“Crackers,” she told herself firmly. “Salt is good.”

She set the jug down carefully, feeling along the rock for a stable spot. Then she found her purse and after painful minutes fumbling with the zipper, got it open.

The mosquitoes had returned, attracted by the smell of fresh water. Yellow flies buzzed her lips, settling on the corners as if they’d sip the moisture straight from her mouth. She slapped savagely, and had the brief satisfaction of feeling plump insect bodies burst against her fingers. Then more flies were back, crawling on her lips, her eyes, the soft tissue of her inner ear, and she knew she had to let them go. Ignore the constant pricking bites, the awful, dreadful hum. Give up this battle, or most certainly lose the war.

Grimly, she set about searching her purse. Her fingers found the Baggie of saltines and drew them out. She counted out six. A dozen bites later, they were gone. The salty, dry texture immediately intensified her thirst.

Just one sip, she thought. To chase down the saltines. To soothe her pain, because oh God, the flies, the flies, the flies. They were everywhere, buzzing and biting, and the more she tried to ignore them the more they skittered across her skin and sank little teeth deep into her flesh. She wasn’t going to make it after all. She was going to go insane and the least a crazy person could do was drink.

She reached for the bottle, then snatched back her hand. No, she’d had water. Not much, but enough. After all, she didn’t know how long she’d been down here. Earlier, she’d screamed for a full hour without any luck. Best she could tell, the rat bastard had dropped her somewhere remote and isolated. If that was true, it was up to her. She had to be smart, stay calm. She had to think of a plan.

She rubbed her eyes. Bad idea. They immediately burned. Some of that water would feel so nice on her face. She could rinse out her eyes, maybe get them to crack open so she could see. Rinse off the sweat, then maybe the mosquitoes would finally leave her alone.

Stupid. Pipe dream. She was sweating down to her toes, her green sundress plastered to her skin and her underwear soaked straight through. She hadn’t been this hot since she’d sat naked in a Swedish sauna. Rinsing her face would buy her respite for about two seconds. And then she’d be sweat-soaked and miserable again.

The key was to marshal her resources and use them sparingly.

She also had to get out of the sun. Find someplace shady and relatively cool for the day. Then she could make her escape at night.

She remembered the weather forecast now. Hot, working toward even hotter. Probably breaking triple digits by the end of the week. Not much time, especially if she was already feeling this exhausted.

She had to get moving. Get out of this pit, or die here.

Tina wasn’t ready to die yet.

She used her fingers on her puffy eyelids, prying open the painful, swollen flesh. Some kind of thick liquid drained down her face. She held her eyelids open resolutely, permitting only a few short blinks.

In the beginning, nothing. And then… the goo cleared from her eyes and the world slowly came into focus. Bright, harsh, punishing.

Tina inspected her surroundings. Below her was some kind of thick, wet muck. Above her, fifteen to twenty feet overhead, was the mouth of the pit. And beyond that? She had no idea. She could see no signs of bushes, trees, or shrubs. Whatever was up there, however, it surely had to be better than what was down here.

She turned her inspection to the walls. Standing carefully on the edge of the boulder, she counted to three, then let her upper body fall forward. Her red, inflamed hands hit the surface hard. She felt a moment of stunning, cracking pain. Then she was there, feet on the boulder, the rest of her leaning against the side of the pit.

The side was cooler than she would’ve thought. Wet with something she didn’t understand. Slippery. Like a rock covered with algae or mold. Tina wanted to yank back her hand in revulsion. Instead, she forced her fingers to spread, feeling around for handholds.

Not rock, she determined after a moment. The rough texture was too consistent, without any protruding knobs or zigzagging crevices. It was gravelly, lightly scraping her palms. Concrete, she realized abruptly. Oh my God, she was in a man-made pit. The son of a bitch had dropped her into his own homemade hell!

Did that mean she was in a backyard? Her thoughts raced. Maybe some kind of residential area? If she could just climb up, then, find some way to the surface…

But if she was in a populated area, why hadn’t someone responded to her screams? And what about the muck? That oozy, swampy mud, teeming with things she didn’t want to know…

He probably had a place out in the country, or deep in the woods. Someplace far from civilization, where no one would ever be the wiser. That would make more sense, given his penchant for kidnapping young women.

But still, if she could climb out… Once on the surface she could run, hide, find a road, follow a stream. Even if she was deep in the middle of nowhere, up top she had a chance. It was more than she could say down here.

She resumed scouring the bumpy walls with her hands. Faster now. More determined. A moment later, she found it. A vine. Then another, and another. Some kind of invasive species, either seeking the mud or trying to escape. It didn’t matter to her.

Tina wrapped three vines around her hand and gave them an experimental tug. They seemed strong and resilient. Maybe she could use them. Balance her feet against the wall and use the vines to pull her way up. Why not? She’d seen it dozens of times on TV.

Fired with purpose now, she got serious. She pushed herself back onto her rocky perch and examined her worldly goods. She needed her purse; it had food and who knows what else might come in handy. Easy enough. She slung it over her shoulder and tried not to wince as the leather rubbed against her sunburned flesh. The water was trickier. It didn’t fit in her purse and she didn’t think she could grip a gallon jug and the vines in the same hand.

Briefly, she considered drinking all of it. Why not? It would feel so good going down her throat. Wonderful and wet. And she was making a break for it. Escaping from this hell. If she got on top, she wouldn’t need supplies anymore, would she?

Of course, she had no way of knowing that. She didn’t even know what was up there. No, no more drinking. The water needed to go with her. Even if it was heavy and hot to the touch. It was the only supply she had.

Her dress. The material was thin and wispy. She could tear it into strips and use them to tie the jug to her purse. She reached down with both hands and yanked at her hem. The material immediately slid undamaged from her grip. Her fingers were swollen and refused to cooperate. She tried again and again, panting hard, working herself into a frenzy.

The damn material refused to tear. She needed scissors. Of all the things not to have in her purse.

She bit back a sob. Feeling defeated again as the mosquitoes welcomed her stillness by once more resuming to feed. She had to move, she had to do something!

Her bra. She could take that off and loop it through the gallon jug with the shoulder straps serving as a handle. Or better yet, she could wrap the bra around her purse strap and let the water hang from her purse. Then her hands would be free for climbing. Perfect.

She lifted the hem of her sundress and peeled it from her skin. The flies and mosquitoes instantly got excited. Fresh, white flesh. New, unbloodied areas. She tried not to think about it as she worked on removing her sweat-soaked bra. The nylon fabric was sticky to the touch. She grimaced and finally got it off with a sigh.

It seemed pure cruelty to yank on her dripping, stinky dress. It felt so much better to be naked in this heat, no uncomfortable fabric rubbing her raw, salty skin. The faintest of breezes wafting against her breasts, her back…