Page 18 of Saddles

The helmet fucking reeks like Dave’s bad breath, but it’ll keep the chill off.

I grab both sets of keys along with the one for the cuffs in hopes they won’t be able to chase me.

Pausing, I stare for a long time at them. I wish I had a big knife. Maybe a machete, so I can hack at them over and over, and they can feel the pain that I’ve felt.

One day. When I’m stronger.

I’ll find them with my own arsenal and ruin them for what they did.

But today, I have to save myself.

When I fling the door open, I leave it that way to tromp through the blowing snow.

Maybe I’ll get lucky andthey’llbe the ones to freeze to death.

Fumbling with the snowmachine keys, it takes me three tries to get it to go in correctly.

Shit.

How? I struggle to dredge the memories of the lessons up through this haze of hunger and agony.

Turn it, push the start button.

The engine must still be warm, because it fires right up.

That’s when I hear the first yell from inside.

I have to go.Now.

It takes off with a lurch, then almost stalls out.

No, no, no.

Feathering the gas, the Arctic Cat builds momentum until I’m racing down a trail.

The cabin disappears into the stormy night.

I’m free!

Screaming into my helmet, the tears begin to flow.

I did it.

I escaped.

It’s more of a workout then I remember weaving through the trees. The blowing snow is so fierce, I can hardly see just a few feet in front of me, so I have to go excruciatingly slow.

My fingers go numb quickly, but I’m able to brace the GPS onto the dash, looping it around the key so it doesn’t fall off.

Just follow the dot. Don’t get stuck.

My toes are next to lose feeling, and soon my feet feel like dead stumps below my knees.

Halfway, I think?

Icy tendrils work their way down my collar, freezing my neck and back until my arms start to feel heavy.

Keep pushing.

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