Hunting You, Hunting Me (Watty Awards 2012)

Chapter 12

A/N: After some feedback from all of you, I am attempting to slow down the pace of this story. This is a little difficult for me to do and I am not particularly happy with how this chapter turned out but it does give me an opportunity to provide a back story and shed light on the emotions that may arise in a situation like Estela’s. Originally, I had intended for this to be a short story, and it still may be…but I will try to change that. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. As always, feedback is appreciated.  Thank you!

Not edited.

All rights reserved, © 2012

RECAP:

Sighing, I pick up the shovel and the rifle and walk over to the duffel bag. I put the shovel inside the bag and sling it on my left shoulder. I decide to use the rifle as a walking stick. Reminding myself that I have to be extra careful not to blow my own feet off, I turn around to make sure I have left nothing behind.

My feet follow in the direction of the boys. To be aware of their location at all times would give me a tremendous advantage. And a tremendous advantage is just what I need because I have decided that I am going to play their game. With determination, a growing hunger for vengeance and a hint of humor, I throw my hands up in the air and declare, “May the odds be forever in my favor!”

I am no longer going to hide. I am going to seek. And who knows? I may even win.

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Chapter 12

Estela POV

The boys are not easy to track. Where the ground is damp I find prints, which disappear as suddenly as they appear.  Where the footprints stop, I look for other signs, like plants that are disturbed, flattened or unusually bent. I search for anything that doesn’t belong: displaced pebbles and stones, random splashes of water, broken twigs, and even human waste. Gross, I know.

I spot a cigarette butt and a candy wrapper. Why am I not surprised? They’re a bunch of twisted killers; you can’t expect them to recycle. About to chuckle at my own wisecrack, my conscience reminds me that as of today, I am a killer too. Party pooper! Way to dampen my mood. Still not ready to deal with the emotional chaos that is brewing within, I distract myself and continue to track the boys.

**

The forest is now bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun.  I pull out the iPhone and check the time. Soon, darkness will shroud the forest and nature will sleep again, completing the cycle of another day. Thankful for the approaching cover of night and the opportunity for much needed rest; I step away from my path and commence my search for a place to sleep.

On account of my luggage, I decide against climbing a tree. I can easily hide the duffel bag and the rifle in a bush, but I do not want to part with my new best friends. I look for easier places to hide. Not spoiled for choice, I end up crawling into the thick underbrush, my knees protected by Billy’s pants. Ignoring the briars that latch onto my clothing and scratch my bare arms, I crawl until I am deep and hidden. Carefully picking off the briars with my muddy fingers, I discard them to the side.

Pulling out the wet wipes from the backpack, I wipe my chapped hands and clean under my fingernails. I wipe my face, ears and neck and even clean out my nostrils. Immediately feeling better, I pull out another wipe.  Hiking my dress up, I scrub my armpits. Good hygiene never killed anybody. But people on the other hand, people kill each other all the time. I stop this train of thought before it gets ugly, seeing how my conscience is hell bent on grouping me in the same category with crazy serial killers.

Successfully avoiding a battle between my instinct to survive and my conscience, I gingerly bite into an apple, savoring the crisp and juicy fruit. In an attempt to keep my mind occupied, I pull out the book of quotes with my clean hand. “Help me,” I whisper to the book before opening it to a random page:

If there is no enemy within, then enemies outside cannot hurt you. –African Proverb

A bitter laugh escapes my mouth.I guess this means that I’m a dead woman walking. “So much for that,” I mutter to myself sarcastically as I snap the book shut and toss it back into the bag. Too drained to mentally process anything, I snack on two fistfuls of trail mix and drink some water. It is still light out.

Realizing that now is as good a time as any, I decide to snoop through Billy’s iPhone. The first thing I check for is cell phone reception. Disappointed, I recall that the blond guy had told Billy to call him from base.  I wonder where the base is? Could it be the same house as the party?

Bringing my attention back to the phone, I notice the date. It is the 20th of April. I hear a sharp intake of breath and realize that it is my own. My lips begin to quiver and tears begin to pool into my eyes. Pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers, I escape into the comforting world of my memories.

 I would wake up to the mouth-watering aroma of mom’s famous vanilla funfetti cake. I look forward to it every year- yes, the cake is that good and come on, even the word ‘funfetti,’ is a party waiting to happen.  I would run downstairs and into the kitchen to see it cooling on the rack. To this day, it still delighted me to see the colourful rainbow sprinkles hiding in the yellowish-white fluff of the cake. Poking it with my finger, I would always giggle when it sprung right back up filling my senses with the promise of a soft, moist slice of heaven that was to come later in the day.

After school, I would finish my homework. Mom would be slaving away in the kitchen preparing my favorite meal- Tacos. For many years, it was only the three of us, but when Abby moved to town, she joined in. Fitting if you ask me, since our birthdays were only a week apart. After dinner, I was ordered to my room while they hid my presents around the house, for a treasure hunt. I loved this part the most. Finding and opening my presents with the customary ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’, mom would then bring out the cake. Purple frosting covered the cake, the shade of which varied every year. I didn’t mind, I loved every shade of purple. More colourful sprinkles adorned the cake, which made it almost too beautiful to eat. Looking at the smiling faces of the people I loved the most, I would cringe internally at the horrendous cacophony that was their singing. Then, I would blow out the candles. Tomorrow, there would have been sixteen candles on that cake.

Craving the taste of my mom’s cake, I treat myself to a few cookies from the backpack.  No point in saving them for later, especially when my future is so up in the air. Looking around, I decide that I like this underbrush. It occurs to me that I am completely hidden. Why not spend tomorrow here? At least that way, I will still be alive on my birthday. Alone, but alive. I decide that I can use the break to gather my strength and my wits. And even though I may lose track of the boys I am bound to run into them again. After all, they are hunting me.

Making the decision to stay, I begin to put things away. I cannot afford to be careless. If I pack up now, it will save me time if I need to make a quick and unscheduled departure in the middle of the night. I hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

My fingers tidy up automatically while my mind wanders. What are my parents doing right now? I pray to God to keep them strong and to help them find peace. I also pray for them to miraculously find me and take me back home. I wonder what Abby is doing…she was supposed to go away with her parents this upcoming weekend for a special sixteenth birthday pilgrimage to an Indian reservation. Weird choice for a trip…but to each their own. Was she carrying on like nothing happened? Did she feel guilty? What had she told my parents about where I was? Did they believe her? Why wasn’t anyone looking for me?

Yawning widely, I realize that the events of the day have finally caught up with me. I am exhausted. Unfolding the blanket, I wrap it around my body, covering my head with the hood. Since that night of the party, tonight will be the first time that I have laid down, and for this I am truly grateful. I pull the blanket tightly around myself and go to sleep.

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A/N: Picture of the cake is on the sidebar. : ) Please vote & comment!