Fort Oakley | Part One

17 | The Treehouse Of Lost Childhoods

2 March 2022 - Wednesday

Vance didn't need to tell me twice. My heart hammered in my chest as adrenaline surged through my veins. I sprinted a couple of feet in front of Vance, our footsteps echoing through the woods as we weaved between the trees, leaves crunching underfoot. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a wtig, felt like a precursor to another gunshot.

Another shot echoes through the trees, a deafening crack that sent a jolt of terror through me,  causing me to duck sideways, toward an area with more trees to cover us. Vance was running directly behind me, and he would be blocking any bullet that hit me, but it wasn't as if I wanted him to get shot. The thought of him taking a bullet for me, made my stomach churn.

''We need to hide!'' Vance yells behind me. His voice was strained, filled with urgency. In any other area, I'd know which way to go to get away from the shooter, but we had entered the only part of the woods that I had not yet explored. The unfamiliar terrain felt like a labyrinth, each turn disorientating and fraught with unknown possibilities.

But I didn't tell Vance that. 

Because he suddenly says, ''Wait, Charly, head to your right.''

So I do, and a minute of more running later, Vance comes to a stop between some trees, bending down to the forest floor. He moves a bunch of leaves and dead branches to the side, and when he stands back up, he has a rope in hand. 

I watch in confusion as he pulls on it, and I follow the piece of rope to where it leads up into another tree, to where a small treehouse is hidden in a tree. With Vance pulling on the rope, a small latch underneath the treehouse opens up, and a rope ladder rolls out and dangles against the tree.

What the...?

"Climb up before you start asking questions,'' Vance instructs. I don't waste any time, climbing up the flimsy ladder as fast as I possibly can. The ladder swayed with each step, my grip tigehteing in fear of falling or the old rope snapping. Vance is quick to follow me up and I move aside in the small space for him to enter. He quickly pulls the ladder up and closes the latch.

I look around the small area, intrigued.

''Charly, you're bleeding,'' Vance says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. Confused, I follow Vance's line of sight to my thigh. Blood was seeping into the material of my jeans, the dark stain spreading ominously.

''I've been shot,'' I breathe out in shock, staring at the bullet hole in my thigh.   

''You're probably not feeling anything because of adrenaline. That's good for now. Look in that cabinet behind you, there should be a medical aid kit in there,'' Vance says, eyes glued to the wound on my leg.

''How do you know that?'' I ask as I open the small compartment. Sure enough, there's a dusty box inside, and I pull it out, handing it to Vance.

''We were reckless when we were kids, and more times than I can remember, one of us got hurt and would need stitches or something. Instead of going to our parents or the hospital, we stashed supplies in the treehouse for when we needed them. It came in handy a lot of times.''

Vance pulls a small bottle of amber liquor out of the box and uncaps it, holding it out to me. ''Drink,'' he instructs, but I lean away from the strong-smelling liquid. ''What? No, I'm not drinking that.''

Vance says and shoves the bottle into my hands. ''You may be high on adrenaline right now, Charly, but that will quickly wear off once I give you stitches. The bullet went straight through the side of your leg, so that's good, but it's still going to hurt like a bitch. So drink the damn whiskey, or suit yourself.''