Clara felt bile rise in her throat before she was even aware of where she was. When she realized that she was enclosed in musty smelling folds of dark canvas, and that her arms were bound tightly to her sides by means of something on the outside of the canvas, she swallowed hard. She could not throw up, nearly suffocated as she was. She might suffocate for certain. She was lying on her back on something hard, something that bounced and joggled her. Her face, and as far as she could tell her whole body, were enveloped in the smothering, rancid smelling canvas. An unfamiliar weight rested on her chest. Her stomach churned, her head hurt, and she was totally disoriented. And every barely functioning brain cell she possessed screamed that she was in big trouble. Impressions began to sort themselves out. She realized that she was lying trussed up on the cold metal floor of a van or truck, and that someone, or several someones, were nearby. Of course, the vehicle had to have a driver, but she sensed an even closer presence, possibly someone crouched next to her in case she should wake up.
