She looked pitiful—brown liquid dripping down her cheek, her clothes torn, and her eyes wild and terrified. The feelings of helplessness that had been swirling through Ro since that plane went down multiplied. She wished for a gun. Or an RPG. Or a freaking Black Hawk helicopter. Anything to eliminate these disgusting men from the face of the planet.
Red leaned closer to the woman and started to speak. Unable to make out what he was saying, Ro edged around the end of the woodpile, just beyond the roof covering the workshop. Bad decision. Her backpack strap caught on a piece of kindling and started a firewood avalanche. All three heads swung toward the sound. Their eyes widened. Red released the woman’s hair, and she collapsed onto the dirt.
“Get her!”
Saying a quick prayer for the woman, Ro bolted. I can’t help her if I’m dead. Ro promised herself she’d find a way to help her. As soon as she made sure she wasn’t their next victim.
Fast-forward to the present.
Breathing starting to slow, Ro crouched, flipped open her compass, and flicked on her penlight. She needed to head northeast. After getting her bearings, Ro snapped off the light and leaned up against one of the trees for a blissful moment of rest and listened for any hint of her pursuers.
A stick snapped in the darkness.
The image of Red’s wicked hunting knife flashed through Ro’s mind, and the evil words of the creepy trio had her shouldering her backpack and springing into motion.
Unable to see through the utter blackness that had settled over the woods, and too scared of drawing attention to her position to use her light, Ro just ran. Hands out, crashing through brush and swerving between the trees, she tried to block the branches, but they scraped across her face. The needles on the pine trees felt like porcupine quills when they made contact with her hands and cheeks. She ignored the sting and focused on putting as much ground between them as she could. Ro hoped their bulk would inhibit their ability to run long distances, but she didn’t slow down. The creepy trio might have endurance down to a science if they were used to living off the land.
The roar of her pulse made it nearly impossible to hear, but she thought she heard a man’s voice behind her. She risked a quick backward glance. If she saw red flannel and scraggly gray and red hair, she’d lose her shit.
Nothing.
She couldn’t see a damn thing.
A quick rush of relief, and then a burn tore through her ankle as she pitched forward. Ro threw her hands out to catch herself just before her face made contact with the ground.
Ro squeezed her eyes shut and bit the inside of her cheek. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, but it kept her from yelling.
Good Jesus, that hurt like a son of a bitch. The sharp pain in her ankle had the MRE she’d eaten for lunch threatening to reappear.
The simple reality of the situation hit her like an openhanded slap to the face. If she couldn’t run, she was screwed. If she couldn’t walk, she was screwed.
Brilliant, Ro. Ten points for stating the obvious.
She pushed away the image of the creepy trio coming up behind her and forced herself to her knees. A twinge shot through her right wrist. Even better. Must have strained it catching her fall. Apparently Ro needed ‘90s-style rollerblade wrist guards for a walk in the woods.