Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Once I’m on the ground, I look toward the trees and smile.
I take a deep breath of the forest around me and for the first time in days the air smells fresh and clean.
I look around, trying to figure out which way to go but ultimately choose to not overthink it and just start moving.
I walk past the gun which is lying in the grass and don’t even consider picking it up. I don’t need it anymore.
I set a good pace, even with my limp. I feel at peace in my situation which helps me become more single-minded in my goal.
I try not to dwell on the fact that I haven’t covered much distance these last two days, but I also don’t understand why I need to walk as far as I am.
When we drove to the cabin it was a ways out in the woods, but it still had a driveway and was off a main road.
I wish I had been able to walk out the front door and down the road instead of having to take that tunnel but I don’t let myself get sucked into anxious thoughts, instead I try to coax my mind to other, nicer things.
Eventually, they wander to Luke. I wonder how he is, if his fever broke or if he has gotten worse.
Don’t do that, don’t think that. I’ll find my way back to him and take him home.
I can see it all. I can visualize myself getting back to the cabin, wrapping him in my arms and telling him I made it.
I can see us getting back to our real life and everything going back to being amazing.
We will come out of this stronger, having been tested and ready for anything.
Being separated the last few days and left to wonder if I’ll ever even see him again has put my life into perspective.
It’s shown me that Luke is the man I want by my side.
I’ve spent countless hours thinking about what a beautiful person he is, how steadfast. He is always there for me.
I can see now that I want him to take care of me and that it’s okay to let him.
I can be a strong human for myself while also leaving room for him to pick me up when I’m down.
Loving and needing him doesn’t make me weak. He gives me something to be strong for.
I’m snapped back to real life when I feel myself slipping on some loose rocks, barely catching myself before having another accident.
The terrain has gotten steeper and my foot is already slowing me down.
I need to pay more attention so I don’t hurt myself again.
Hiking up and down these bigger, rocky hills distracts me enough that I’m able to ignore the pain, but as the hours roll by, I’m getting tired both physically and emotionally.
I don't want to stop in this spot to rest so I have to keep pushing.
I’m climbing up an almost vertical wall, alternating between taking big steps and grabbing onto anything that seems solid.
The endless, sharp pain shooting through my foot forces me to have to use my arms and every bit of upper body strength I have to pull myself up–which frankly isn't very much. By the time I get to the top, my entire body is shaking, and I’m so dehydrated my mouth feels like it’s full of sand.
My heartbeat is pounding in my chest even when I’m not moving, but I tell myself I can’t stop.
I won’t let myself take a real break until I either find the road or night comes.
If I give in even for a minute, I know the rest of my resolve will fall apart quickly.
I need to ignore all my discomfort and keep going.
The ground eventually levels out to almost flat which helps me move a little quicker, but my limp is becoming more exaggerated every minute.
I’m startled when a small fox pops out of the trees.
I can’t help but stop to watch it walk around.
It keeps some space between us, moving around and smelling everything but eventually it stops and looks right up into my eyes.
I hold my hand out, trying to let it know I mean it no harm, and it actually begins to creep closer to me.
It gets low to the ground the closer it comes, making small yipping sounds until it’s right in front of me.
It's so close, I can almost reach out and touch it. This is the best thing that has happened to me since I stepped into these woods. I give the small animal a smile before greeting it with a small, “Hi.” It darts away just as suddenly as it showed up. I’m disappointed, although I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen.
With a sad sigh I take a few steps forward when suddenly, it shoots back out of the trees and runs back over to me.
Once again, it looks straight at me before it turns and takes a few steps away.
It glances back toward me like it wants to make sure I’m following.
I’m not sure what to think of this, but a strong feeling tells me to listen.
I try to keep my energy calm, so I don’t scare the fox away, taking slow steps and making sure to not get too close.
It leads me along for quite a while, yipping at me every time I stop but never leaving me.
When I get too far behind, it sneaks up close like it’s reminding me to keep moving.
I’m starting to feel too exhausted to keep up as I get a bit woozy.
My eyes can barely stay open and a migraine has begun pounding right behind them.
I stumble having to grab onto a tree beside me to stop from falling over.
“I gotta stop, little guy. I’m sorry.” But when I look up, the fox is gone.
I glance around, but don't see it anywhere. “Bye, I guess.” I don’t have the energy to feel sad as I drop my backpack to the ground.
I don’t bother to search for a better spot before, against all better sense, I decide I’m going to make a fire.
I haven’t risked making one yet, but I don’t care–come what may and all that.
I kneel, gathering some little twigs and dried leaves.
I know a bit about making fire from watching Luke do it a handful of times.
Plus it helps that he has a lighter in his backpack along with some homemade fire starters, which are really just toilet paper rolls stuffed with dryer lint.
The sun is low but hasn’t gone completely down yet, so I take the time to gather up some rocks, arranging them in a circle to house my fire.
The lint catches immediately and it grows fast. Quickly, I pile the rest of my small sticks onto the flame and watch it slowly become a full, beautiful fire.
I smile, feeling very proud of myself and wishing Luke were here to see it.
I grab my phone out of my pocket, deciding to take a chance and see if it’ll turn on and maybe I could take a picture of this to show him later.
This time, when I hold down the button, the screen flashes white as it starts to turn on.
My eyes open wide as I jump to my feet in excitement.
My home screen comes to life but then goes black, showing the battery is dead.
Feeling defeated, I kick my backpack and immediately regret the choice.
I hop on my good leg, holding my other foot before finally sitting myself back down on the cold ground.
I groan at my own foolishness and shove my stupid, useless phone back into my pocket.
It was worth a try. I force myself to move on, not letting myself dwell on feeling like everything is failing.
My stomach growls and I remember it's been a while since I ate anything. I pat my other jacket pocket, feeling for the granola bar that I stashed in there yesterday. The first thing I feel are the bullets and my heart sinks as the image of the green jacket and blood forces its way back into my mind. I pull them out and throw them to the side before shoving my hand back into my pocket. This time when I pull it out, it’s holding my last meal.
I unwrap it and take tiny bites, trying to savor each little bit.
It does nothing for the pain in my stomach.
I can’t remember ever being this hungry before.
In desperation, I start pulling everything out of Luke’s backpack, hoping I’ll find some sort of food hidden or forgotten at the bottom.
I even go as far as tipping it upside down and letting everything fall out.
I rummage through the pile but am unsuccessful.
I’m not ready to give up as I unzip every pocket and pull anything and everything out.
When I get to the last pocket, I feel something soft but also solid.
Before I pull it all the way out, I already know what it is.
I pause before opening it; every emotion is surging and cycling through me.
I let out a shaky breath and open the box; there sits the perfect ring.
My ring, the one I know I’ll wear for the rest of my life.
My hands drop into my lap as I sit and stare at the small box which holds the promise of a future.