Between Octobers

Keeping Up

Keeping Up

It's a cold, black night. The intermittent moon sails across the sky.

Meanwhile, the muscles in my legs are burning. My shoulder is screaming. My hands are bitten with cold. I am in desperate need of rest.

My eyes strain to see through the dark, squinting and searching for signs of movement. I can barely make out shapes of shadows. The moon has hidden itself above the bank of clouds. I'm much higher than I was. It's been a while since I heard anything moving behind me and hope to afford a break from the merciless pace. Praying the cost it not too high, I turn back to check the path I've trudged. The wind is pressing across the space, shaking the small reflections of light on the low foliage in an even, rhythmic pattern. A shift among the shrubs gets my attention. It's out of step with the breeze. Big and unnatural, with smooth edges. A scream sticks in my throat as a black shape emerges near the bare edge of my mound. 

How? Why is it so difficult to disappear in the dark?

The shadows of surrounding trees blend together beneath the dim light of the stars as I force myself to move. The moon is high above, still covered in glowing haze. The light is only enough for the sky tonight and I'm lost in the shadows below.

I grapple for the strength to press forward and up. The shaking in my captive hands has spread through my body. I clamp my jaw shut to keep my teeth from chattering. My muscles lock as I slump onto a small ridge. My breath blows hot against my icy hands. I draw deep breaths, forcing the warm exhale into them. Then, lay my head back, giving into the relief of rest.

I can't take another step. I should've followed the car tracks out. I could've figured out how to turn off the safety. But, no, I wanted to hide and ran straight into the dang wilderness.

The moon's past mid-sky now. Wind sends an embracing, stinging frost and I can't stay here. If the pursuing shadow doesn't get me, the cold will. 

Even if I could stand, the mountainside is too steep. Working onto my knees, I ignore the screaming in my shoulder and bound wrists. The thickness of my sweatshirt helps cushion my elbows, but crawling is still excruciating. It takes every ounce of effort.

It's another thirty, maybe forty feet before I feel the tapering climb begin to even out. Soon the ground levels off. Reflexively, I look back. A thin beam of light bounces around below, keeping mostly to the ground, bobbing up and down, back and forth.

The clouds break apart. A large orange moon looks down, my bright center in a gloomy circle, casting its temporary light, turning black to gray, and solving my mystery. The beam is a flashlight. The searchlight of my tracker moving towards me. What I thought was a beanie is actually a ski mask. The kind bank robbers wear in movies. She's closer than I thought. A sadistic cackle carries on the breeze as she climbs the sheer hillside in double time.

That cackle . . . I recognize it. The name bounces around inside me, wreaking havoc, ripping at my flesh. I shake off the lagging surprise to focus on my retreat.

Up here, the ground is slightly graded down. I have a small lead but a clear advantage. She's still stuck on the rocky wall, fighting her way up. I try to use the ambient light from the sky to make out the land ahead, but it's too rugged to find a clear path. There aren't many trees, but lots of rocks and bushes and brambles. The thin shadows throw off my depth perception and I stumble.

Ignoring the pain and exhaustion, I pump my captive arms from side to side, take steady breaths, and stretch my legs as far as they can reach with each gait. The speed is amazing, almost effortless as I bound. Leaping up the small boulders and over shrubs is short work compared to the long climb.

I glance back to see the bouncing beam of light still rising. It's small, too far back to catch me now. The prospect of escape propels my feet more hastily. Soon, the dim ray is no more than a speck.   

Time to double back.

My feet respond, flying to the base of a small hillock. I stay in the natural cranny, scurrying along the line of the bottom that twists like a dry creek bed in a narrow valley. 

As soon as I get back to the Jeep, I'm home free. I hope my hide-a-key is still in place.