I feel energized today, so I am going to try to write more of my experiences. My heart is racing as I think about what I am about to commit to paper.

I did not stay asleep for long. I am sure that I was going down a hillside. I could feel the car's brakes intermittently along the switchbacks. I guess that means I was still near Virginia City but getting farther away. It was not long before the ride evened out and the swaying stopped. The engine ran smooth. There was the barest vibration running through the seat. By this time, no one talked. The dank and sweaty smells were absent -- maybe I was used to them.

I nearly laughed out loud. If I had, I probably would not be writing you. You see, after all this time I had just realized that my hands and feet were free. I could very well remove my blindfold and see my captors. As you can well guess, that would have been a grave -- pun almost intended -- error.

I have never felt so awake as when I realized what this could mean.

So, I waited. I did not know how I might use this or if the others were aware of my situation. Maybe they were ready. Maybe they bound me in some other way. I bided my time and observed as much as I could with the senses available to me.

I knew three things. First, I was one of three occupants of a large car. Second, the person next to me was to my left, so if I opened the door on my side and jumped out, I would not end up in the road. But, there are plenty of places where a small drop or even a cliff runs along the roadside, especially nearer to the mountains. We were traveling straight for some time, so I surmised that that was not the case. Still, the thought of jumping out of the car frightened me. Third, there were potentially several cars making the trip along with us, assuming what I had heard before were car doors. So, I waited.

I waited until I heard the hint of a snore to my left. I leaned forward a little. I hoped that I might be out of the way of the driver's rearview mirror. I touched my blindfold with my right hand, hoping to keep my actions as hidden as I could. I lifted it a little and could finally see. The car's interior was mostly shadow. I peeked to my left and saw a young man sleeping. I couldn't see much detail but he looked worn down.

The driver was portly. He wore a hat, but it wasn't a cowboy hat -- something with a very short brim. Even in the darkness, I could see sweat stains on him. I decided not to risk catching a glimpse of the passenger in front of me.

I waited for oncoming traffic to illuminate my carmates, but none came. It was the same quiet ride for interminable minutes or maybe hours. I could not say.

I carefully sat up and adjusted the blindfold to give me a gap underneath it to see by. I put my hand down when the young man stirred and grunted. He mumbled something to the driver. I heard the words -- they were English, but they were gibberish. I thought then, and still do, that the young man needed to take a piss. The driver shot back a complaint -- gibberish, but his tone said it all. After some back and forth and an angry comment from the third passenger, the car slowed. It was stopping. My heart was so loud, I thought they would hear it. I knew that I had to choose. I realized in that moment that I never bothered to look at my door. Was it locked? Where was the handle? For a moment I fell into utter despair. I was so stupid. I was stupid to get caught, and I was too stupid to escape my predicament. I was sure I was dead.

All these thoughts flew through my head as the car left the road for an embankment or gravel drive. The three were still arguing. So, hoping they were not paying attention to me, I peeked at my door. It was too dark to see clearly, but I could see the handle. I could not see the lock.

The car came to a stop. I did not hear any other vehicles. I held onto the hope that we were alone.

The young man got out of the car. The other two chatted for a while, then the driver also got out.

I made my choice.

Is this a proper spot to put my pen down? My hands hurt from the writing, and I feel a terrible headache coming on. I need to rest if I'm going to post this letter on time for pick up.

Your friend,

Wyatt McNutt