Ice Shock by M. G. Harris Page B

were happy just to keep you under observation. Now, to be frank, I don’t know.”
    My head swims just thinking of the possibilities. I’m almost overwhelmed.
    â€œYou’ve got five minutes to decide,” says Madison, picking up the gun, “before we come back in here and get things moving.”
    â€œShe said ten!”
    Madison puts his foot against my chest and shoves me backward. I manage to rock sideways, cushioning the fall with my left shoulder.
    â€œOllie’s too nice. Me, I prefer to get things done fast.”
    Shivering, my cheek clammy against the freezing cold floor, I watch them leave.

15
    The second the door is shut, I twist my wrists, rub them together to get some give in the impossibly tight tape. After a minute I have just enough slack to grab the edge of my left sleeve between my finger and thumb. I tug hard, pulling at the cuff, working my hand back up into the sleeve. I throw my arm backward, almost dislocate my shoulder as I try to push my left elbow through the shirt armhole. I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from gasping with pain and frustration as I squirm around on the grime-encrusted floor.
    But eventually, I do it. I pull my left arm around and rip the front of my shirt open. In another second I’m out of the shirt and the tape. And my hands are free.
    I set to work on the tape around my legs. It’s not easy—no time to find the edge and gently peel; I’m way too panicked for that. I yank the tape with both hands and jimmy my legs to work the ankles apart until I can reach under the tape and pull hard enough to stretch it.
    This all takes several minutes. Toward the end, I’m covered in a film of icy sweat. I’ve just managed to pull the last of the tape under my feet when I hear Ollie’s voice at the top of the cellar stairs.
    â€œOkay, Josh, time’s up.”
    I bolt up the stairs and throw myself at the door as hard as I can, hearing a scream as it connects with Ollie on the other side. I practically explode into the kitchen, almost trip over Ollie on the floor, the gun still clutched in her hand. Behind her, Madison stands, momentarily paralyzed.
    We both stare at the gun.
    I’m betting that he can reach it before I do. I leap over Ollie, to the kitchen, knocking into the stove. I catch my cell phone as it falls, then take another leap and land in the hallway. I duck into the back room and slam the door shut, grab a chair, and jam it under the handle. No way out but the window. The broken window is closed, a curtain draped over part of it. Madison kicks the door; the chair shatters. I don’t need any more incentive—I run at the window, clutching at the curtain as my body smashes through the glass. I fall for a second and land hard on the gravel path. The outside lights turn on. Shards of glass cling to the curtain. Madison shoots once as I’m climbing to my feet and running toward the back of the yard, into the shadows. I vault over the hedge at the back, land on mossy grass at the edge of the golf course. It sounds like Madison is just feet behind.
    I sprint, hearing rapid breath in the gloom as he chases me. But at least he’s not shooting anymore.
    The places where Madison kicked me are beginning to throb painfully as bruising sets in. It’s easy to ignore the pain; I concentrate on the need to survive. Madison will kill me now if he has to—I don’t doubt that. But given a choice, he’ll probably capture me alive, take me back to the cellar, and get down to the bone-breaking he promised.
    And that thought just drives me to run harder—because I’m never going back in there. I increase my lead on Madison.
    I cross the golf course, come to some railway tracks. I vault over them and sprint into a thicket. A partial moon hangs very low in a sky thick with high, orange-tinted clouds. Between the reflected city lights and the moon, there’s enough light to navigate between the