‹ Prequel: Going Bush

Going Bush 2: Suburbia

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Taylor had barely slept at all. He’d long ago lost the feeling in both his hands and feet and had to turn onto his side just to keep the circulation flowing, but he was unbalanced there and had to stay awake to keep himself up. Nate had fallen asleep sometime sprawled out on the sofa with the television set playing only static.
Taylor had been tempted many a time to try and reach the knife he’d hidden, but with Nate barely metres away he hadn’t been willing to risk it.
It was a long time after sunlight started seeping in through the cracks in the boarded windows that Nate finally woke up. In the meantime Taylor’s sweats had started again, and the familiar pangs of nausea had hit.
When Nate finally pulled himself up and made his way into the kitchen area he looked Taylor over curiously.
“You’re still sick,” he said with sleepy realisation.
“I think it’s getting worse,” Taylor’s voice croaked, trying desperately to keep the nausea in check.
“Do you think you could eat?”
Taylor couldn’t shake his head.
“No,” he admitted.
Nate watched him for a moment, then stooped to pull something from the fridge for himself. As he stood there eating in front of him, Taylor just closed his eyes.
“We’ll go to the hospital this morning,” Nate decided before going back to sit in front of the television again.
Taylor sighed thankfully, pushing himself further onto his back as he felt his arms shake with the strain. It was another long time before Nate finally turned off the television and made his way back to the kitchen. He opened the drawer and pulled out a serrated knife. Thankful that he didn’t seem to miss the one that Taylor had taken, Taylor watched as he made his way over. Nate grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him back over onto his stomach, grimacing at the colour of his hands.
He quickly cut the ties, finally freeing his arms and legs. Taylor straight away rolled onto his side again so he could rub his wrists where the ties had cut in.
“Sit up,” Nate instructed.
Taylor did so, then watched as Nate unlocked the chain from the wall. If he hadn’t been overcome by vertigo, and he didn’t have the doctor’s life hanging over him, it would have been the perfect time to make a move.
“Come,” Nate instructed, making sure his pistol was still in his belt before leading Taylor to the door, “and grab those clothes on your way out.”
Not having as much length in the chain anymore Taylor was barely a few steps behind him. Once he managed to get his feet working he gladly followed, grabbing the white shirt and blue jeans from where they’d sat on the sink all night and following Nate outside. When the sunlight hit his eyes, he cringed.
Nate led him over to a blue truck. He opened the passenger door for Taylor, before securing the chain below the seat somewhere. When he moved out of the way Taylor got in before Nate pulled out one of the cloth gags he’d previously used. As Taylor eyed it nervously wondering how he’d possibly get away with it out in the open, Nate pulled his head down and secured it around his eyes instead. When Nate finally got into the driver’s seat he instructed Taylor to lay down sideways. Not having an alternative, he did so. Once his head hit the seat Nate started them on their way.