A Tale of Two Earths

Chapter 9: Darla

Darla sat, huddled behind a car, and stared at her bleeding, skinless knees, which peeked through freshly ripped holes in her jeans. The blood mixed with denim to form a dark, purple ink stain. With a grimace she plucked a small pebble of asphalt from the glistening, exposed flesh. As painful as it was, the small black rock made her happy. A scraped knee was much more preferable to dying in a hail of bullets, she thought.

Wondering if they were still chasing her, Darla froze at the sound of more gunfire out in the street. She pivoted on her knee to peer around the bumper and every granule of asphalt bit into it, digging for the bone. To her surprise, both of the attackers were focused on something up the road. This was it, she thought, no one was watching.

She rushed across the restaurant parking lot and through another row of cars before turning back to see if she had been spotted. Vehicles successfully blocked any views of the road from where she sat under the large front windows of the restaurant.

On shaky legs, Darla stood up to get a better view then quickly dropped back out of sight. One of the men was moving in her direction.

Skirting the building to the North, Darla wondered what it would be like to be a spy. Wouldn't it be great to have a briefcase with one of those high powered weapons, Darla thought. Just the thought of neutralizing the threat sent her heart racing and a fresh rush of endorphins surged through her weary limbs. It only lasted a moment though as reality settled in. Even if Darla had spy equipment, she wouldn't know how or what to do with it.

Running was her only option, even if she was terrible at it. Off to the right was a scrub forest, but the distance to be covered was too far and too open. Hugging the cement wall of the restaurant, Darla ran. She ran even though her knees screamed for her to stop and she continued running up until a metal door swung open, crushing her nose.

Darla's eyes blinked uncontrollably as she stumbled backwards. Air refused to flow through her nose as warm, coppery blood drizzled out and into her mouth causing her to gag. First she fumbled for her nose, it was tender and painful to the touch. Then she moved down between her numb lips. Pain rocketed through Darla's skull as her fingers found her front, right tooth. It was loose, very loose.

She no longer felt like a smooth, action hero. As the metal door began to close, Darla looked up and screamed.

Standing in front of her was a wide, burly man wearing a Chef's uniform with enough blood stains to warrant multiple health code violations. Darla couldn't help but to stare into the black disks on either side of the bridge of the Chef's nose.

"Please no," she sputtered. Blood and spit issued forth as she spoke. Darla hoped that there was still something inside him, something that was human, something that would snap to life, but she was wrong.

The portly man with with over-sized pajama bottoms plunged a shiny Santoku carving knife, deep, into Darla's right bicep. She could feel the tip scraping against her bone as he forced his weight into her.

"Asshole!" Darla shouted. She reared back and kicked him in the shin.

Not a muscle twitched on the large man. The chef stood, with his stabbing arm outstretched, and stared through her.

With her only uninjured extremity, Darla reached across her chest and placed her left hand over his on the knife. She held tight and stepped backwards, pulling the blade out of her arm. Finding it impossible to hold in the agony, Darla screamed out. Her curses echoed off the wall of Kenny's Sports Grill and rang out into the world. Letting go of the Chef's hand, Darla ran again, only this time she took off across the small field leading to the trees. Suddenly getting shot at no longer sounded like the worst possible outcome.

Bullets and footsteps followed close behind as she entered the forest. Her below average running pace disintegrated once she hit the undergrowth. It felt like wading through waist deep water. Small bits of nature clawed at her open wounds and everything about her hurt.

The crunch of the Chef's footsteps tore anxiously through Darla's mind as she pushed forward through the thick brush. The forest grew thicker until forward movement was all but impossible.

With vines and weeds entangling her arms and legs, Darla thought of her father. She loved her father and he loved her, but she knew that deep down he always underestimated her, always sheltered her, always wanted her to be more, but never expected more. He took her hunting, camping, shooting. He commended her when she did well and taught her with gentle hands, but whenever Darla showed the slightest resistance, he would go no further. He always allowed her to give up. Darla knew that her father didn't expect much from her because she was a girl. Sometimes she would complain just to see if he would push her further, like he pushed her brothers. She wanted him to ask for more, she wanted to be tough, but in the end she always took the path of least resistance because it was easier for her and it was what her father expected.

Maybe she never really wanted to be her father's little princess warrior. Maybe she just wanted to give up. To sit down in the hot, sweaty forest and be done with it.

Darla closed her eyes and let her weight fall into the vegetation. The Chef's heavy, winded breaths closed in.

There was no reason to turn around, she knew the expression on his face.