Still, she read the note. And her heart fell into her stomach. Three sentences, though it took her a moment to make them out in the dark. As if sensing her difficulty, the driver reached up and flicked on the cabin light.

Sarah Beth read:

Run. I’ll give you a ten-second head start. Then I’m going to slit your throat.

Her heart felt like it went still for a moment. Another little smiley face was drawn on top of the note, like the other one. Again, she hadn’t seen the driver write anything, suggesting, perhaps, he’d prepared the notes.

Run.

Her hand still shaking, she looked up and out the front windshield, her eyes as wide as saucers, refusing to glance toward the driver now. No sense encouraging him.

“I—please,” she said, blubbering. “Please.”

Then she heard the driver’s voice for the first time. A low, husky, painful-sounding voice. “One… Two…”

The locks clicked.

“Mister, please!” Sarah Beth pleaded. “Just let me go! I won’t tell anyone—honest! Please!”

“Three… Four…”

She cursed, reaching for the handle, grabbing her backpack. The door, to her relief, clicked open. Then, stumbling, gasping, Sarah Beth landed on uneven, muddy ground. She began to sprint, racing off the road, away from the truck.

Then I’ll slit your throat.

She shivered. A head start. Whatever sick game this twist was playing, she had a head start. Couldn’t stay on the road, though. If she did, the psycho would just run her over. Off the road. Through the trees. Go! Go!

Sarah Beth’s heart hammered, pounding wildly.

“Ten!” the voice shouted behind her, clearer, less raspy than before. Almost as if it were excited.

Sarah Beth stumbled through the first row of trees bordering the farmer’s field. She tripped over a root but kept going, moving in the dark, trying to navigate undergrowth and low-hanging branches in the sheer black, with no lights to speak of save the faint glow from the truck’s headlights behind her.

Then, a clicking sound. The lights turned off.

She heard a thump of the truck’s door, followed by the rapid footfalls of pursuit.

Her adrenaline surged wildly. Gasping, sobbing, she ricocheted off a tree with a painful thump.

“Please!” she sobbed. “Please!” But there was no one to hear her scream. Her sounds were likely only aiding the driver in tracking her down.

She stumbled through the dark, her shoulder brushing against rough bark, her head glancing off a bending bough. Sharp, jagged branches scraped at her cheeks. Her fingers felt numb where they gripped the strap to her backpack.

She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to plot her path through a nearly invisible undergrowth in the dark.

Behind her, the sound of pursuit had faded.

Sarah Beth exhaled softly, glancing one way then the other… No sign. No light at all. She could barely see her fingers in front of her face.

Which direction had she come from? Where was the truck? Maybe, if she doubled back…

Yes. She might be able to get to the vehicle and run away. At least she’d know the path back to the highway.