#9

i looked back. i shouldn't have, but you can't help it. there were four of them, i think, but i couldn't hear anything-- just the roar of the freeway, little scraping sounds from the brush in the wind.

slowly, i got to my feet, crouching behind the berm, staying well below the headlights. something tickled down the side of my head-- sticky-- taste it: blood. blood and dirt. no idea where i am.
had to be past eleven, but beyond that it's hard to say. farther from the road, there were stars, millions of them, but only a sliver of the moon. footsteps.

crouch. it's instinctive. everything freezes when it senses danger, when it hears footsteps closing in. not enough brush cover, but at least there's some. at least i still have my glasses. there are a lot of little favors tonight.

regular. not stuttering, not darting-- regular. they know where they're going. one set in front, but it sounds like there are more behind. hard to count the faraway ones.
tiny scuttling noises-- night creatures, at home. strange to think that everything everywhere else is normal.

somewhere someone is eating a sandwich and i'm running for my life. so dramatic tonight here in my head. i hit it on something. maybe that's why nothing is making any sense. it had something to do with books, but that doesn't make any sense at all, and frankly right now all the things that don't make sense aren't helping. breathing quietly is helping-- how quietly can you breathe?

snapping into focus, it's been too long out of focus-- not listening. listen again; focus. the steps are still regular, as fast as they were before, or as slow-- regular and moving kind of diagonally, maybe parallel to the road. crunching, like on gravel or sand. lights swinging along the turn-- hard to make out the terrain ahead in the lights. have to stay out of them anyway. follow the swing-- high brush ahead: water. i can follow the water. somehow, it seems like there could be people along the water and most people are good; people are what i want. night won't last forever-- one person in a bright, hot desert is obvious; one person in a town is invisible.

the steps are fading somewhat. can just make out the edge of the light, just make out where the curve swings away. light, dark. wait. light dark. there-- off to the right. slowly, silent is better than, well, not silent. hard not to crunch against the dirt. sharp twinge in the right ankle. didn't realize that before. pushing against the inside of the boot a little; swelling. how bad will that get? still walk okay, though.

loud animal noise. startle. involuntary yip. horrible to do that. have to keep quiet. freeze for about a million seconds before it's quiet and i feel alone again, but there's no real knowing that. grey against the dark, and water noises. small water noises. a trickle, really, but water.

reach down to put my hand in the water to try to tell the direction. left. right into the sweep of the lights. just like jumping rope-- sweep, dark. sweep, dark. follow the sweep.

too far. freeze. horrible, horrible wash of light. blind, eyes closed, waiting for the wash of red against the retina to fade, fade.

shouting.

not very far away.

male voices, two or three. uphill, and not far enough away.

cold sweat. unable to stop. running again. headlong, splashing along the rocks. very slippery, very uncertain. horrible, horrible idea. struggling for purchase against the far side, pushing through the rim of brush, straight away from the road, perpendicular, logical. this is the fastest i can go the farthest. give up on the stream. mountains against the horizon; there has to be a place, a crack in the mountains, a way through, a way out.