One of the men moved behind her and went to work on the knots holding her wrists behind her back. She tried to envision the knot being untied based on the tugs at her hands. Felt like a handcuff hitch. No way out of that once it was cinched down. Well, fudge.

The knot untier moved around in front of her and squatted to untie her feet. He straightened and gestured for her to get up.

She stood and promptly fell to the floor as her legs collapsed out from under her. The combination of Hell Week and lack of circulation from sitting so long had won out over her will to stand.

Rough hands grabbed her upper arms and hoisted her upright. She was shoved into a tiny bathroom that hadn’t seen a sponge and scrubbing powder in decades. The sink and toilet were rusted, the bathtub filthy.

One of the instructors parked in front of the bathroom door but did not close it. Grimacing, Sherri used the facilities. At least the guy had turned his back. It could be worse.

She turned on the faucet to wash her hands, and a sluggish stream of rusty water emerged. Nope. She wasn’t that desperate to splash her face or rinse her hands.

Feeling a thousand times better, although a dehydration headache throbbed steadily now, she took a quick look around the bathroom. The window was nailed shut, and she suspected an attempt to pull out the nails would result in a god-awful screech that would give away any effort to escape.

Ceiling looked made of solid wooden planks. Floor, the same. No escape was happening from in here without a crow bar or something similar.

She stepped out into the main room. Immediately, two of the masked men—Red Bandanna One and Blue Bandanna—grabbed her by the arms and hauled her back to the chair. Pictures were taken of her with a newspaper held under her chin.

Once she was trussed up again, Blue poured a bottle of water down her throat, which she drank eagerly.

Then, without having uttered a single word, the three men left the cabin. Locks were locked. The engine started, and silence settled around her again.

That was weird. If this was some sort of POW training, wouldn’t they have left guards nearby?

Experimentally, she rocked the chair, thumping the chair legs loudly. She waited for a response. Nothing. She was definitely alone.

She leaned forward, balancing awkwardly on her toes and turning to see what was behind her. A rusted-metal cot frame leaned vertically in one corner. An old recliner with a ruined seat filled the other corner.