Dakota tore the lid off the wooden crate, hoping for a miracle that would save her.
She found straw.
Feeling herself hyperventilate, the Texan teen frantically dug through the straw flotsam, hoping for some small thing hidden inside. She didn't get very far before the light from her phone suddenly dimmed, and a small tone played to happily inform her that her cell was running out of batteries.
"No no no no," Dakota repeated ad infinitum. She frantically tried to dial 911, but she only got as far as the first one when the phone went dark, simultaneously leaving her in the dark as well.
"HEEEEEEEELP!" Dakota shrieked, stumbling through the darkness for the first wall she could reach and pounding her fists on the door. "HELP ME! ZACK, PIPER, ANYONE! HEEEEEELP!" She screamed herself hoarse, panicked sweat drenched her shirt, her heart felt like it was going to explode out of sheer panic.
And not a soul heard her and came to her rescue. And that revelation was the last thought Dakota had before panic overwhelmed her and she toppled to the ground in a dead faint.
---
"Oww....my head...."
Dakota groaned, putting a hand to her throbbing temples. It wasn't dark anymore, and it was far less claustrophobic as well. In fact, she seemed to be in some sort of small office, lying across a ratty old sofa like the kind you'd find in a garage waiting room.
Pushing herself to her feet, Dakota took a cursory glance around the grimy looking walls. Underneath a calendar with a swimsuit model on it was a chart with times for deliveries on it, bearing the label of Daven's Port Port Authority (quite the mouthful). Wondering how she ended up here, Dakota barely restrained a yelp as a large figure suddenly strode into view outside of a large window overlooking a warehouse; a big, burly man who seemed to be talking on his phone. Cautiously, Dakota snuck forward to listen in.
"-was knocked out unconscious in the empty crate. Yeah, I got 'er in the office now."
That answered that question, Dakota thought. She felt relief at being rescued from her dark prison in the crate, and almost wanted to thank the man before he stretched, his shirt lifting up ever so slightly and revealing a sliver of gunmetal gray in a holster on his side.
"Geeze boss that's a little harsh ain't it? Not like she saw anythin', right?"
Maybe it was a little bit of the panic left over from being trapped like a rat earlier, but it didn't take long for Dakota to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Did she get caught somewhere she wasn't supposed to be? And what exactly was the man with the gun going to do to her that seemed harsh?
Dakota could put two and two together, and in this case 2+2=Holy shit run for your fucking life.
And so she bolted, not even bothering to be stealthy as she slammed open a door leading far away from the man with the gun. The office as it turns out was suspended in the dead center of the warehouse, with catwalks crossing overhead. Salvation lay ahead in the form of a welcoming door to the outside world.
"Hey! Girl, stop!" the man shouted after her. Dakota didn't listen, not until he followed up with "Watch for the railing!"
In her panic, she didn't see the bent out of shape railing blocking her way until she slammed into it with her shin, knocking her completely off balance. Shrieking in pain and panic, Dakota flailed around on the shaky platform before tumbling right over the edge of the railing, falling...
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