Free Take Me Home (9781455552078) by Dorothy Garlock Page A

out of these first,” he said, rattling his cuffs.
    â€œLet’s look outside.”
    The first outbuilding they checked was empty, but the second had been used to store tools. A scarred workbench stood against one wall, littered with nails, a paintbrush missing half its bristles, and a bucket with a hole in the bottom. Tools hung between nails pounded into the wall. Most of them were covered in rust, untouched for far longer than the cabin; Peter hoped they were still solid enough to gain them their freedom.
    From the wall, Otto snatched a weathered hatchet. Gauging its heft in his hand, he cleared a space, spread out the chain, and began to hack away at it. Over and over he swung, the clangs loud in the small space. Occasionally, sparks flew, but Peter couldn’t see any damage being inflicted.
    â€œDamn it all!” Otto barked, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
    â€œThat won’t work,” Peter said. “It’s not strong enough.”
    â€œThe hell it isn’t,” the other man argued, doubling his efforts. After only a couple more blows, the handle suddenly snapped, worn through with rot, causing the hatchet’s head to fall onto the ground.
    Otto was just about to retrieve it when Peter stopped him.
    â€œLet’s try something else.”
    Peter grabbed a metal rod leaning against the wall. It was a couple of feet long and about as big around as his thumb.
    â€œThat won’t fit though the chain links,” Otto observed.
    â€œIt doesn’t have to.”
    Peter slid the length of metal between his wrist and his one remaining cuff. The restraint had been damaged during the crash and he was able to squeeze it through. Fortunately, the rod wasn’t rusty like the other tools; his wrist was still bloodied from the crash, so he was glad that he didn’t have much risk of infection. Placing his wrist on the workbench, Peter grabbed the edge with his manacled hand, tightly gripped the metal rod with the other, and took a deep breath. Straining with all of the strength he had left, Peter began to push the bar to the side, prying against the broken clasp of the handcuff. The pain was tremendous. Soon, the wound reopened, staining his hand with blood, but he didn’t let up, desperate to be free. Slowly, he felt the metal begin to bend. The tendons on his arms stood out, his muscles burned, and sweat beaded his brow. Finally, just as he began to fear that he would break before his bonds did, he yanked his hand out of the contorted steel. He’d done it.
    â€œMy turn,” Otto growled.
    Unfortunately, the same trick wasn’t going to work twice. Because Peter’s restraints had been loose, there was room to insert the bar; Otto’s were clasped too tightly around his wrists. They’d have to find another way to get him out.
    â€œDamn it!” Otto hissed angrily. “Let’s make another handle for the hatchet,” he suggested. “If we keep at it long enough, it’ll give.”
    Peter shook his head. “Right now, we’ve got bigger worries. That little bit of food wasn’t enough. We need more.”
    Otto reluctantly agreed, shaking the chain in frustration. Peter understood; if he was the one still bound to it, he imagined that he’d feel the same.
    â€œSo what do we do?” Otto asked.
    â€œI’ll put on those old clothes and take the money into town,” Peter explained. “With my English, I can pass for an American. Hopefully we’re far enough away from the crash that no one’s looking for us. Once we have more to eat, we can figure out how to get you free.”
    â€œMake it fast!” Otto snapped. “The sooner I’m out of these damn chains, the sooner we can get about striking fear into these weak Amerikaners’ hearts!” Flashing a sadistic smile, he added, “It won’t take long to show them just how superior we Germans are!”
    Peter nodded. The truth was