Multiple things occurred to Kevin immediately. One, someone had been close to them while they slept, completely vulnerable. He curled tighter around his son while panic took a slow spin through his already nauseated gut. Two, there was a good chance that the water was drugged. Three, without water, Hunter wasn’t going to survive much longer. Four, there wasn’t anything Kevin could do to save his son.

Hunter shivered, and Kevin tried to cover more of his shrinking form with a combination of his own jacket and body. The child’s skinny frame didn’t have any body fat available for fuel, and his smaller mass left him more susceptible to fluid loss. The damp, cold nights were an added insult. Looking down at his son’s pale and sleeping face, Kevin’s heart ached more than his water-starved joints. Terror for his son welled in his chest, filled his lungs, and constricted his next few breaths. The pressure threatened to render Kevin useless. He fought back with action. Right now, they were stuck, but who knew what opportunities might crop up. The more Kevin studied his surroundings the better.

He took another inventory of the barn. There was nothing he could reach through the bars of the cage, but potential weapons littered the building: a hammer, pieces of lumber, a couple of other farm tools he didn’t recognize but that looked potentially harmful. Or course, all of these things could be used against them, too.

The big tractor hadn’t moved. Nothing had changed. Wait. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Yes. The woodpile in the corner had doubled in size.

What was his captor planning? More cages? Kevin blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. No. The pieces of wood were thin branches, too flimsy to build another prison.

Kevin sat up. The rough wood beneath his body dug into his bones. He scooted to the other side of the cage, picked up the water bottle, and examined it. It was a refillable sports-type bottle, not a sealed commercial product. Easy to tamper with the contents. What to do?

He opened the bottle, put it to his lips, and sniffed. Smelled like water. He took a small sip, barely enough to wet his chapped lips, and waited. When he felt no adverse effects, he drank more. Cool water soothed his dusty throat, but he put the bottle down after drinking about a quarter cup. Hunter needed the fluid more. Kevin sat and let ten or fifteen minutes pass. He didn’t die.

Kevin cupped his son’s face. “Hunter, wake up.”