each one with a permanent marker—so it was easy to put each tool back in the correct spot. Shoot. Now it was painfully obvious that the wire cutters were missing. Nobody better notice and come searching for them. I found a pair of Kevlar work gloves, perfect for handling the razor wire that topped the fence, and slipped them into my other pocket.
Hannah and I retraced our steps to the lake, filled the buckets, and made our way back to the greenhouse. I hid the gloves and cutters behind a rake before turning to Hannah. I’d been reluctant to broach the subject, but with our escape plan coming together, the girl needed to know the stakes. “You need to know something. Nicole told me that Pastor Bill intends to make you his third Eve. He plans to marry you as soon as you turn eighteen.”
Hannah blanched, her expression revealing both horror and revulsion. “How soon can we make a break for it?”
Good question. If we cut the fence and ran away during the day, we’d have no more than ten minutes before the guards passed by the spot and noticed the cut wire. If we could manage to escape in the middle of the night, they might not see the break in the wire until daylight. We might not be missed for hours. Of course, at night we’d have to cut razor wire and climb over the tall fence in the dark. If we used a flashlight—and we’d have to swipe one—we’d run the risk of drawing the guards’ attention.
And what about the wire cutters? If somebody noticed they were missing, Pastor Bill might order a search of the camp. The guards would be on the watch for any escape attempt. Crap. My mind juggled the risks and benefits of all possible scenarios.
“I need to think on it a little while longer,” I replied.
We pushed the wheelbarrow to the lake once again and hauled more water for the thirsty plants. When the chapel bell rang, summoning everyone to the dining hall for dinner, I dropped onto the ground, wiping the perspiration from my face.
“Still much better than working in the kitchen or laundry,” Hannah said with a sigh. “And better company, too.”
“Amen, sister,” I agreed, mimicking the pious language we heard from so many fellow campers. Hannah burst out laughing at my solemn pronouncement, and we bumped fists. Offering me a hand, she pulled me to my feet and we walked toward the exit. A bucket of water, a bar of soap, and towel sat on a bench near the door, and we took turns washing our hands and faces.
“It’s Wednesday. That’s spaghetti night,” Hannah said as we began to follow the path toward the dining hall. “A million times better than tomorrow. Thursdays are dump soup night.”
“Dump soup?” I asked, frowning at the unpalatable name. “What’s that?”
“Just what it sounds like. They dump all the leftover vegetables and meats into a pot, add broth and rice or noodles, and make a soup. Last week, they added freaking tuna fish to the soup.” She stuck a finger down her throat and mimed gagging.
Coo-coo-coo-uh-coo.
Hannah and I froze in place.
“Did you hear that?” she demanded, grabbing my arm.
Coo-coo-coo-uh-coo.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“That’s Levi.” She turned around, scanning the woods beyond the fence. Not ten feet from the chain-link barrier, the leafy fronds of a fern parted. A face peered out from the foliage.
God, fate, luck, somebody had offered us an opportunity.
“Listen to me,” I whispered urgently. Hannah still stared at the woods. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. She swung her gaze my way. “Levi is here right now. If you make it over the fence, he’ll help you get away. Find Ripper. Tell him I’m here. He’ll know what to do.” Glancing at the path, I scanned for signs of the approaching guards. Nothing. I grabbed the wire cutters and gloves and thrust them into Hannah’s hands. “There.” I pointed at a spot on the fence that lay in the shadow of a tall tree branch.
“No! Come with me.” Hannah clutched at my arms, her eyes wide with panic.
I shook my head. “I’m going to distract the guards. Buy you time. Climb over the fence, and then you and Levi run as far and as fast as you can before Pastor Bill figures out that you’re gone.”
“But what about you?” Hannah asked.
“Find Ripper,” I repeated. “That’s the most important thing, and this is our best shot for one of us to get away.”
Hannah’s chin quivered. “I want you to come with me.”
“Go.” I whirled and sprinted up the path in the direction of the oncoming guards. As soon as I rounded a bend, I spied two guards in the distance and stopped running. Sucking in a breath, I hiked my long skirt up over my knees—exposing several inches of thigh—and began to jump back and forth in the grass on the side of the path.
“Snake!” I screamed. “Oh, my God, a rattlesnake.” If anybody would buy a cliched, hysterical-at-the-sight-of-a-snake, girly outburst, it would be these chauvinistic jokers. Couldn’t hurt to flash some leg at the men, too. I wanted all the guards focused on me and my histrionics. I danced back and forth, shrieking, while holding my skirt up near my hips. “Snake! Snake! Snake!”
The first guard, a heavyset man in his thirties, staggered onto the scene, out of breath from running. I threw myself into his arms. “A rattlesnake,” I squealed, then pulled away from the stranger. “Did it bite me? I think it bit me.” Standing with my legs apart, I frantically patted my thighs, looking for a puncture wound. “Do you see a bite mark?”
The man hunkered down and ran his hands over my bare legs. “No, no bite mark,” he reassured me as the second guard approached.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“She thinks a rattlesnake bit her,” the first guard explained.
“A rattlesnake?” the second guard scoffed. “Rattlesnakes don’t live at this elevation. If she saw a snake, it was probably a harmless garter snake.” He turned toward me. “You need to calm down, and for God’s sake, cover up your legs. It’s indecent to lift up your skirt like that.”