Passenger or driver, Felix thought quickly.
The voices had stopped, and soon, he felt the van do the same. He pressed his ear against the metal until he was certain. He stabilized himself and listened through the roof again, hoping the noise he’d made had gone without raising anyone’s suspicion. The van drove over a large hole in the road and Felix’s body raised into the air before thumping back down against the vehicle’s top. But, of course, the straps he’d bought had torn almost the moment the van first accelerated, only minutes after that poor sixteen-year-old had been blindfolded and led inside. He was supposed to be safely hooked in place right, not clutching the roof rack’s sun-hot metal with bare, tiring hands. That’s why he’d brought the ratchet straps and carabineers. It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. The voice he heard was muffled, but some of the words it used were clear: dead, teeth, don’t panic. He pulled himself forward against the sixty-miles-per-hour wind and leaned his ear against the metal below him. They ran across another bump in the road and Felix’s hands tightened. Losing his grip now would mean losing the van and probably worse, his life. It had been five hours now they had to be getting closer. Felix snapped himself awake as his left hand began to slip from the roof rack.
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