Prey

Bullets fly behind me, towards me. I can hear them lodging on the trunks of the trees I blindly avoid in my run. Wood chips rain over me when the bullets hit a branch, startling me, making me run faster for my life. I am running as I have never ran before, my heart beating in panic in my ears. I can hardly breathe, but I can’t stop. The forest around me is a blur and low branches keep tugging at my clothes, until they are so torn they are no more than rags. I would take them off if I had enough time, but I don’t. 

I tumble down a steep slope, rocks scratching my skin, and I want to scream. I need to cry out to release the panic inside me, but that would give them a clue of where I am. I don’t even realize it and I’m back on my feet, I keep running downhill, not even considering it could be a bad idea. The slope gets steeper and I fall some more times when jumping over dead trees. A small creek makes me stop for a second, before I decide to follow it downstream. I only realize how much of a bad idea it is when I hear bullets hitting the rocks behind me. They were expecting me to take that direction. 

I keep running, my feet now wet because I must have stepped in the water of the creek at some point. The air is humid and it makes it even harder for me to breathe and the prospect of stoping and be killed starts sounding appealing. But I keep running, my feet wetter still as I have somehow entered a bog. I would panic more if I weren’t already as panicked as one can be. The mud slows my fast run to a slow jog as it sucks the shoes off my feet. I know I’m as good as dead, and they know too, they are not even shooting anymore. No, they won’t catch me alive. This time, when the mud makes my shoes stick to the floor, I let them slide right off. I can’t run as fast barefoot, but it’s definitely faster than trying to fight against the bog. I can tell they weren’t expecting it as I hear an explosion behind me, accompanied by a shower of mud. Grenades. 

I need to get back in the forest, I’m too visible in the bog where there’s nowhere to hide. I look around as I keep running, there’s forest to my left, but that would mean getting closer to the fire-line. There has to be another way. There’s a rocky wall ahead of me, a bit to my right, I don’t know what’s behind it, but it should help me escape even for a minute. However, it would also mean that I would be exposed while I climbed it. I need to think fast and I don’t have many options. I run faster, slipping in the mud, realizing that my feet are full of cuts. I run for the wall and jump at it, crashing against the rough rocks that make it up. My fingers scramble for purchase leaving bloody prints on the grey stone. I fall on my back on the other side, the shock leaves me breathless, but I don’t have time to rest, I must keep running. 

The field on the other side of the wall is gentler to run in, but even more exposed than the bog. I run faster, feeling the soft grass on my feet. I want to turn around to see if they are on my heels, but I’m too scared. I step on something soft and warm, but I decide to ignore the nausea that adds to the panic. My eyes water and I can’t see where I’m going. Not that it matters much. A bullet strikes the floor just behind me before another one makes the grass fly to my right. I try to run faster, my heartbeats piling up together so I can no longer tell them apart. The world shifts in front of me and my field of vision becomes filled of green. The whole eternity happens before I hit the floor. Before I can even try to get back on my feet, I hear laughter behind me. 

“Dad, no! I’m your daughter!” I shout from the floor at my father who’s staring down at me, a shotgun on his hand.

“You’re not my daughter, you are prey.”