The Runaway
Her heart pounded against her chest, begging for mercy, yet she pressed on, every so often casting an over the shoulder glance. He hadn’t caught up, but she couldn’t slow down. Distance meant freedom. Every breath came like a knife slicing its way down her throat, her brain hollowed and the surroundings tipped. She slowed to a walk. Within minutes, the meandering deer trail she followed widened into a clearing, and she quickened her step. It had to mean a home, people, and a telephone. Anticipation of freedom shot through her, and released itself in tears.
She’d given him the slip, and never again would she have to hear wind blowing through the sod roof, or look at the memorabilia of her predecessors, hanging on the rotting log walls. “Where are they?” She’d asked one day, and the glint in his cold brown eyes told her she’d find out soon enough.
She forced her trembling legs to move faster. Getting caught this close to freedom was not an option. The woods fell away with no transition. Thick wet fog clung to the air, but through it, she saw no buildings. She paused, her boding swaying to the beat of her pounding heart. Across the narrow clearing, another bank of trees rose into the misty air.
A biting wind blew in, shifting the fog, exposing a narrow gravel road. Pulling her thin hoodie tighter, she stepped onto the closest rut and looked both ways. Behind, a branch snapped, followed by profane muttering, then fast, determined footsteps. Without looking, she tore down the road, her feet slipping in the slick damp clay.
Soon the footsteps ebbed and she slowed to catch her breath. A road must lead somewhere. Clamping her teeth against the encroaching defeat, she pressed on. Chimney smoke drifted into the air, lifting her spirit. The road turned, and a cabin came into view.
Terror flooded through her, freezing her leg mid stride.
Steel fingers closed around her neck. Then nothing.