Bareback

Night

"Shit! Paige!"

Matt leapt off the truck with flashlight and pistol in hand. The green barriers around him wavered in relative unison, making it impossible for Matt to establish her location. His compass was her panicked voice. She was still nearby, but the distance between them was growing steadily.

"Paige! I'm coming!"

He ran into the weeds, his arms flailing side to side to clear a path. As he swept one way, the greenery flung back when he moved his arm. He drew his hands close together to allow the weeds before him to sway outwards and around him, but the beam of his flashlight and the aim of his pistol became restricted. If he held his arms farther apart, the stalks obscured his vision. His sight was limited regardless; the extent of the illumination could not penetrate more than mere inches into the overgrowth. He followed the unbearable noises, propelled by fear, not for his safety but for hers. In his past, Matt had a knack for fading into shadows. Now his environment worked against him.

"Matt!"

He swerved to a side, certain he was on the right trail. He changed course again when her voice came from a different direction. She was close, but still beyond his reach and vision. Was he gaining ground? Was he on the correct path? Matt continued to sprint, despite the sharp pangs in his lungs and the acidic burning in his muscles. His vision became clouded from the built up condensation, and he pulled his mask off, keeping it strapped to his forehead. His whole body ached, exacerbated by his earlier workout. Desperation pushed him further, drove him faster. Her voice was getting close. He lunged forward into the unknown.

"Pai-!"

Air squeezed out of his lung. He folded over the front corner of their truck from the unexpected impact. A headlight shattered. She was still nowhere to be seen. He wanted to cry out to her again, but hacked and wheezed instead as he tripped and fell on his back next to the vehicle. The atmosphere was warm and humid, but the moisture collected on Matt's skin mostly originated from his pores. He was numb to the light breeze that rustled the tall growths around him, yet he shivered. Uncontrollably. He felt dreadfully cold. He willed himself up to his feet, a feat accomplished only through rigourous conditioning. He'd been here before. Matt used to suffer from panic attacks in confined spaces. It was one reason why he decided to live in an open area. He began to leave his medication behind when he grew accustomed to the spaciousness. He needed a strong dose right now.

Bang.

The thunderous clap rang out through the night. Two more discharges followed. It was a stretched moment before Matt realized he had dropped to his knees. One hand gripped a tire to steady himself, and the other clutched his chest. When he regained his footing, he called out for her again. His voice was weak and hoarse; his mouth was parched from the loss of fluids. This was not working. He climbed up on the truck again with his firearm holstered and the flashlight in hand. Once atop the vehicle, he scanned his surroundings with the narrow beam.

"Matt."

It was a clear, softer syllable. The urgency in her voice had passed, but the hint of terror persisted. The weak spotlight swept across the tops of the weeds, but he could not discern her movement from the natural swaying caused by the wind. An hour-long minute later, she emerged from the greenery alone. There were tears in her suit and a crack in her visor. A burst of red splashed across her garb. Matt dropped on all fours and gripped the side edge of the truck before lowering himself down to meet Paige. He stepped forth to embrace her, and she backed away.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice a hoarse squeak from the dryness.

"Let's go," she replied. She strode towards the truck with a vacant gaze and hopped into the passenger seat.