Chapter Thirteen
Having ignored the advice of the local, not-so-friendly, police, Tyra resumed at a comfortable pace, enjoying the bracing air. The scenery here was flat and featureless, a succession of barren fields. After a couple of hundred yards, she came across a wooden cross by the side of the road. At first she thought it was the frame for a scarecrow, but as she neared, she saw two metal rings on each end of the crossbeam. She slowed and observed it curiously. The rings had small padlocks attached and were about three inches across, small enough to secure a slender wrist – a woman’s wrist, perhaps. Tyra shuddered inwardly as she spontaneously pictured herself shackled to the cross. Shaking the image from her mind, she continued on and located a narrow trail that took her into the
