Alaska's Illicit

I

Chapter 1 | THE ESCAPE

The screaming of the fire trucks speeding down the road is slowly fading away as I run from the burning house. I hear the sirens echoing behind me as I re-adjust my overly packed duffle bag on my shoulder, going on at the same sprinting pace from when I had started.

I turn my head to the left and glance back, catching glimpses of the bright burning colors of the orange, red, and yellow flames through the bare trees.

I didn't do it, I swear I didn't do it.

But, they'd never believe me. Or at least, that's what he had told me would happen.

I'm probably stupid for taking his word for it, but he's a man with an excellent public image and reputation. Everyone else in town will believe him. And, I know that's not how the justice system works. I'm entitled to a lawyer whether I have money or not, thanks to Clarence Earl Gideon. However, if I'm framed, the only thing probably waiting for me is a plea deal.

I continue racing through the colorless woods; the trees that were behind the place that I used to call my home, even if it never felt like it.

The Washington air is cold as I try to multitask, a thing I have never been good at. While I'm running as fast as I can, struggling under the weight of my bag, I try zipping my thick, black winter coat up farther than it is, but to no surprise, I fail.

Ha! Story of my life.

Even though I'm busy thinking, and my mind is stupidly somewhere else, I don't stop running. There are sharp, jagged branches that stick out, probably waiting to impale my poor, not-so-innocent hazel colored eyes. Dodging them, I race as fast as I can through the deep, crystallized snow.

Which is not very fast.

I re-adjust my cozy trapper hat farther down so that it's covering half of my pale forehead and cringe at the feeling of the snow touching my legs. I'm wearing jeans, even though I had the option of grabbing my father's old bibs. But, they are too big and full for my lean frame, as he wasn't the skinniest guy. And, how fast could I run in those?

I glance back again, just as I have been for the past nine minutes I've been running, and seeing nothing, continue on through the impending woods.

Based on the map I studied and memorized these past few months, I have about a half-mile left to go, and I haven't even yet run a full one.

But, I think I'm getting close to it.

God, I hate running long distances. Or, just running in general.

Barely managing to jump over a log, I start to count the seconds and minutes as they pass by.

One cat and dog.

Two cat and dog.

Three cat and dog.

After tediously counting two minutes away, I decide to stop for a bit and catch my breath, panting in and out rapidly. I try to breathe quieter as soon as I remember where and who I am.