The white tank top Peter had thrown on before bed was proving itself to be the wrong choice considering the situation he was in. Tree branches where hitting his face every so often, and bushes were leaving thorns in his his arms with every hit. He could hear the panting from the men behind him, as well as their heavy boots hitting the ground with every step. They were maintaining speed and Peter was slowing down. Peter ducked under a tree branch, and kept up his pace, but he knew he didn't have the cardio for it. The moon was full, and when he glanced up for a brief moment he saw every detail of the night sky. The stars were bright, and Peter could see the whole Milky Way surrounding the moon. It was beautiful, and the main reason he moved back to the northwest. Peter turned to look behind him and caught a glimpse of three men running, each with varying forms of determination on their faces. Peter looked ahead and began a desperate search for a place to hide, as he was suddenly aware of a knot in his side that was ever growing. His senses were being overwhelmed, all he could hear was the cicadas chirping all around him, but he still went on. Giving up on the search for a decent hiding spot, Peter made a sharp left-hand turn around a tree and ran for a couple more yards. Regaining his composure, Peter darted around another tree and ducked under a group of blackberry bushes. Closing his eyes, Peter listened to the noises around him. The heavy footsteps were quieter, but were growing louder as time passed. Peter must have waited hours there under the bushes. He was sore all over and the sweatpants he was wearing was torn in at least three places he could see. The moon was occasionally visible through the leaves above him as it dipped lower into the sky. The footsteps were extremely close, but Peter didn't dare look around for a glimpse of the men, in case he made any noise.
Hours must have passed before the footsteps began to fade, and many more must have passed before they were gone completely. Peter stood up from beneath the bushes and looked around him. No sign of the terrifying men, and a short walk from the bushes he hid under was a road. When Peter got to the small two lane road he instinctively checked his watch, only to find that he had lost it sometime during the night. The road he was on seemed to go on for miles in each direction, and Peter knew there was no hope in walking to civilization. Sitting on the side of the road, Peter started to wait for a passing car in hopes of hitching a ride, and stared up into the night sky to occupy his mind.
It didn't take as long as Peter had thought, as a black sedan came down the road slowly, and stopped when he spotted Peter waving for him to stop. The car rolled down its passenger side window and Peter looked inside. The driver was rugged, with a receding hairline. His hands were on the steering wheel and were visibly scarred. He looked at Peter and spoke with a soothing and kind voice, "If you need a ride, hop in the front seat." The man had several missing teeth. Peter got into the car and eased up, grateful for the ride. "Where are we headed," the man asked while starting off. Peter thought for a moment, and responded with a tired voice, "Sandy." The man nodded and sped up in silence.
After a couple minutes, Peter brought down the mirror above him to take in his state, and was shocked to see the amount of dirt and grime on his already pale face. His freckles were difficult to see under the smudged dirt, but the dark purple circles under his eyes were the most prominent feature he had at the moment. His hair was bleached, a decision he had in high school that just happened to stick. Thin, colorless lips, a small nose, and beady black eyes finished off his features, but they were all significantly more distressed on this particular night. He was hungry and tired, but knew that falling asleep would be rude, so instead he just looked out his window at the trees speeding by.
By the time the sun started to rise they had arrived in Sandy. "Any specific place you wanna go?" the rugged man asked. "There's a donut place down this road—" Peter pointed down a thin road to their right "—a friend of mine owns it. You can drop me off there," Peter said in response. The man smiled and made the turn, saying a one-off comment about the donut shop in question. "Oh this place? I used to take my son here for donut holes..." he trailed off as if living an old memory. The car stopped in front of the donut shop and Peter got out, sayed thanks to the man, and went to the door.
