By Michael Kayatta
Copyright 2012 Michael Kayatta
Felix snapped himself awake as his left hand began to slip from the roof rack. It had been five hours now; they had to be getting closer. Losing his grip now would mean losing the van and probably worse, his life.
The vehicle ran across another bump in the road and Felix’s hands tightened. He pulled himself forward against the sixty-miles-per-hour wind and leaned his ear against the metal below him. The voice he heard was muffled, but some of the words came through clear: dead, teeth, don’t panic.
It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. That’s why he’d brought the ratchet straps and carabineers. He was supposed to be safely hooked in place, not clutching the roof rack’s sun-hot metal with bare, tiring hands. But the straps he’d purchased had torn almost the moment the van first accelerated, of course, only minutes after that poor sixteen-year-old had been blindfolded and led inside.
The van drove over a large hole in the road and Felix’s body raised into the air before thumping back down against the vehicle’s top. He stabilized himself and listened through the roof again, hoping the noise he’d made had gone without raising suspicion. He pressed his ear against the metal. The voices had stopped speaking, and soon, he felt the van do the same.
Passenger or driver, Felix thought quickly. Right or left?
Felix began to roll left just as he heard the creak of the driver’s side door. Shifting quickly, he spun his body to the right edge of the roof and hung it there, as far off the side as he could. He heard the driver’s footsteps connect with the ground outside of the van.