Conspiracy in Yellowstone

I woke to the sound of roaring wind and searing hot pain. I lay back until the pounding in my head subsided. Then, I tried to get up which sent a new wave of pain and roaring through my head. I lay back down and immediately passed out. I don’t know how long I slept but I again woke to excruciating pain in my head and this time I realized my legs and feet were numb. I tried to move my legs and soon realized something was on them. I reached out and recoiled—it was a body, then a head. I searched my memories for what had happened and tried to remember where I was. Bob’s face flashed into my mind. I sat up and shook him, he didn’t move. I began to shout at him and realized I was still gagged. I reached up and removed the gag and blind fold. It was pitch black and my mouth was dry and filled with the taste and smell of cheap perfume. I shook Bob again and began shouting his name. “Shh,” I heard. “What did you say? Are you alright?” I shouted at him. “No, my head is on fire and you are yelling in my face.” “Sorry, I thought you were dead.” “And you were going to shout loud enough to raise the dead?” I reached for his head to try and determine how bad his wounds were and accidentally stuck my fingers in his mouth, then his eye. “Get away from me,” Bob said weakly. “Can you get up?” I asked, my legs were beginning to hurt badly from the lack of blood. “Probably, but I have no intention of doing so.” “Would you please? You are laying across my legs.” “No, don’t want to, moving hurts my head.” “My legs have gone to sleep and are beginning to hurt. How did you get your gag off?” “I just managed to work it off by moving my jaw around. I decided I didn’t want to move then.” He groaned as he sat up then he rolled over and laid back down on the dirt floor. “What did they hit us with? I think my head is bleeding.” I moved my legs and felt the pins and needles from returning circulation. “I wonder where we are? Too bad I changed to an evening bag before dinner, there are matches and a candle in my day bag.” “Of course, there are,” said Bob. I was sure he was smiling. “How did you get your hands free?” “I don’t know, they were just free when I woke up.” “Get my hands free. There is a book of matches in my wallet.” Several minutes of fumbling later I managed to get the rope untied and he reached for his wallet. “Get ready to look around, when I light the match, maybe there will be something to make a torch or fire with,” Bob said. “Ready? Here we go.” I heard him strike the match, smelled sulfur, and the match flared up instantly and so bright I had a hard time adjusting my eyes. We were in some sort of storage area. I caught a glance of some shelves and a dirt floor before the match went out. “Did you see that rag on the ground next to the shelves?” asked Bob. “No.” “I’ll light another match and you see if you can bring it over here,” Bob instructed. “Maybe it would be better if I lit the match since you have a better idea of where it is,” I replied. “I don’t think I can move that far without passing out. Are you ready?” “Yes.” The match lit and shone brightly—I located the rag and drug it back as the match burned out. “OK,” said Bob, “let’s see if we can get it to burn.” He struck another match and applied it to the edge of the rag—it blazed forth with little effort. “Must have some sort of solvent on it,” I said. “Lucky for us. See if you can find more things to burn.” I searched the floor and found a few more rags to add to the fire, they all had solvent on them and burned fast. With the brighter fire I was able to locate some old deteriorating sheets on the shelves and began to tear strips to add to the fire. Now the fire was burning steadily, and I searched for something more substantial to burn. I found several straw brooms and a broken chair. I managed to break the chair into smaller pieces and broke the straw off the handle of the brooms. I had quite a blaze going within a few minutes. The bright firelight revealed the reason for the stinging, burning feeling down my left leg. It was scraped and bruised from the knee to the ankle. My stockings were ruined, with holes in both knees and my left sandal was coming apart. My beautiful sun dress was torn and covered in dirt and blood. I sighed and dropped some of the broom straw onto the fire. “Better take it easy on the size of that fire, we don’t know if there is anywhere for the smoke to go,” said Bob. I tore more sheets into strips and wrapped them around one of the broom handles to form a torch. It lit easily, and I explored our prison. “The floor, walls, and ceiling are all dirt and stone. The back appears to be a solid wall of dirt and stone. There are steel doors on this end of the room. We’re in a dugout. We used to have one on our homestead. My parents actually lived in it the first two years they were in Wyoming.” Suddenly, I realized where we were. “I know where we are!” I shouted gleefully at Bob.