Page 34 of Mason

Emily

I can hear him.

I know it’s not my imagination.

Someone is moving through the brush in the distance, forging ahead like a bear, undeterred by the thorns that have battled me mercilessly.

It feels like I’ve traveled for hours through this endless stretch of misery, yet nothing has changed. The same pine trees surround me. The same briers and underbrush attack my flesh. There’s no end in sight. No road. No house. No general store or campsite. I’m alone. Aside from whoever’s after me, putting up a relentless chase like a damn bloodhound.

The rain falls freely. It clings to my hair and lashes, the coat’s hood slipping as I run. It comes with a constant wind that cuts through the trees, biting at my exposed flesh.

The cold numbs the skin’s surface, taking away some sting from the thorns, but not entirely. Every step is torturous, and I know the trail behind me is dappled in blood—a roadmap leading to yours truly. All my pursuer has to do is look down and they’ll find me no matter how far or fast I run.

But I can’t stop. I can’t give in. As soon as they catch me, I’ll never see the light of day again. I know it.

I can only hope it’s the nicer of the two after me. The man from Down Under—Death as he so nicely introduced—will probably kill me for the trouble I’ve caused. I don’t want to go through this hell to wind up dead out here with a bullet in my head.

If I can outlast him, I’ll remain free. That realization fuels me, even as exhaustion, pain, and the cold mock my progress. With bare feet, frostbite is the most immediate concern. I just need to get to somewhere I can recover and get a little warmth back into my limbs. Then I can pick back up and run. There has to be someone out here. Anyone.

My lungs explode with ragged breaths, but I still hear the steady crunch of branches in the distance. It’s a constant reminder that I need to keep going. It’s not safe yet. This hell is only temporary. I’m almost there. This will be worth it; I know it.

The vines are lessening, with dried bushes now mixing in more with every stride. This is exactly what I need to put more space between us. It’s an opportunity to widen my lead, so I do, using everything I have to erupt into a sprint.

Cold rain pelts my face, the coat’s hood flapping freely against my back. Every muscle I have burns with exertion. This is the most running I’ve done in my entire life. I always hated gym class in school, and now I wish I’d taken up marathoning at the ass-crack of dawn like the fitness models that flood my Instagram feed with their morning stretches and daily run maps in cute shapes. I’m not made to move like this, but pure adrenaline and a will to live force me to.

There’s a dip on the horizon, and excitement bursts through every cell within me. It might be a house or a road, a means to an end out of this. Someone can save me. I just need to do my part. To finish this last stretch of pain.

I give it everything I have, forcing my body ahead, gritting my teeth through the agony of the frozen ground beneath my feet. This is it.

I’m running at full speed when I reach the edge and tumble forward into freedom.

Or not.

There is no hill downward toward a home’s clearing or road. There isn’t anything under me and I’m falling, my body hitting an embankment of mud that’s littered with tree roots and fallen branches that I hit with blinding force. I can’t make sense of it as I roll, unable to distinguish sky from earth.

As quickly as it starts, the descent is over. I plunge into frigid water. The water’s not deep—barely up to my chest—but I’m still soaked head to toe, the water far worse than thorns as it pierces my skin, robbing me of any fight, thoughts, or breath.

A screech erupts from me as soon as I surface, reaching for anything to help hoist myself out. The water is a copper brown and smells just like the bath water from the cabin—woodsy and metallic. I can taste it on my tongue, feel it on my pores, invading any semblance of warmth I had left.

I grab an exposed root and pull myself from the soupy pool, my pain reaching new heights along with panic. I scoot next to a fallen tree at the water’s edge, tucking my knees against my chest, praying the log conceals me from whoever’s following me. It won’t be long until they catch up now.

As I look out at the massive wetlands ahead, angry tears burn. It’s a roadblock I have no hope of crossing, stretching as far as I can see in either direction.

I’m done. I’ll either die here—frozen to death, out there—frozen to death, or with my pursuer—in God knows what fashion. Any scenario ends in death. But at least here in this moment, I’m in control, making a choice in what my fate will be. I don’t need to look down to know my body’s ravaged, torn and tattered by the wild I couldn’t escape. It’s tired, and my soul is too. I’ve earned this rest.

And to think, going left instead of right out of the cabin might’ve been different. I might be sitting in a police car right now, well on my way home to Papa.

I laugh bitterly, the sound barely coming out over the chatter of my teeth.

Once again, a bad choice has cost me dearly.

And now it’s cost me my life.

* * *

Hunched in a frozen bundle, it feels like hours pass until I finally hear what I’ve been dreading: footsteps. They’re high above, likely at the edge of whatever I plummeted off of. He’d been further behind than I imagined.

Secretly, I hoped to die before he got to me. Freezing to death always looked peaceful in movies, but now that I’m sitting here in icy clothes, it doesn’t feel very peaceful. Everything hurts. Burns, really. Like someone’s tossed me into a cauldron of scalding water.

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