Redemption

The Creek

Abby sprinted through the back gate and towards the closest field. She had to get help, had to run, couldn't look back, could see her mum...had to keep going, faster, faster, faster.

The half-moon didn't cast much light, but it was enough for her to see her way on familiar territory. Raw terror made her run faster, but it didn't feel fast enough.

The ground beneath her feet changed from hard baked earth that slammed into her heels, to soft tilled soil that squeezed up between her toes. Her dad would have pitched a fit to see her running across the newly seeded field. The corrugated rows made running difficult, her ankles at constant risk of spraining, but she had to keep going, had to get away, had to find help.

From behind she heard those road-kill dogs barking and growling. Short barks, quick snaps, like they were fighting over scraps. Abby stopped that train of thought. Don't go there.

She focused on running – just keep running, just keep running, don't fall over – but where could she go? The creek. It ran along the back of the field, and its banks were low enough she wouldn't be seen from the house.

She could see the last rows of corrugated soil ahead, not too far. Just keep running, keep breathing, keep running.

The ground changed back to hard and baked. In five steps she reached the creek bank and turned left. No, right! The nearest neighbours were downstream, not up. If she had any chance of getting help she needed to reach them. She should be able to see their house lights from the creek.

Perhaps she ought to run through the shallows so the water would disguise her scent, make it harder for the dogs to track her. Right?

Cold creek water splashed up her legs. Her feet slipped and slid on the silty bottom at the water's edge. Underwater rocks and branches threatened to trip her, and unseen ditches and washouts pushed her heart higher into her throat every time her foot took longer than expected to find a firm landing.

She glanced over her shoulder. She had come more than two hundred meters along the creek. Was that far enough? Would the dogs be able to smell her tracks from that far away? She desperately hoped not and hurdled back onto the bank.

She picked up speed on the firmer ground. A faint light of hope swelled inside her chest. It dulled the pain in her lungs and urged her legs to move faster. Sharp rocks lacerated the soles of her feet but she paid them no attention. Just keep running.

Then she heard the howls. They weren't coming from the house anymore, which probably meant he wasn't there either. They were a distance away, perhaps in the field. The light of hope dimmed, but did not fade entirely. Keep running, keep breathing.

How far had she come? Was she even close to the neighbour's house? There, up ahead, a bend in the creek beside an old gnarled gum tree. She was nearing the border of their property – she was almost half way there!

She was not much of a runner, was not really into any sporting endeavours that required more from her than cheering from the bleachers. She felt her body draining of energy and filling with what felt like wobbly rocks. She forced herself onwards.

Her heel landed on a fallen branch and the world turned upside down. Her spine slammed into the ground, followed by her head. Air smashed out of her lungs and white dots dragged lines between the stars in the sky.

She couldn't breathe. She rolled over, got onto her hands and knees, opened her mouth wide, but couldn't get the air to go in. She tried again and again but the simple act of inhaling was impossible. Her arms started to buckle and even the white dots in her vision began to swim, the lines curving into swirls.