Chapter 10
Briana
Present day
I count the marks on my stick. I can’t believe I’ve been on the run for almost a week. Today, I will make it to the parking lot. No more waiting for a rescue. Warmer days mean the forest will be full of unsuspecting hikers, including kids. This stops now.
As the sun sets, I pee. Then, I climb the same tree with an inviting ‘V’ that I’ve used for the last three nights. So far, Mr. Mumbles hasn’t looked up, an odd mistake for a man so determined to find me.
Wedging myself in, I lace a couple of branches. Cradled in the human sized basket, I force myself to stay awake.
Below me, Jimmy from high school rides a zebra. This new hallucination includes elephants, a circus clown, and a lemonade stand. Clearly, I need a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Sometime in the inky black night, Gollum sounds nearby, “Not right, not right, not right.”
With his head directly under my feet, I hold my breath. This might be my only chance. He’s huge—I’m exhausted, but I might not get another chance.
My heart hammers as I grip onto the rough bark. Above me, a canopy of leaves. Below? The hunter. Eyes glued to his rifle, I curl, clutch my knife and brace.
If he looks up, I will launch.
Please, God. Let him keep walking.
Gaze transfixed, I remain motionless as a beam of light darts across the underbrush. Circling all around, it lands on the pine boughs to my left.
Oh crap. Still muttering, he straightens, scratches his head, then focuses on a noise in the distance.
Yesss. He’s leaving. I made it. My relief is so immense, it sends a signal to my stomach. In the hush of the night, it croaks louder than a bullfrog.
Freezing, my stalker tilts his head upward, his split grin curdling my blood. Slow and deliberate, he lifts his weapon.
Channeling Rocky-the-Flying-Squirrel, I launch—legs outstretched. Either my boots hit their mark, or—
BOOM!
Pain blooms. I’m hit. Wait. Not a bullet. What is it? A dart?
When I pull it out, my shoulder stings like hell.
Poison oozes through my system, slowing me down, making it hard to think.
Jab—punch—kick. Damned, if I’ll die without a fight.
Military style, he blocks my moves. Invincible, I feel no pain.
When my weapon falls into the underbrush, I laugh. No knife? No problem. I scratch his face, pull his hair, knee him in the balls. Legs around his waist, I slam his head against a rock, repeatedly.
The world spins. My grip weakens. I have to let go.
Brown hair, dark beady eyes, sharp features. I memorize them all as Gollum groans underneath me. As I roll off onto all fours, his flashlight gleams on my blade. I pick it up.
Rising onto his knees, he reaches for it, too.
Fight or flight is not a trite saying. It’s a life or death decision.
Seeing double, too drugged up to win against the bear of a man, I race toward the main trail.
Mumble-mouth laughs. “Run, sweetheart. That’s right. Run.”
His glee sends the first wave of doubt I have felt since the night he stole my gear.
Run, Bree, Run. See Bree Run. I slip and fall as he giggles behind me. Reality contorts into a weird acid trip. Alice in Wonderland. I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.
Barely able to stand, I stumble forward into a humongous body.
Oh, God, no. The caterpillar has hands, his dog has teeth—
If this is a nightmare, why can’t I wake up?