When I go, I want as big of a head start as I can get.
Inching, inching, inching, I’m amazed he doesn’t realize what I’m doing. Inching more, drinking water, inching more, drinking water, and perhaps best of all, feeling smarter, better, superior to my opponent. It is the fuel that feeds me like none other. What is this but a contest? A competition to be won or lost? A competition I am going to win.
There, a crack of a twig. Glancing back again, jockey-style, through my armpit, I see he’s putting himself away.
Now.
I spring forward and am in full stride before he even moves. Instead of heading for the driveway, I speed toward thickets of mountain laurel. Being small can be an advantage. I’m hoping the tangle of limbs will let me slide past and hold him back.
Behind me he charges, a thundering rhinoceros.
Into the woods now. Branches and twigs and leaves and even thorns don’t seem to touch me. Or maybe I just can’t feel them. Everything I am reads the terrain ahead. Left, right, duck, jump, racing and maneuvering and pushing my body to its limits. After only a handful of minutes, I register the fact that the crashing behind me has stopped.
He’s gone to get his gun.
I don’t slow down.
I stopped running a long time ago. The sun was on its way down when I started, and now it’s about four hours closer to the horizon. I do my best to keep it in front of me. Heading due west seems smart. It’s the easiest direction to follow, headed straight toward the sun, with the cabin at my back. Just as importantly, going west lets me go more downhill than uphill.
The hills here never stop. It’s up and down and up and down and up and down. I stick to the ravines as much as possible, taking cover in the folds of the mountains. The ravines are a mixture of soft, boggy ground and rocks. My feet took some serious hits in my race away from the cabin, so I pick my way along the mushy spots. Along with the soft ground and the cover, I’m hoping the ravines take me down to a river, and that river will take me down to a real road. So far it’s nothing but deep wilderness.
Wolfman hasn’t shown himself, but I know he’s out there. I can’t see him or hear him, but I can feel him. It’s good news for me that he’s working with a .45 handgun. He’s going to have to get close to kill me. I’m not a huge fan of guns, but Caleb and Grandpapa have both tried to teach me about them. Some of it sank in. Not much, but some.
The good news is, just about every other ravine has a clear, little stream waterfalling its way down it. The bad news is, I’m dizzy with hunger.
There’s no food here. No berries, no nuts. I ate a worm I found, but that’s it.
Food. It’s taken over my every thought. Food. Food. Food.
I’m not used to autumn being so cold, but then I’m not used to being in the mountains, naked. How long can I survive out here? Especially after the sun sets and the cold creeps in? Panic seeps into me, but I recite my goals and feel stronger for it. Only a few minutes later the worry returns. Anxiety and stress are no friends of mine right now. They burn extra calories. Confidence is what I need.
I stop midway down a ravine. For no reason a sense of well-being comes over me.
Something good just happened.
I’ve never had a psychic experience before, and I wonder if that’s what this is. It’s not a thought so much as a feeling. It’s related to Caleb. Even though I have absolutely no evidence to suggest it, I believe Caleb has figured out something important. He’s called me too many times without me answering. He’s getting suspicious. He’s calling Becca, calling Mom and Dad. He already believes something’s wrong. Now he’s figuring out what.
It might be just the hunger talking, maybe a hallucination brought on by low blood sugar, but I choose to believe it’s real. I choose to let it give me strength and hope.
Coming on toward dusk and I haven’t lost faith in my epiphany, but my steps are dragging now. I’m hurting. I’m hurting bad. I can’t think. I need food.
The moment the sun dips behind the hills I can feel the temperature drop.
My current ravine broadens into a little meadow. I come around a bend, and the meadow expands into a wide-open field. There’s a big oak in the center, and beneath that big oak there is a wooden tub.
I know exactly what that wooden tub is. It’s bear bait. It’s illegal and a practice I hate. Hunters put out a pile of apples. Bears can’t resist it, and it lures them into the open, right into the hunter’s trap. But I’m thrilled this hunter has put out his illegal bear bait.