Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [86]
That was it. Pit, rock, water. Only other thing around was the foul-smelling muck that oozed out from under her rocky perch. And no way was she stepping off her boulder into that slime. She’d seen things move in the marsh around her. Dark, slimy things she was certain would love to feast on human flesh. Things that genuinely frightened her.
Drink.
Can’t. I won’t have water, and then I’ll die.
You are dying. Drink.
She groped around for the bottle of water. It too felt hot to the touch. She’d had a little when she’d first woken up, but then quickly recapped the precious supply. Her resources were limited. In her purse, she had a pack of gum and a package of six peanut-butter crackers. She also had a little Baggie filled with twelve saltines, the perks of being a pregnant woman.
Pregnant woman. She was supposed to be drinking at least eight glasses of water a day to help support the whole new infrastructure being built in her body. She should also be eating an extra three hundred calories a day, as well as getting plenty of rest. Nowhere in the preparing-for-parenthood book had it talked about surviving on three sips of water and a couple of crackers. How long could she go on like this? How long could her baby?
The thought both discouraged her and brought her strength. Her inner voice was right. She wasn’t going to make it on this godforsaken rock in this godforsaken pit. She was already dying. She might as well put up a fight.
Tina worked grimly with her swollen fingers at the plastic cap of the water jug. At the last minute, it popped off wildly and went soaring somewhere in the muck. No matter. She brought the jug to her lips and drank greedily. The water was hot and tasted of cooked plastic. She downed it gratefully, each giant gulp soothing her rusty throat. Second turned into wonderful, indulgent second. At the last minute, she tore the jug from her lips, gasping for breath and already desperate for more.
Her thirst felt like a separate beast, freshly awakened and now ravenous.
“Crackers,” she told herself firmly. “Salt is good.”
She set the jug down carefully, feeling along the rock for a stable spot. Then she found her purse and after painful minutes fumbling with the zipper, got it open.
The mosquitoes had returned, attracted by the smell of fresh water. Yellow flies buzzed her lips, settling on the corners as if they’d sip the moisture straight from her mouth. She slapped savagely, and had the brief satisfaction of feeling plump insect bodies burst against her fingers. Then more flies were back, crawling on her lips, her eyes, the soft tissue of her inner ear, and she knew she had to let them go. Ignore the constant pricking bites, the awful, dreadful hum. Give up this battle, or most certainly lose the war.
Grimly, she set about searching her purse. Her fingers found the Baggie of saltines and drew them out. She counted out six. A dozen bites later, they were gone. The salty, dry texture immediately intensified her thirst.
Just one sip, she thought. To chase down the saltines. To soothe her pain, because oh God, the flies, the flies, the flies. They were everywhere, buzzing and biting, and the more she tried to ignore them the more they skittered across her skin and sank little teeth deep into her flesh. She wasn’t going to make it after all. She was going to go insane and the least a crazy person could do was drink.
She reached for the bottle, then snatched back her hand. No, she’d had water. Not much, but enough. After all,