Page 3 of Holiday Hostage
Liam had said there wouldn’t be any bears this time of year.
A week before Christmas was no time for hibernating beasts to be lumbering around, but there was other wildlife.
I let go of the branches and shrugged out of my backpack, setting it against the trunk of the nearest tree and stepping out with my camera up to my eye.
Places this beautiful deserved to be seen.
The untainted wilderness showed a wild side unlike anything I’d experienced.
This was the challenge I’d longed for.
I framed up the first shot, putting a large pine tree on the right side of the picture and letting the river take up the rest.
Movement across the river caught in the camera, and I held my breath as a moose lumbered into view.
The giant body looked miniature from this distance, but I’d seen pictures of people standing beside the massive animals.
What could I use for reference to show my perspective of the magnificent beast?
I took a step to the right, moving closer to the water. A quick look down kept me from stepping into the river.
Liam would have more than a warning for me if I came back with wet shoes and socks.
The moose raised its head and stared at me, its gaze alive with curiosity and zero fear.
I snapped the picture, then another for good measure.
The giant head lifted, and its mouth opened. The roaring river drowned out whatever sound it made, then it whirled and broke into a lumbering run.
My breath came out with a shuddering exhale, and I released the camera, letting the strap around my neck take the weight.
I checked my watch. My ten minutes were almost up.
As much as I hated the thought of leaving, I had no choice.
Something heavy clamped over my mouth.
I let out a scream as recognition dawned.
A hand.
Someone had their hand over my mouth. I stabbed an elbow backward, and my assailant grunted.
Hot breath rushed over my ear, and my hair spilled out of my hood as the person yanked me backward. “Don’t do that again.”
The threat in those words, said in a deep voice, sent me into a panic.
I flailed with my hands, arms, and feet. They all became weapons.
I’d taken a few self-defense classes over the years–Dad insisted–but none of them prepared me for the man lifting me completely off my feet with one arm so tight around my chest that I lost the ability to breathe.
The hand over my mouth shifted to cover my nose. I opened my mouth and bit down hard into the flesh of his palm.
“Fucking bitch.” He growled into my ear but didn’t let go. “Been tracking you for a while, waiting for you to venture off on your own. Couldn’t have picked a better spot.” He laughed when I thrashed, kicking both heels behind me in hopes of making contact with his knee.
My hands balled into fists, and I struck at his ribs, even trying to reach lower to grasp his balls.
That was one sure way to get him to let me go. My instructors had always been clear on that.
