Page 52 of Vanish From Sight
14
Monday, November 21, 7:15 p.m.
There was no signal.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said, holding up the phone and moving down the aisle while pups barked around her. There were a couple of dirty, cobweb-covered windows but they were higher up.
Trapped inside the outbuilding, Lena figured it would be easier to contact Noah and kill two birds with one stone. He would swoop in, arrest the farm owner and maybe even get charges of trespassing dismissed. She figured, under the circumstances, that the last thing they would care about was someone who had risked their life to gather evidence against an illegal breeder.
In that moment that’s what she believed they were. Even if they were doing everything above board, the conditions the dogs were being kept in were far from ideal.
“C’mon. Not even one bar!”
As darkness enveloped the building, the temperature began to drop.
She shivered and decided to call 911. Regardless of shabby service or no plan or even a SIM card, phones were meant to go directly through to 911. It was required for all phones in America, except for some reason it wasn’t working.
“This cannot be happening.”
Nothing. She held the phone high.
It had to be the building or her location to the nearest tower. After multiple attempts from different locations in the building, she gave up and surveyed the darkened space. With evening in full swing, very little light from stars entered. The dogs were in complete darkness, afraid, cold, just like her. That only gave her more sympathy for their plight.
Using the flashlight feature on her phone, she shone it around trying to get a better feel of what her options were. She tried to remain calm and composed as she searched for a possible weakness in the walls or door. Nothing. The only thing that was dilapidated was the roof and the two windows that were high up. Even if she could reach them, there was no way she could squeeze out, they were too narrow.
She berated herself for even stepping foot on the farm.
In all the years she’d been a reporter, she’d been careful not to get too close to a story. Noah had warned her after seeing journalists wind up the target of those they were investigating. Still, if no one did anything about the individuals stealing pets, it would just fall between the cracks, overlooked, and become nothing more than a small article in a newspaper or a social media post that people would scroll by.
Lena returned to the steel door and pushed hard against it. It was like beating a dead horse. It wouldn’t budge. She wanted to scream in frustration but that would only draw attention and that was the last thing she needed.
As she crossed to the stacked-up tires, an idea formed in her mind.
She’d seen the weathered roof from the outside, back when there was daylight. All that stood between her and freedom was weathered plywood and rotten shingles.
She coughed hard, placing a hand over her mouth.
The air was thick with the scent of wood and rust, and the only moonlight filtered through cracks in the roof.
Casting the flashlight beam around her prison, looking for a tool she could use to punch her way to freedom, she felt like a caged animal.
What to use?she thought.
Rusty old chains, hooks and a length of rope, frayed and worn from years of use, were hanging from the rafters. An old pulley system was mounted high up on the wall for hoisting heavy objects up and out of the barn. A tractor was gathering dust in the corner. Near the back, there was a trailer filled with hay and straw.
A crowbar or a tire iron would have been handy but there wasn’t either.
Moving around the tractor, shining the light across it, she found a small toolbox near the front. She dug inside and brought out a flathead screwdriver. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. She knew time was running out; if she didn’t act fast, they’d either find her or she’d succumb to the cold.
Returning to the old tires stacked up in one corner, she began dragging them over to the wall where she could use them to climb. She stacked them as high as she could, using all her strength to push them into place and create a makeshift ladder.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Lena began.
The tires were unsteady and wobbled beneath her weight, but she kept going, pulling herself up rung by rung.
The roof was old and dilapidated, with patches of rustedmetal and holes that let in slivers of light. She pulled the screwdriver out of her pocket and began to dig at the edges of the plywood, breaking pieces of it away and prying up a section of rusty metal sheets. The metal creaked and groaned, but she kept going.
A large section broke away and she let it fall to the floor, revealing a space wide enough to get her head through but not the rest of her.
