Untraceable

Survival Skill #42

To throw pursuers off track, change the course of action unexpectedly.

~

It’s Mo.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the vision will disappear. It’s only when I hear my wail reverberate through the forest do I realize how loud I really screamed.

Mo snaps his head in my direction. We stare each other down for what seems like an eternity. In those few seconds, a series of expressions wash over his face.

A few other men point toward me. That’s when I notice I’m standing on both feet and out in the wide open. I couldn’t be more visible if I’d been wearing a red shirt that said kill me. In hearing the commotion, Chief Reed barrels out of the tent and glances in my direction. His eyes narrow, and his teeth gnash.

“Damn it, grab her!”

A small crowd sprints up the hill toward me. Even as they charge in my direction, I remain frozen in place a few seconds longer than I should and take in Mo’s face. The last moment of the old “us.” I’ll never see him in the same way again. It takes everything I have to rip my eyes away.

A bullet zings through the woods, a small missile searching for a target. Missing my head by mere inches, it splinters a tree next to me, spraying shards of bark onto the deserted path. It’s as if someone snapped next to my head, I wake up from my brief daze and take off, hoping to hide in the shelter of the woods.

Branches slap me in the face as I tear through the trees. My backpack bumps against me with every swerve and hop. I skid to a halt at the fork in the path, not sure which trail to choose. Adrenaline bursts through my veins when another puff of dust explodes at my feet. Trees slap me in the face, stinging my cheeks, and the trail spits mud at my pants. I veer east and weave through the trees. As my feet beat hard down the broken path, my mind blocks out any thoughts.

I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

White dots spiral across my eyes as my body begs for air. I slip behind a tree to catch my breath. Behind me, deep voices echo, but only muffled words reach my ears. I can’t tell what they’re saying or from which direction they’re coming.

At the thought of being captured, fear coils around my chest like a boa constrictor. My head pounds with pain and my eyes dart across the monotonous woods, searching for a way out. The voices float all around me but I can’t see them so I still have some time before they close in.

I have to be smart about this. I need a plan or I have no chance.

Think. Think.

I listen for the slightest sound, search for the tiniest movement.

Nothing.

As a wildlife enforcement officer, Dad believed the woods would talk to me if I could be still enough to listen. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the space around me.

Listening. Waiting. Afraid to breathe.

A light breeze slithers through the ghostly forest. The leaves rustle and the trees hiss, whispering secrets to each other. The forest appears to exhale then hold its breath. Everything grows as quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Nothing scurries, burrows, or twitters. The trees stop swaying and freeze, as if they’re hiding too. And then I hear it: the distant snap of a random twig. The hair on my neck bristles.

They’re still after me.

In the silence, Dad’s voice reminds me what to do. Our tracks are the earth’s reaction to us and give proof of you. If you don’t want to be found, erase any evidence that you exist.