BooksBarbecue
Back The Asset
Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

It was such a long shot that she had to force herself not to think about it. She knew her chance of escape was next to zero. And even if she did somehow get herself out of that cellar, her chance of finding somewhere safe to hide in the Russian winter without being turned over was little better.

She had no idea how long she’d been suspended by the rope and therefore no idea how long it would take for her body to recover.

She didn’t remember being fed, or even being given water, which suggested she hadn’t been there as long as she thought.

She decided that if she was going to die, she would rather go out fighting, and it was that thought alone that made her struggle against the rope.

The room was complete darkness, the kind of darkness that only existed underground, the kind her eyes would never adjust to.

She tried gripping the rope to see if she could even hold onto it. It took an immense effort, her hands barely felt like they belonged to her, but after a few minutes of trying, she managed to close them on the rope and get some semblance of a grip.

Then she tried pulling herself. There was no way she could lift her own weight, not at first, but by just pulling against the rope and trying to take some weight onto her arms, she was able to gradually bring her limbs back to life. The blood began to flow, and with it, agony. It was so much pain that she was afraid she’d lose consciousness.

She felt as if her arms were on fire.

Tears poured down her face as she struggled to hold the full weight of her body.

Eventually, after an eternity of trying, she managed to pull herself up toward her hands as if doing a chin up.

And then she slipped, and in an instant, all her progress, all her strength, was reduced to nothing, to less than nothing. So much pain poured through her she thought her arms had been ripped out of their sockets.

She cried and went limp.

She gave up.

She surrendered to the pain. To the despair.

And then, she started over, trying all over again to regain the strength just to hold onto the rope.

It took hours, and dozens of slips, and an ocean of agony, before she was able to get both hands onto the same piece of rope and heave herself up to it.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain that strength in her arms for long. She had to do everything she could to get her feet onto the rope as soon as possible. If she slipped before that happened, she didn’t think her arms would get her to this position again.