Hit man

Terry

My eyes open, a my head spins. Last thing I remember was driving to Jess's and- Jess.

"Jess," I shout. My throat hurts. Everything is dark and smells damp. I can barely breathe.

"Hello," a deep voice says. My heart stops. I look up and see the screen of my iPhone above me. It's set for FaceTime, and I see a dark figure.

"Where am I?" I shout.

"It doesn't matter," he answers. "You're going to die." I want to scream, but I can't. I have no idea what to do.

"You have forty eight hours," the man on the other end says, and the call ends. I try to reach up to use the phone to call 9-1-1, but my hands don't move. I feel the ties that are holding them down burn my skin as I yank my arms up. I look down, but it's too dark to see my hands. I'm scared. I can barely breathe, and my panicking is making it worse. Someone will find me. Someone has to find me. I won't die here, wherever here is.

I scream. Wherever I am, someone is bound to hear me. I scream for help. I scream until my lungs burn and I can taste blood in my mouth. When I can no longer scream, I start crying. I used my knee to kick up at the roof above me. When it hits, it sounds muffled, though it feels like would.

My heart leaps into my throat and I can't breathe. No one will hear me scream, I realize, because I'm six feet under ground.

I think on the situation. My hands are zip tied, I realize. I rack my brain for the tricks I learned years ago on how to escape zip ties. I twist my hands and I pull, trying to break the clasps. If I got my hands free I could use the cellphone. Was there any service under ground? There had to be some. I can feel the skin break and hot liquid pour over them. I whimper, afraid. Finally, my left hand slides free and I almost cry.

I reach up and search the phone for the call app symbol. When I find it, I click and type 9-1-1 into the phone.

"911, what is your emergency?" I hear over the speaker phone.

"Help," I say, panicked, "I've been buried alive. I... I don't know where I am. Please, just help." The phone shuts off and I scream, frustrated and afraid. A text flashes across the screen:

Do that again. How does twelve hours sound?

I take a shaky breath, and pray my call went through, and that they didn't pass it off as a prank.