Between Octobers

Challenges

Challenges

In the dim light visible between shadows of trees, I'm running. Until my foot catches in some underbrush. My injured shoulder burns as my hands fly out. The handgun disappears into the dark and I flinch. I hear rather than see it land in the matted undergrowth, out of knowledge. For a half second, I wonder if the safety is still on. Then, realize I just dropped my protection.

Stay and look, or keep running?

The echo of stirring foliage makes up my mind for me. I break into a jog, building as much speed as I can while weaving in between the packed trees.

Soon the number of trees begins to taper. The ground begins to swell, sloping up as I continue in a steady pace, going as fast as my legs can carry. My balance is threatened as the swell quickly becomes a steep hill. To my left, I can just make out another slope where the ever present foliage seems less dense. I might move faster that way, but would have to sacrifice my cover.

I remind myself that the quickest way through is always a straight line. Besides, after I lose my tail, I still have to be able to find my way back to the car.

Clouds overtake the moon and the black of a country night sets into the woods. It reminds me of the cornfields surrounding Ronnie's house outside Kansas City-the way they disappear after sunset. I'm moving slower, but keeping a steady pace, feeling my way along by scraping my feet along the rocky ground, keeping my hands outstretched and ready, in case I fall.

Occasionally, I stop and listen. Most times, there's nothing but the lonely songs of crickets. This time, I hear snapping footfalls. The effort of a quiet retreat has slowed me considerably. I pick up the pace, trading anonymity for a clean getaway.

Fear builds inside me. The adrenaline helps to keep me going as I wrangle up and over in the mysterious, suffocating dark. The next time I stop to listen, I hear no pursuit but keep trudging steadily up. The ground is still climbing, growing steeper with each step.

My shoulder is getting worse. I can feel the swelling with the side of my face. It throbs continuously in painful twinges that make me think I have a growing hematoma. And the joint grinds when I move it. But I can't think about that.

Grabbing at the roots of plants, I'm hoping to gain ground more quickly. The incline sharpens and soon I'm using my hands as much as my legs. Invisible thorns prick my fingers, dirt digs into my nails. The pain in my head makes its way into both of my shoulders and back. Icy wind comes in freezing bursts, thrashing against the sheen of sweat that covers me, making me shiver.

When I come to a spot that isn't so steep, I take the time to pull the hood up over my head. I want to find a shrub and climb underneath it, but fear keeps me plodding along.