Safe Haven

Twenty.

The hushed roar of tires maneuvering the road beneath and the rumble of an exhaust pipe wheezing out smog were the only sounds I could distinguish in the cramped space of the trunk. It was so small, in fact, that my knees were pressed to my chest. I hated the anxiety that filled my lungs when I realized how restricted my movements were. My head was pounding from the hits it endured and I knew I probably had a big ugly bruise covering half of my face.

Where are they taking me? Where is Aiden? Is he okay? were the only things parading through my thoughts as I squirmed to get on my back. Maybe If I could kick my way into the back seat, I could jump out and take my chances on the pavement. I felt the plastic separating me from potential freedom for a weak spot. I focused my hearing on conversations or music, and found that there was, indeed, music playing. To test how loud my escape might be, I launched an awkward side kick to the wall then listened intently.

Nothing.

I kicked out again and strained to hear.

Still nothing; the 80's show tunes played on.

So I kicked the shit out of that boundary until light pierced the darkness of the trunk. I struggled to twist my body towards the opening and peeked out. The short reddish hair in the drivers seat led me to believe that it was Elarick. I guess the other men drove in separate cars; that's probably how they kept tabs on us. I would have expected them to drive around in one sketchy looking van, but I was wrong. Elarick had his music on pretty loud, and he still didn't seem to have noticed me yet, so I clambered out of the seat cushions and lurched to the door.

"What the hell--?!"

Tearing open the door, I threw myself into the street, wrapping my arms around myself like I saw in a Tom Cruise movie to break my fall.

Tom Cruise lied.

I hit the blistering hot concrete on my right shoulder and was tossed in a scrapping tumble of limbs and bruises until I finally stopped; landing on my stomach. I took a moment to orientate myself before getting up, sucking in a sharp breath at how my arms looked like I spent hours cuddling with machetes and broken glass.

Oh that's a lot of shredded skin, blood and dirt.

I glanced at the black Mercedes that was skidding to a halt about 200 meters away. It was time for me to go, and I did go; right in the opposite direction down the long stretch of open road that was flanked on the right with a corn field and the left, a prairie. I ran in zig-zags, ignoring his swearing and threats as I struggled to put distance between us.

I should just take my chances in the cornfield. Its better to be lost and alive than shot dead in a ditch.

I veered to my right and was about to launch myself into the crops when a shot rang out and a millisecond later, pain explodes in my shoulder. I swore, stumbling into the stalks and almost fell but caught myself.

He shot me. He shot me. He shot me. He shot me. He shot me.

I pressed my hand to the wound, cringing at the steady pulse of blood that pumped out with every beat of my heart. It was hard to run through all of the thicket, and I felt like it was slowing me down. I shoved my way through as fast as I could anyway, and kept going until my lungs felt like they were going to explode and my legs were gonna deflate. I crumbled to my knees and fell awkwardly on my side, gasping at the pain. That bastard shot me from behind, and since there was a hole on the front side of my shoulder, that meant the bullet went right through me.

Nausea swelled in my stomach and I slumped over in defeat. I couldn't go on. I needed to rest. I was so tired.

Ba-bump.