The last thing Lisa remembered was being hit over the head and dragged, bleeding, out of her house to the trunk of a car parked outside. Everything was fuzzy after that.
She had woken up just a few moments ago in the confined darkness. It was blisteringly hot, and she knew that the air was limited—a problem she exacerbated by taking long panicked breaths.
She had run her hands and feet along every side, confirming the fact that she was locked in. Her hands shook, her heartbeat sounded like a drum solo and her body was drenched in sweat.
She tried to keep her nerves together by talking aloud to herself. “I’m not moving,” she said, “So someone’s bound to come along soon and pop this open.
” But as the minutes, which felt like hours, ticked along, the panic got worse. Her screams went unheard. The lack of sight and sound left her disoriented.
Finally, with tears running down her face, she remembered something she had seen on TV. “If I kick out the tail lights, I might get some air in here or see someone to call out to.
” Having no clue which side was which in her dark prison, she began to viciously kick the corner nearest her right leg. Nothing budged. She kicked harder and harder screaming with every kick.
Her leg was sore and ankle aching by the time she heard a faint crack. Encouraged by the sound, Lisa used the adrenaline to make a final vicious horizontal stomp. *Crack.
* Lisa bent her body as far as it would go, greedy fingers feeling towards the corner in the dark. She found a small crack. Dirt poured through it.