Left for Dead: A gripping psychological thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

beams.
    “My name is Amelia.”
    “Lie down.”
    “Amelia Jane Kellaway.”
    I think how dumb it was to tell him my full name because now he will probably hunt down my family and kill them.
    “I said lie down.”
    I break loose and run. My body has taken over my mind and I run. I cannot stop it. The situation is terrifying, the way my body is moving without my consent, like I’m a mere bystander to my own life, and I want to stop because it hurts like a roller coaster, that choke of terror at your throat, the oxygen that’s just out of reach.
    He’s behind me, too close, boots thumping, breath heaving. He is running fast for a man of his size. I can see myself from above, with this stupid rag-mask on my face, hands tied, barefooted, careering into trees, the shadow of him gaining ground.
    Think like a champion, I tell myself. Visualize success. Me first at the finishing line, getting that hole in one, making the hundred-yard touchdown. I see myself getting away, finding a road, flagging down a passing car, ripping the mask from my face to look out the back window at the figure of him getting smaller.
    I trip. Face first. My knee cracks against a rock and I scream into something that might be moss. I try to quiet myself, to bear the pain in silence, lie as still as can be because there’s a chance I’ve fallen into some sort of valley or ditch and he can’t see me. I wait. Seconds. Minutes. Nothing. There might be hope.
    “I don’t blame you, Amelia Jane Kellaway. I would’ve tried, too.”
    He’s standing above me like a monolith. I wonder if he’s been there the whole time.
    “Cooperate and you live,” he states.
    I start to cry and hate myself. “ Please. ”
    “Say yes, Amelia, and you live.”
    I’m crying hard now. It’s so difficult to breathe with this rag on my face, and I know what I’m in for, what he wants, I can hear it in his voice, smell it coming out his pores. He kneels down and gets close.
    “Say it.”
    “Oh God.”
    “Do you want to live?”
    “Yes, I want to live.”
    He does it right there with his knees in the water.

11
    I wake up warm. Through the tiny squares of the mask I see flames from a campfire. I don’t know how long it’s been since the river, an hour or two maybe, but it must be late. It burns between my legs. I think about the act of war committed against my body. I should feel some emotion but I only feel numb.
    “Hungry, Amelia?”
    He is somewhere to my left. There’s the clash of metal on metal as if he’s eating from a can. When I don’t reply, he tries again, softens his voice like a concerned friend.
    “Come on, Amelia, you’ve got to eat.”
    There’s a clunk as he puts down the can. He shifts toward me and pulls me up to a sitting position with his powerful hands.
    “Here you go,” he says. “Give this a try.”
    I feel something cold on my lips. Spam. I eat even though I want to throw up because I don’t want to give him an excuse to exert his power again. He puts the neck of a water bottle to my lips and I gulp that down too.
    “Tastes okay, doesn’t it?” he says, spooning in more Spam. “A fraction down home but it hits the spot, wouldn’t you say, Amelia?”
    He leans back on his heels, waiting for an answer, so I nod.
    “Good for you, Amelia Kellaway,” he says.
    He resumes feeding me as if I’m a child. I can see him through the cloth. His face is lit by the fire and set in a pleasant paternal expression. He has an incisor snaggletooth and a scar on his chin. He has changed into a dark green and crimson checkered flannel shirt, creases ironed to perfection, brilliant white crew neck T-shirt beneath it.
    Abruptly, he stops. He lowers the fork and stares at me. He comes close, so close, in fact, that I can smell the pork on his breath. He waves a hand in front of my face.
    I shut my eyes and tell myself to be still. I can’t let him know I can see him. It’s the one advantage I have.
    He wipes the knuckles of his hand against his