2. Katie
Katie
The first thing I feel is the splitting pain in my skull, as if someone has taken an axe to it, cracking me open and spilling its contents like a bowl of jelly knocked onto the floor.
My stomach roils, the nausea convincing me to keep my eyes closed because I know if I open them, the world will be spinning.
I stave off the inherent need to roll over and empty my guts, breathing in deeply through my nose and out through my mouth.
My ears are filled with a tinny ring, and I know from experience that I have a concussion.
My clothes cling to my skin as if someone has dunked me in the water.
A pitiful groan escapes me, tears rimming my eyes.
I scrunch my hands into fists at my side, sand sifting through my fingers.
Wait. I pause, opening my hands and patting the ground beneath me.
Sand sticks to them. My carefully thought-out breathing hitches.
I’ve seen a beach only once before. It was a full day’s drive from home to the coast on a day that Greg was being particularly forgiving, right after he had given me a black eye.
Back then, I thought it was because he felt guilty for the outburst, but I know better now.
I really should have aimed for something more vital when I shot him.
The kneecap was much too lenient a punishment.
I hesitate to open my eyes, namely because my skull is screaming at me, and because I feel the granules around me shift slightly as heavy footsteps reverberate through the sand.
My instincts tell me to play dead. The guttural noise of an animal sounds somewhere close by—grunts and snuffles.
There’s a returning grunt, and I realize there’s more than one.
My heart hammers behind my chest, my nausea pushed to the side.
My thoughts race, running through a list of animals I might encounter in the wild.
If we’re near the coast, it could be lizards of some kind.
That wouldn’t be too bad. I could probably outrun a lizard.
Maybe. How fast can lizards run? It could be a bear.
Do we have bears here? Fear has my thoughts spiraling out of control.
I cock an eyelid, just barely a sliver, my lashes blurring most of my vision.
Something stands above me, the bright blue cloudless sky bathing it in shadows. My heartbeat stutters.
Red scales come into view as it leans down close, its head cocked to the side, and sniffs.
I lay rooted to the spot, frozen in fear and holding my breath.
Large membraned wings flex behind it, and a tail flicks in what I can only describe as agitation as it grunts to its…
friend? Lizard thing? What the fuck. Another deep sniff and a growl before it turns its attention elsewhere, stepping over me with clawed feet.
I don’t dare move to peek at what they’re doing.
They continue to grunt at each other in some sort of language, their voices growing distant until I can no longer hear them. Not a bear.
My brain screams at me to take a breath, unable to hold it any longer.
I can either die from suffocation or die at the hands of whatever the fuck that was.
I suck in a ragged gasp of air, my eyes flinging themselves wide open before flinching against the harsh sun.
I roll onto my stomach, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees, and vomit.
Stomach acid burns my throat and nose on its way up, splattering on the sand. I gasp. What the fuck was that?
It—they—looked like aliens, from what I could see, and I swear to God, if I’ve been abducted by aliens, I’ll be—well, actually, will I be mad?
I mean, yes, I’ll be mad if they want to eat me.
But they didn’t seem interested, so I’m not a food source.
Yet. Being abducted by aliens wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and it could be an improvement on my current situation, if I remain not-food.
But I’m not going to wait for them to change their minds.
I stagger to my feet, my stomach still upset, and clench my teeth against the ache of a concussion.
I need to find somewhere safe, then assess myself for injuries.
Unfortunately, this is a routine I already know all too well.
I kick up the sand beneath me in my haste to get off this cursed beach and the monsters that might be lurking between the sand dunes.
My soggy jeans and jacket do nothing to cool me down beneath the beating sun as they quickly dry, the saltwater causing them to stiffen around my limbs.
My head pounds, and my pulse thumps in my ears as if my brain has been battered against the inside of my skull.
Heart hammering, I slip. My hands hit the hot sand before I catch a mouthful of it.
I scrabble to my feet, throwing a quick look over my shoulder, checking to make sure I’m not being followed.
Two halves of a ruined shipping container lay half-submerged in the water.
I can only assume that’s how I got here.
I shudder at the thought of being trapped inside it.
How I ended up in one is a total mystery to me.
Everything is fuzzy. The last thing I can remember is the library, one of Greg’s goons finding me, and the evil old woman who locked me in her camper van. My stomach turns.
If I wasn’t abducted by aliens, what were those things? Shaking my head, I pick myself up and push on. Soon enough, the sand dunes tuck the wreckage away, and I can convince myself the lizard monsters were never there, and neither was I.
The dunes and sand eventually give way to pebbles and rocks the further inland I get.
Scraggly tufts of grass poke through in bits and pieces, and everything crunches beneath my boots.
The smell of saltwater carries inwards on the light breeze, but it’s not enough to stifle the heat.
My bangs are plastered to my forehead. I’m drenched in sweat from the tip of my nose, running down my spine, and beading behind my knees.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling, but nothing compared to the idea of being something’s next meal.
I think about ditching my jacket, but the baby tee beneath leaves my pale flesh too exposed to the sun’s harsh rays.
For all I know, we could be on the East Coast, or we could be somewhere in the middle of the ocean.
The sea breeze and heat, however, are a far cry from the cool fall chill from home, and I fear the latter is most likely.
Further inland, craggy hills break up the landscape, and a jagged mountain reaches high into the clouds.
There’s no sign of human civilization between me and the mountain, and the truth of my situation sinks heavy in my gut.
Alone, in the wild, with no one to know where to begin to look for me.
Too bad the only person that might bother is the one person I don’t want to find me.
Living on the streets and being on the run from Greg’s goons has taught me a few good lessons.
One is that I’m used to a lot of walking, always being on the move, and never settling down in one place long enough to risk being found.
I walked the city in endless circles throughout my days, never spending too long in one place so as not to draw the attention of the cops.
I never knew how far and wide Greg’s operation ran, but I knew there were cops in his back pocket.
Bribed with money, drugs, and women. That was made clear the first time Greg beat me within an inch of my life, and they came to arrest me at the hospital instead of him.
‘Self-defense,’ he said while sporting busted knuckles.
He dragged me back home after a twenty-four-hour lock-up, telling me I was lucky and that I should thank him for bailing me out.
Fucking asshole. Why did I only shoot him in the kneecap again?
I grumble to myself as I continue my trek.
Water, shelter, food. They’re my priorities.
My mouth and throat feel dry and tender, and my breath probably stinks from the acidic bile I coughed up.
I’m dying for a drink, but I’ll be for-real-dead if I don’t find fresh water.
I can feel blisters forming on the backs of my ankles.
Even my well-worn boots won’t protect my feet when it comes to the friction of damp socks rubbing against my skin.
I try not to think about how uncomfortable I am.
I can do uncomfortable. For years, every day of my existence was uncomfortable.
Instead, I focus on the shock and pain on Greg’s face when I blew his kneecap out.
Face twisted with rage while he sat cradling his leg, unable to move. Unable to come after me.
I really should’ve killed that asshole. I probably wouldn’t be here right now if I had.
I could be on a proper beach sipping a margarita and watching the sunset instead of sweating my tits off trying to find water and somewhere to sleep.
I snort. It’s not much different to what life is like on the run.
At least the view is nicer. Besides, no one is actively chasing me down.
If it stays that way, it’ll be a relief not to have to look over my shoulder all the time or have my heart leap out of my chest every time a car backfires.
This might have worked out in my favor. I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face knowing that Greg will probably never find me here.
For the first time in forever, I might be safe.