February 29

Chapter 13

Stacey hadn't slept well, not at all. Images of her father, his dead body, mangled, were like painful jolts of electricity through her. First, it had been minor, something like her father chained to a chair. That was bad in itself, but it was tolerable. He wasn't being hurt. But then it got worse, maybe him being brutally beaten on the ground, or him covered in deep, bloody gashes. It only progressed from there to truly horrifying, until the images of her father were too grotesque and gruesome to describe, to fathom. To get rid of. It was the only reason she found the strength to wake up; the dreams were too difficult to endure.

But by far, the horrible truth was, that could be happening. Everything she'd seen, from her dad being chained to him bloodied, beaten, deformed, mutilated, dead, could be really happening. It could be happening now as she thought about it. As she tried and failed to stand up. As she groaned from hunger. As her heart pushed another mighty flush of blood through her veins, his could be stopping, brought to its final point. And that was what drove her on.

Stacey woke up hungry, as she had been for the past twelve hours, cold, worse than yesterday, and incredibly sore. That walking had really taken everything out of her. Her arms and feet were like boulders. With each movement, her legs sent a pulse of pain, a soreness, throughout her. Her head was pounding from the lack of sleep. Her face and pieces of her skin hurt from the burns she'd sustained from the fire. In fact, it felt like nothing on her didn't hurt. With every passing minute, she found it harder and harder to get up, to go on.

Stacey could hear the boys' loud footsteps and trying-too-hard-to-be-carefree voices before she could see them. She disregarded everything that she'd seen. Her only thought was that people were there, people who may have food and water, blankets. Her first action was to call for help, but even her voice was weak, barely a whisper from the lack of water. She tried again, barely a decibel louder, but enough to make her hope. She slumped back at the ground, suddenly exhausted.

Stacey blinked in surprise when she heard hurried footsteps coming towards her bush. Her next instinct was to stand and try to scare her attackers off, but she couldn't even find the strength to sit up. With a groan of despair, she tried to twist onto her belly and crawl deeper into the brush, maybe hide out.

She didn't make it before a face erupted from the outside, peering down cautiously at her. She stared into dark-but-not-too-dark brown eyes. A head with shortish hair. A scared, then sympathetic expression. Then another boy came in besides him, with green eyes and a very mistrusting look on his face. Stacey eyes shut as she fell, rolling in and out of consciousness. A small smile formed. Help. Help had come finally.

"Is that a dead girl?" Dean asked incredulously, his voice shaking.

"Not dead," I replied. "She just moved a second ago. Then she went still." I scratched my head. "I'd say she's out cold."

"Okay," Dean said nervously. "Can we go now?"

"Go?"

"I mean, we found a girl on the ground. Now what?"

"Now we help her." My eyebrows drew together in concern. She was shivering, her lips bluing. "I think that would be any regular person's first instinct."

"Help her? Why should we help her?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Because," Dean's eyes shifted nervously from left to right. He leaned close. He whispered, "What if she's...not normal?"

I looked back at him, my mouth literally falling open. "You're not serious, are you?" I sputtered, chuckling a little. "I think all this movie watching is getting to your head. What, is she an alien? A mutant? Maybe she has adamantium claws in her hands."