After press-ups it’s just standing and waiting. Best look at the ground. You’re by the cage on the path. It’s got mud on it, but you won’t be sweeping it, not today, not with this plan. It’s rained a lot in the last few days. Autumn’s coming on fast. Still, today it’s not raining, already it’s going well.
‘Do the outer circuit.’ Again she’s quiet. No need to raise her voice.
And off you jog . . . but not yet. You’ve got to keep her thinking you’re being your usual difficult-yet-basically-complying self, and so you knock mud off your boots, left boot heel on right toe followed by right boot heel on left toe, you raise a hand and look up and around as if you’re assessing the wind direction, you spit on the potato plants, look left and right like you’re waiting for a gap in the traffic and . . . let the bus go past . . . and then you’re off.
You take the dry-stone wall with a leap to the top and over, then across the moorland, heading to the trees.
Freedom.
As if!
But you’ve got the plan and you’ve learnt a lot in four months. The fastest that you’ve done the outer circuit for her is forty-five minutes. You can do it in forty though, cos you stop by the stream at the far end and rest and drink and listen and look and once you managed to get to the ridge and see over to more hills, more trees, and a loch (it might be a lake, but something about the heather and the length of summer days says loch).
Today the plan is to speed up when you’re out of sight. That’s easy. Easy. The diet you’re on is great. You have to give her some credit, cos you are super healthy, super fit. Meat, veg, more meat, more veg, and don’t forget plenty of fresh air. Oh this is the life.
You’re doing okay. Keeping up a good pace. Your top pace.
And you’re buzzing, self-healing from her little slap, and it’s giving you a little buzz, buzz, buzz.
You’re already at the far end of the circuit, where you could cut back to do the inner circuit which is really half the circuit. But she didn’t want the inner circuit and you were going to do the outer whatever she said.
That’s got to be the fastest yet.
Then up to the ridge.
And let gravity take you down in long strides to the stream that leads to the loch.
Now it gets tricky. Now you are outside the area of the circuit, and soon you will be well outside it. She won’t know that you’ve gone until you’re late. That gives you twenty-five minutes from leaving the circuit, maybe thirty, maybe thirty-five, but call it twenty-five before she’s after you.
But she’s not the problem, the wristband is the problem. It will break open when you go too far. How it works, witchcraft or science or both, you don’t know, but it will break open. She told you that on Day One and she told you the wristband contains a liquid, an acid. The liquid will be released if you stray too far, and this liquid will burn right through your wrist. ‘It’ll take your hand off,’ was how she put it.
Going downhill now. There’s a click . . . and the burning starts.
But you’ve got your plan.
You stop and submerge your wrist in the stream. The stream hisses, but the water helps . . . although it’s a strange sort of gloopy, sticky potion and won’t wash away easily . . . and more will come out, and you have to keep going.
You pad the band out with wet moss and peat. Dunk it under. Stuff more in. It’s taking too long. Get going.
Downhill.
Follow the stream.
The trick is not to mind about your wrist. Your legs feel fine. Covering lots of ground.
And anyway losing a hand isn’t that bad. You can replace it with something good . . . a hook . . . or a three pronged claw like the guy in ‘Enter The Dragon’ . . . or maybe something with blades that can be retracted, but when you fight out they come . . . ker-ching . . . or flames even . . . no way are you going to have a fake hand . . . that’s for sure . . . no way.
Your head’s dizzy. Buzzing too though. Your body is trying to heal your wrist. You never know, you might get out of this with two hands. Still, the trick is not to mind. Either way you’re out.
Got to stop. Douse it in the stream, put some new peat in and get going again.
Nearly at the loch.
Nearly.
Oh yes. Bloody cold.
You’re too slow. Wading is slow but it’s good to keep your arm in the water.
Just keep going.
Keep going.
It’s a bloody big loch. But that’s okay. Means your hand will be in water longer. The bigger the better.
Feeling sick . . . ughhh . . .
Shit, that hand looks a mess. But the acid has stopped coming out. You’re going to get out of here. You’ve beaten her. You can find Mercury and you will get three gifts.
But you’ve got to keep going.
You’ll be at the end of the loch in a minute.
Doing well. Doing well.
Not far now.
Soon be able to see over into the valley, and –
YOU ARE READING
Half Bad
Teen FictionYou can't read, can't write, but you heal fast, even for a witch. You get sick if you stay indoors after dark. You hate White Witches but love Annalise, who is one. You've been kept in a cage since you were fourteen. All you've got to do is escape a...