What It Takes (Inspired by BAP' One Shot MV)
Chapter One: Uprooted
Samantha dashed into the airport, bag flying behind her. She reached back to pull it through the automatic doors, managing to shake off the rain from the bag at the same time, not breaking her rapid stride. She definitely could not miss her best friend’s flight back to Seoul, South Korea. Kayla was only leaving to join her family for holidays, but still, it was a month early. Sam didn’t know how Kayla had arranged for her finals to be done all online, but Sam wished she’d stay—as a study buddy if nothing else.
Thankfully, Kayla was standing at the security entrance line, obviously waiting. Samantha shouted a greeting and an apology as she drew up beside her friend. Kayla smiled, chiding gently. Sam just smiled back. All these years in university, Samantha was always late.
The two girls hugged and exchanged goodbye gifts. Kayla had made Sam a handmade heart ribbon. Sam gave her a red rose.
“This isn’t a good bye. You must promise that you’ll be back,” Sam mumbled in a broken voice, trying to contain her tears.
Kayla gave a faint smile and nodded. Sam pulled herself together. Kayla never balked whenever Sam became too emotional, never asked why she spent so much time with her best friend instead of any family. For that, Sam was grateful. Family was a rather…empty subject for her.
The two women exchanged words once more. Then Kayla turned, and with one last reassuring look over her shoulder, passed beyond the security gate.
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One week later
Sam continued on her usual routine of classes and cramming for finals. A few days slipped by without any calls or text messages from Kayla. Sam started to worry—just a little. She knew Kayla had told her not to do so. She would be back after New Year’s Eve after all. One short month was no time at all. A week passed. Sam finally phoned Kayla’s caretaker who stated simply that Kayla was just busy with school and work. Sam understood. Kayla often got so focused, time was the least item on her agenda. Nevertheless, Sam could not help but feel just a bit ignored.
Later that night, Sam dreamed of Kayla being murdered. She was screaming in fear, her eyes wide as she fell backwards, arms outstretched upward. Her body hit the water hard, white spray going every which way. But the splashing never stopped. There was a flailing hand, a whip of wet black hair, a gurgled shriek—and then, sharp teeth and dorsal fins, swishing tails and lightning speeds. It was a vicious and hungry frenzy, and all Sam could feel was horror.
The water was scarlet.
Sam jolted awake, drenched in sweat. She fought the urge to vomit, sucking in big gulps of air. What had mercifully pulled her from that horrific nightmare?
Noises thumped abruptly outside the living room of her apartment complex. She slowly pulled her legs free of the blanket and reached for the gun under her bed. Kayla and she had both bought one after their self-defense classes, upon Kayla’s insistence. They were two women who lived alone, after all, she had reasoned. It couldn’t hurt to be careful.
So far they had practiced shooting at the range together a total of two times.
The metal felt very cold in her palm.
Suddenly her bedroom door banged wide open. Sam swung her arm around, gun in hand, heart racing. Before she could even brace herself to shoot and possibly kill another human being, rough hands were upon her. The masked, muscular men grabbed her about the shoulders and shoved her to the ground. The gun was wrestled from her hands easily. Sam opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down on her lips. A rope found its way around her wrists, her arms pulled tightly in front of her. A blindfold then blocked her sight. Sam’s terror skyrocketed. No, no, no! She was just about to try begging them to let her go when she felt a sharp blow to the nape of her neck. Pain lanced across her skull, and Sam fell, unconscious.
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Sam woke up freaking out. From the way the sounds echoed off the walls, she was in a large open room. Warehouse, maybe? She could hear several people speaking in different languages. Sam had no idea where she was. A man yelled nearby. A few whimpers and sobs from somewhere beside her quickly subsided. So there were other female prisoners? Cautiously, Sam reached up and pulled down the blindfold. She squinted past the initial spears of bright light.
She and a group of other women, hands similarly bound, sat in a cell. Several men stood outside, the same type as those who kidnapped her. One of the men approached, pulling out a key to open the cell door. He barked an order, then entered and grabbed the arm of one of the girls, dragging her forward. She started to cry, struggling weakly. Once they crossed the cell doorway, the girl’s legs seem to give out. She was distraught, sobbing hysterically, nonsensical pleas falling from her lips. The door remained ajar while the man bellowed at her to shut up, pulling at her hair roughly.
Sam didn’t think twice. She took the opportunity and rushed through the open passage. After a split second of shock, the other females followed, clamoring for a chance of escape. The guards immediately started shouting. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw one of them tackle a woman to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a crack, and she was silent. Another shot of adrenaline zipped up Sam’s spine. She had to get out of here now!
From the yells and cries echoing behind her Sam could tell many women were recaptured, but she could not let herself look back. She pumped her legs, like she did when she ran at the gym--but, oh my god, this is so not the gym!--focused on the goal ahead: a propped open door that led out to what looked like a wooden bridge. Sam ran, entirely expecting a bullet to lodge itself in her back.
She finally reached the doorway and flung herself through it, unscathed. Luckily, no one had started shooting. Sam quickly looked around, eyes taking in the long wooden dock, the setting sun, and the large freighter she had just escaped. The room had been a cargo hold of ship!
Two women suddenly burst past the doorway as well, both looking as scared as she felt. One kept on running down the dock, her wrinkled skirt streaming behind her. The other glanced at Sam for a moment. A shout echoed from within, definitely getting closer.
Sam and the other woman ran.
Sam could feel from the vibrations in the wood when the much bigger men reached the dock. Their footsteps beat heavily, just like her heart. Sam peered ahead to the shoreline. The first woman who had kept running was veering toward the line of cars past the sparse trees. There was a gated fence there, though, and Sam was pretty sure it would be locked. They had been very fortunate to find an opened door in the first place.
What in the world to do now? Either way, I’m not getting caught pressed up against a fence! They’d shoot me or do worse because I tried to escape, right?
Sam slowed down a bit, and quickly turned onto another wooden cross-way, one headed toward other boats moored at port. The second woman did not seem to care, or else thought Sam was crazy, because she kept running forward. Sam did not have time to worry about her, because she was beginning to rethink her decision.
The sun was gone over the horizon by now, and the shadows were creeping up around her. Sam tried to focus. Which boat could she hide in? Would it even do any good? Those men would be after her soon anyway. She had to get out of sight.
Sam leaped at best she could over the railing of an unassuming white boat with a large aft deck. It was difficult with her hands still tied in front of her, but she could not spare a thought to complain about it at the moment. There was a tarp covering a bundle of ropes, and she quickly threw herself underneath as well, hoping that it was big enough to cover her feet.
She could still hear a lot of shouting. One of the other women screamed. Then footsteps sounded on the cross-way Sam had taken. Still far off, Sam thought. More shouting. They were definitely searching for her. Sam closed her eyes, and tried to breathe evenly. This was stupid, Sam, what now? What now?
She could not bring herself to surrender. She was too terrified of what they’d do to her. There was only one other option she could think of, but could she manage it with the ropes about her wrists? She’d have to.
Not giving herself a chance to second-guess her choice, Sam threw the tarp off, grabbed a hold of the railing, and threw her body over it.
The water hit her like sharp glass. Shit! The breath was knocked out of her lungs, her muscles seized in shock. Sam had not expected the water to be so cold, with the air above feeling rather tropical. Struggling to keep moving, she kicked her legs, and moved her arms forward. Somehow, she managed to swim.
Again and again, she kicked and moved, gulping in air when she could. There were lights farther along the shore. Perhaps if she made it there, she could find somebody, anybody, to call the police.
Sam kept swimming. It was fully dark now. Hopefully, no random boat would hit her. She would drown then. What a way to go. It seemed to last forever, hours, who knew, before all at once, her arms hit sand, and she reached down with her legs and found she could stand up. She had reached land!
Exhausted, Sam pulled herself up out of the water. Her clothes felt like they weighed two tons. The ropes on her hands seemed like they had shrunk in the water, they were so tight. Ignore it. Get help, Sam! Run for your life, you idiot! Somehow, she forced her legs forward and started to run.
Twenty minutes later, Sam found herself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Only a couple lamps shone through the blackness of night, so she headed toward one of them. She did not think anyone was following her. There were no angry shouts, no echoing footsteps. She slowed to a walk, and continued past building after building. It was late enough now that there wasn’t anybody in sight. Most had probably gone home. What Samantha wouldn’t give to be home this instant!
Lost, hungry, and cold, Sam’s strength began to wane. The adrenaline was seeping out of her muscles, leaving her shaking in the aftermath. Finally, her legs gave out, and she fell down at a random street corner. She laid sprawled on the concrete sidewalk, too tired to try to stay vertical. Would someone find her? Would those men find her?
The last thing Sam saw was a sign on the side of the building she had collapsed by; it read: Los Manos de Santa Maria Orfanato.
How ironic, Sam thought, before fatigue claimed her.
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“Cómo está usted? Qué pasé? Señorita?”
Sam was woken by a teenaged boy speaking Spanish, a concerned expression on his tanned face.
She was still lying on the sidewalk, from what her aching back told her. The sky was lightening, maybe just before sunrise, Sam thought blearily. The boy said something else, and she gave him a confused frown. The boy seemed to understand that she spoke a different language, because he closed his mouth, and signaled with his hands that she should follow him.
Well, the boy didn’t seem to be a scary kidnapping crazy person, so Sam sat up. It was then that she realized her wrists weren’t tied anymore. Softly touching her chafed skin, she looked up at the boy, surprised. He pointed to the ropes laying in the gutter. Sam smiled in gratitude. With his help, she got to her sore feet, and followed him down the street.
They soon arrived at a small, shabby-looking house. It was clearly abandoned from the way portions in the wall were peeling. Graffiti lined any intact sections, and parts of the windows were boarded up. However, Sam needed shelter so she entered without worrying any more. She just wanted to sleep.
There were two doors aside from the entrance. One led to a bathroom, which Sam somehow utilized without falling over. The other was a bedroom. The boy helped her pull her feet onto the twin mattress and arranged the pillow. He said something that probably meant, “Sleep,” then pulled the door closed behind him as he left.
The next morning, Sam wanted to find the police to report her abduction. Her whole body throbbed though, so she had to spend some time stretching out her limbs. As she stretched, she thought. She had nothing except the dirty clothes on her back. No identification, no money, no proof of the crime—her kidnappers’ faces had all been covered—and no way to get back home on her own. Yeah, and who would be waiting for me back in Oregon anyway? Sam thought miserably. Kayla had been her only friend there. Oh, what am I going to do now? I’m…stuck here.
The young teen chose that moment to enter, food in hand. He signed for Sam to “eat,” then introduced himself as Hector. Sam gave him hers in return, thanking him in English. She knew her voice was garbled with choked back tears. Even so, Hector understood well enough. Sam ate slowly. She had nowhere to go after all; there was no rush.
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