The Wolf Code

There was just a bit of give in the outer ring of the rope that was wound around her wrists several times.  Carefully, she used one finger to pull at it, trying to pull it up and over her fingers so she could pull her hands further apart. 

She pulled the rope up a few inches, then hooked the rope with her index finger and almost cried out in triumph.  Taking her time, she pulled it up an inch at a time, curling her other fingers into a fist so it would go over her hands more easily.  She was focused and sweating from the exertion in the stuffy barn.

She almost had the rope over her knuckles when she lost her grip and the rope fell back down around her wrist.  She groaned, then caught herself, silencing the involuntary protest and taking a deep breath before she went for it again.

Working at the rope again, she wriggled her finger until she was able to get it high enough to hook again.  This time, she turned her hand slightly so that her finger crooked up and away from her body instead of curling into her other hand.  She lost slack doing it that way, but it ensured that she wouldn’t lose her grip this time.  She pressed her wrists together as hard as she could to create more slack and tried again.  Wriggling inches at a time, she bit her lip when the rope became tight just a few inches below the tops of her knuckles.  She was going to have to pull harder, and it was going to hurt.

Steeling herself for the pain she was about to endure, she took a deep breath and yanked really hard, curling her finger around the rope as tight as she could and pulling with every ounce of strength she had.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound.  The rope got impossibly tight and still, she pulled.  When it was almost too much to bear, the rope slipped. All at once, the rope went over the knuckles, and her hands flew apart a few more inches.  She let her breath out in a loud whoosh, smiling broadly and repeating the process again.

This time, it was much easier, and before she knew it, her hands were free.

She worked her fingers, clenching and unclenching her fists so that the pooled blood in her joints would start flowing again.  Her body screamed in pain, but Hannah was on a mission, and she wasn’t about to celebrate before she was free. 

Going to work on her ankles, she fumbled with the huge knot a few times before her fingers finally cooperated, then she pulled and plucked at the knot until it gave way, and she was free.

The relief was palpable, but she was far from free.  She rubbed her ankles and legs, then stood up hesitantly and held onto the wall as the world spun around her.  She almost fell over, but she managed to wade her way through the fog in her head until she was at the stall door.  She tried to reach out through the bars to unlock the latch on the other side, but they were too close together, and even if her hands weren’t swollen from being tied for hours on end, they wouldn’t have fit.

Frustrated, she turned away and looked around the horse stall.

The window was small and square, and even if she could have reached high enough to pull herself up, she couldn’t fit through the tiny hole.  So, the door and the window were out, which left only one more option.

Her eyes went to the heavy-duty hay rack that hung below a larger square cutout in the ceiling.  Fastened to the wall with bolts the width of her fingers, it looked sturdy enough to hold her.

The only problem was getting up to the feed rack, which was five feet off the ground.

Hannah looked around the stall and considered her options.  There weren’t many.  She finally settled on using the space between the bars as a toehold when her eyes landed on a large, square feeder built into the wall on the floor of the stall opposite of the hay rack.  It looked like it had once been used for grain, forcing the animal to walk back and forth between the two feeders to keep it moving in the small space. 

Kneeling down, Hannah peered into the three feet by one-and-a-half-foot wooden box and reached in.  She felt along the wall until she found the little door that opened up near the top of the feeder for the grain to be dumped into.  Designed to hold a five gallon, flat sided bucket in a wire frame, the door was just slightly bigger than the window at the back of the stall.  But it was big enough.

Hannah pushed on the door, but it held fast with just a little bit of wiggle room.  Standing up, she climbed onto the sides of the feeder box and looked down into the darkness through the metal bars.  She had to angle her head to see the latch, but once she caught sight of it, she was able to make it out in the darkness.  She closed her eyes, too afraid to hope that it could really be that easy, then stepped off the feeder box and began feeling around in the darkness until she found something small and narrow to fit in the space between the feed door and the frame.  The simple hook and eyelet could be opened easily from her side; she just had to find the right tool for the job.

When her hand found a thin, homemade hoof pick in the dirt beneath the straw bedding, she almost laughed with delight.  It was going to take some doing, but she was sure that it would work. 

She crawled into the box again, bracing her feet on the door and pushing it until she could wiggle the thinnest part of the all metal hoof pick into the opening.  When it was in, she put her feet on the floor, releasing the pressure on the latch and going to work with the pick.  It was a tight fit, but within a few moments, she heard the metal click and felt slack as the hook slid out of the eyelet and hung from its fastener on the door.  The door swung open in the darkness, the hinges quieter than Hannah could have hoped for.