Between Octobers

No Plan

No Plan

The sobering scent of pine is strong as I leap from my would-be coffer. Lunging forward, one foot hits the ground. At the same time, I reach for the shining handle sticking out from the back of her belt. The second my fingers touch it, I toss my other foot directly between her shoulder blades, kicking with all my strength. In one quick move, I have the gun and she's falling into the hole she's prepared for me. 

My fingers squeeze the trigger, but nothing happens. Fear shoots through me and I break to the side, making for the tree line, feet flying as if they've sprouted wings.

I'm at least twenty feet into the mangled foliage before there's any reactive pursuit.

I stray through the thickening woods in between branches of closely packed trees and vines, running around the things I can't jump over. The twigs and branches whip about my face and catch in my hair. My wrists stay locked over my stomach, guarding.

All I have to do is run and I can run for miles.

The colors of sunset deepen as hope rises, guiding every step as the bright of a full harvest moon hangs in the young night, lending its glorious light to my escape.

I breathe in the pine-smell of freedom.