Between Octobers

A Way Out

A Way Out

I crouch into my alcove disgusted and relieved as I draw my knees up, but can't get my arms around to hold myself. My burning, cold arms tuck between them, huddling in a folded position around my belly.

All I did was throw a rock.

I didn't push, I didn't prod or lead. I threw a rock over a ledge—that's it. She was the one who assumed it was my feet making that noise and made her own choice to follow it.

I just tossed a rock.

The cold is bitter, like the long night. The merciless moon won't show itself and I can't move in the black, for fear of receiving penance. I'm doomed to wait over the grave and ponder while I freeze.

I breathe into my hands, thanking God for every wretched, undeserving breath.

At the first sign of light, I scurry away from the ledge, keeping my morbid promptings at bay. Part of me wants to see, to make sure she's really down there, but I know if I look, I'll never stop seeing.  

It's easy to find the path I carved. There's only one way to go—away from the precipice. I follow the fallen grass and imprints in the dirt until I come to the drop. The climb that zapped all my strength. It's very rough and steep, and it looks like a long way down. I examine my captive hands and consider how best to proceed. Gently, I plop onto my butt, inching—sometimes sliding—my way down the steep, coarse path, using my feet to control speed and direction.

During the frightening night, I was sure I was standing on a hill of fire ants. I thought I felt them biting and stinging me with their pinching mouths. But in the light of day, the burn and itch looks like poison ivy. The hillside is covered with it.  

As I reach the bottom of the steepest incline, my course becomes increasingly difficult. I can walk now, but there's no more trail in the dirt or fallen grass to follow; only tall trees, shrubs and bark. I do my best to plot a straight line, but have no way of knowing if the line I made the previous night stemmed out straight or at an angle.  

The sun rises higher in the sky, bringing the heat. I soak up the warmth, still feeling the icy cold in my bones and dread the sight of my shoulder. The low temperature helped keep it from swelling, but in the growing heat, I can already tell, the pain and swelling will soon immobilize it. The smallest movements send wrenching pain through my upper body.

My wrists are red and purple around the binding zip-tie. The dirt where I stayed was trickled with dried spots of blood. The windburn on my cheeks has a scaly feel. My mouth is as dry as the air. Every time I swallow, the sensitive mucous membranes of my parched palate stick together. My lips feel like they may crack if I use them. I think there's Carmex in the first aid kit. There should be a few water bottles, too.

The woods thicken until there's no more sun. The heat is lost under the canopy, where I struggle through the undergrowth. I try to remember the conditions I ran through the night before, but other than the oppressive terror, I can't recollect. I keep on in the general direction I think I came from, praying and trusting I'll find the way.

After a while, the thick mess of trees begins breaking up. I keep my path in the sunny spots between the towering trees. As I come down the wooded hillside, the patches break into a wide field of tall brown and green grass, with scattered patches of dirt.

The field.

When I look back at where I've come from, the sight stops me in my tracks. Dear, God. It's a mass of mountains, sheer and high, blocking out half the sky. The vast hills stretch out behind and before me. I'm merely a speck among them. Even if they know where to look, they may never find me.

My head continually throbs and my arms are on fire. I need to scratch them. I can't even wipe my hair from my face because the rash from the poison ivy will spread. I stomp my feet and snivel in frustration, turning towards the field to search along the forest edge for tire tracks. I clearly remember the Jeep being on the edge of the trees, with no road in sight.

Maybe there's calamine lotion in the first aid kit, too.