Casey sucked the scant moisture from the underside of her bra desperately. The half swallow of liquid she’d collected since the last time she’d checked her makeshift filter wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough.
She was dying. She could live without food for a long time, but not without water. The irony of it was that she stood ankle deep in liquid, but none of it drinkable.
Water had trickled into her prison fairly regularly at first. She’d heard it dripping down the wall. Always coming from the same place. She’d been cautious as first, not sure she should risk drinking the liquid leaking into the hole she was in. But when no one appeared to give her sustenance like they’d been doing when she was in the hut with her students, she’d made the filter with her bra.
It had worked surprisingly well. She managed to wedge it into the side of the hole and catch the water with the cup. She’d then licked the filtered water as it had seeped through the material of the bra. It wasn’t exactly clean, but at least she didn’t have to lick the mud off the walls.
But recently her water source had dried up. Casey had no concept of time in the darkness of her prison, but assumed it had been several days. Whereas before the water had been a fairly steady stream, now it was barely a trickle.
She’d spoken with her brother once about a time he’d been held hostage in the desert in the Middle East. He hadn’t been held long, thank God, but he’d told her about how helpless he’d felt, and how miserable the conditions were, though at no time had he allowed himself to believe he would die there. That had been the key to him overcoming the horrific circumstances, and the torture his captors had put him and his team through. He’d stressed that over and over. That mental toughness was the best thing she could use to help herself.
But Casey wasn’t that strong.
She almost thought that torture and rape would’ve been better than this.
Being buried alive and slowly dying of lack of water.
She could drink the putrid mess at her feet, but it would do her more harm than good, give her diarrhea, thus making her lose more liquid from inside her body, not to mention having to stand in the mess.
She hadn’t had to pee in quite a while, which she knew wasn’t a good sign. She was getting just enough water through her bra filter to keep her alive, but she’d begun to think she might as well stop trying.
Casey blinked, trying in vain to see any kind of light, without success. Pulling her feet up out of the brackish water at the bottom of the hole, she grabbed hold of them with her arms. Laying her head on her bent knees, she closed her eyes. Maybe she could fall asleep and just not wake up.
She was tired. So tired.
Aspen wasn’t coming for her. She had to stop kidding herself. She hadn’t heard any kind of noise above her head in what seemed like forever, not since the gunshots. She was in the middle of a jungle in Costa Rica. Buried deep in the ground in a tomb. No one was ever going to find her.