The air was stale and fusty. I suppressed a sneeze, wondering how it was possible for dust to accumulate in an enclosed space. A second later, all the familiar horrible feelings of claustrophobia began to cascade over me. My palms started to sweat. A zapping sensation ran down my spine. My chest was getting tighter and tighter.

Before I’d been locked in this RV, my claustrophobia had been caused by an irrational fear. Now I truly was trapped in a small space, possibly forever.

All the other times, something inside me had frozen as soon as I felt the panic begin. I had felt so desperate, mentally begging it to go away. But now instead of being paralyzed by fear, I was somehow able to realize that the sensations flooding my body were just that—sensations.

Instead of focusing on taking deep breaths or telling myself it was okay, I decided to stop trying to change the subject. To stop running away from my fears. Come on, I mentally taunted the fear. Is that all you’ve got? Because I know now that there are way worse things. A picture came into my head of my claustrophobia as a little yapping dog, ineffectually trying to sound the alarm. I don’t have all day, I told it. I mean, you’re trying and everything, but can’t you make my heart pound even faster? Can’t you make my chest feel even tighter?

And instead of it gripping me harder, the fear begin to ease off. I imagined the little dog falling silent, confused. My claustrophobia might be done with me, but I wasn’t done with it. Don’t stop now, I told it. Don’t waste my time like that. But instead I felt it retreat even further.

I realized that claustrophobia was like one of those woven Chinese finger traps. In order to get out, you had to push in.

Inch after inch, I pulled myself forward. Eventually, I located the side of the RV by painfully banging it with the top of my head. Had the sound alerted Rex? I held my breath but didn’t hear anything. Running my good hand along the panel, I eventually found a metal bar that moved when I pressed on it. I heard a snick and then felt the compartment door unlatch and begin to swing out as fresh air flowed in.

Thank God. We would be able to get out.

I exhaled in relief. I was sandwiched between levels, barely able to move, but the panic that should have gripped me had turned tail and run, no match for reality.

The space was too tight to turn around in, so I had to crawl backward to return to where Jenny was waiting for me, sitting on the edge of the hole.

“There’s a door to the outside, and it opens. Let’s get ready and go.”

I kept the wooden spoon. If Rex attacked us, I could poke his eye or maybe stick it between his jaws. I shrugged on my backpack that held my wallet and sash. Jenny had the boom box with Sir’s voice. She also tucked the spork into her back pocket.

And then we both ducked beneath the floor. When we reached the compartment door, I put my lips against Jenny’s ear. This close, I could smell the sharp scent of her sweat.

“Once we get out, we’ll make for that fence you saw. We’ll be as quiet as we can. If we hurry, Rex might not hear us until we’re on the other side.” I tried to remember if dogs were nocturnal. I hoped not. “If he does, then play the tape recorder and keep running. And if he attacks, we have to do everything to stay on our feet. Poke him with the spork. Even if it’s not that sharp, he’s not going to like it. Punch him in the nose. If there’s a tree you can climb, climb it. If we can get up over four or five feet, we’ll be out of his range.”

“But then we’ll be stuck there.” Jenny’s whisper trembled. “And Sir will hear and come out.”

“He smelled like he was pretty drunk. If he’s anything like my mom’s boyfriend, that means he’ll be hard to wake up.” I hoped Sir was totally wasted. “Things are not going to get any better tomorrow, so we have to get out of here tonight. And at least right now he’s probably asleep. Are you ready?”

“I guess.” She took a deep breath. “But, Savannah, if I don’t make it, you have to tell my family that I love them.”

My anger at Sir morphed into sadness for myself. “The same goes for me. If I don’t make it and you do, tell my mom that I love her.”

JENNY DOWD

Savannah opened the luggage compartment door. Cold, fresh air flooded in. Moving carefully and quietly, we crawled out. It felt like we were moving in slow motion, but at the same time, we couldn’t afford to make any noise. Every nerve ending vibrating, I waited to hear Rex or Sir. I didn’t know which would be worse. Once we were out, we lowered the cargo door back to its closed position with almost exaggerated care. Then I helped Savannah to her feet.

As I did, I looked up. My breath caught. The night sky was even more amazing than I remembered, like diamonds sprinkled over black velvet, with a three-quarter opalescent moon.

We were standing in the muddy clearing I’d last seen ten months before. Surrounded by the same fifteen-foot-high row of car carcasses that had been crushed into scrap metal and then piled on top of each other like oversized gray-and-rust-colored bricks. A narrow gravel road, just wide enough for a car, pierced the wall of metal. On it was parked the white van.

The only thing that had changed from ten months earlier was that now the clearing held a second old RV. About a month ago, I had heard a loud engine outside, but the tiny gap over the window hadn’t revealed what was happening. Sir must have intended it for Savannah, at least before she broke her wrist.

And past the second RV was the same run-down two-story house I’d seen during my abortive escape attempt. Sir must be in there. I thought of the knife and the Taser on his belt. If he woke up and heard us, he would surely kill us.

As would Rex.

Without any kind of signal between us, Savannah and I both started, madly, to run. The sound of every footfall made me wince. When a frozen puddle shattered into icy shards under my left foot, my heart leapt in my chest.

The multiple layers of clothes made our run more of a waddle. Despite the slow pace, even before we reached the opening in the wall of cars, I was wheezing. I used to run almost every day, but I hadn’t had any kind of exercise for ten months. My lungs burned, and my wasted muscles protested. The boom box thumped against my thigh. The only forces powering me were adrenaline and fear.

At first, Savannah was just a few feet ahead of me, but gradually, the distance between us lengthened.

Where was Rex? He could be anywhere. My nerves were stretched to the breaking point as I swiveled my head and strained my ears, waiting for an explosion of barking. But the only sounds were our breathing and our feet on the graveled road.

And then we were past the wall. Our horizons opened up. We were surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of old cars and trucks. They didn’t sit in neat, orderly rows, but in clumps and clusters. Hoods were up or gone. Doors missing. Some had no engine at all. Most had no tires.

My steps were slower and slower, both from exhaustion and from having to watch where I stepped. Bits and pieces of cars were strewn everywhere: seats, fenders, bumpers, bed liners, lengths of black rubber tubing, and white plastic reservoirs that had once held fluids.

I heard Rex before I saw him. It wasn’t a bark but a continuous growl, low in his throat. The emotion that filled me wasn’t fear. It was a hot eruption of terror. Every strategy we’d plotted flew out of my head.