Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

I rack my brain, still sure I’ve seen her somewhere before. Not just seen, but her voice… I’ve heard her voice. Where?

After several minutes, though, I give up, the memory remaining just out of reach.

What I need to do is stop speculating and focus on getting out of here. The door’s locked, which means I’ll either need to force my way out or wait until someone comes.

I decide to wait. Doc will either come back and give me some task outside this room during which I can slip away, or he won’t, in which case it makes sense to wait until everyone’s asleep before I try to flee.

Back at the window I stand for a while and stare at the landscape. The valley and the mountain beyond beckon like an old friend, and it’s tempting to comfort myself by picking out all the landmarks of Silvertown. That’s not going to help me here, though, so I force myself to study the immediate surroundings instead, starting with the wall at the edge of the property.

Even from this side it’s hard to spot the movable section that Tweaker used to vanish. It’s the ground that ultimately gives it away. Two semicircles of gravel marring an otherwise flawless lawn. There’s a large garden shed to one side of this patch, with track marks in the grass leading up to its door. The ATV must be in there. If there’s only one such vehicle, and I can steal it, their chances of catching up to me are slim. Good, I think. The beginnings of a plan. Now how to get there? Between the shed and the house is roughly a hundred yards of lawn, sun-soaked and offering nothing in the way of cover. Other than grass, all I can see is the weird circle of paving stones, and the edge of a patio just below my window. Leaning until my forehead is against the cool glass, I can see someone’s legs at the very limit of my restricted view. They sit in a lawn chair, and there’s an assault rifle laid across the person’s lap.

Okay, so much for a dash across the lawn. I’d just be target practice.

Movement in the middle distance draws my attention back to the wall. Someone’s walking there. Patrolling the property.

Guarding against me trying to escape, or someone coming after me? The latter seems more likely, given that I’m supposedly part of the gang now. But on the other hand, anyone looking for me here is dishearteningly unlikely. Perhaps my arrival has simply put them on edge. They must have felt pretty safe and secluded here before I rang the buzzer at the gate.

The sun creeps across the sky with maddening slowness, but waiting for dark is my only option, I think. After some time I go and sit on the bed, then lay down to rest. The painkillers are strong, but I suspect they’re also making me tired.

I’ve no idea how long I slept.

All I know is, when I finally sit up and rub at my eyes, the room’s nearly pitch-black. The only light comes from a faint glow creeping in around the edges of the window blinds.

I smell something. My stomach reacts before my brain can identify the odor, sending a sharp pang of hunger through my gut. As my eyes adjust, I spot the source: a dinner tray in the middle of the floor.

Hunger gets the better of me. In a flash I’m out of the bed and wolfing down the contents of the tray. A room-temperature cheeseburger, corn on the cob, and a bottle of water. This last I chug until it’s half gone, before realizing I should save some. I twist the cap back on.

Despite sitting here long enough to cool down, the burger and corn taste backyard-barbecue fresh, which makes sense. There’s no restaurant in easy driving distance, and having food delivered would only draw unwanted attention to this secluded place. I might be able to use that, I think. A barbecue in the yard somewhere. There’ll be tools, lighter fluid.

I go to the window and glance outside, peering through a gap in the blinds I make with thumb and index finger. A half-moon sits in the western sky, made hazy by thin clouds. Shifting yellow light from the first floor of the mansion casts rectangles out onto the grass. The glow flickers and waves, no doubt thrown by the big fireplace from which I took my nosedive. How quaint.

The most striking source of illumination outside, though, is the candles. One has been placed on each of the paving stones, creating a glowing dotted outline of their circular placement, which only serves to reinforce my earlier vision of some ritualistic purpose.

Kneeling down, I put my ear to the floor and listen. At first there’s only the ambient sounds of a large home. Air circulating, water moving through pipes, and the even more subtle hum of electricity. But then I hear the muffled sounds of laughter, and voices in conversation.

They’re distracted, I think. Eating. Not the best time to make my move. Best to wait until they’re all asleep. Only, now I’m not so sure that’s ever going to be the case, not if someone’s sitting with a rifle on the back patio, and another is walking the perimeter. Those kinds of precautions are done in shifts.

Besides, I slept for hours. Time’s not on my side, and here I am hesitating, napping even. I need to get back to Silvertown. Warn them. And then find a way to end this.

Time to stop worrying about cameras.

I try the door again, but of course it’s still locked. Leaving the lights off, I kneel down in front of the handle and try to inspect it, figure out what I’m up against. Picking a lock is not something I ever learned how to do, but I watched my brother once, and he explained the basic