Trigger

8

STORMY

Stormy spent a few hours moving through the forest at a slow pace. She was of two minds: the panic of being utterly lost, as well as the fear of traveling too deeply into the forest. If she turned around, it was more likely that she would be caught. What would they do with her then?

Stormy reminded herself that there were some things far worse than death, so she continued walking and trying to think straight.

They had been keeping her alive for a reason. She would be dead if they’d wanted her dead, so her rational mind told her to take it easy while sitting in their gilded cage.

There was no going back, quite literally. She had to focus on getting to the city, or, at least, somewhere where she could call for help.

Stormy tried to remember the training she’d received as a child about following the movement of the sun. She stopped now and then, gazing into the sky and trying to summon those memories. But it was no good, as every time she stopped, she thought she heard footsteps moving behind her. Something was coming for her.

She paused, listening, sweat dripping down the end of her nose. Fast feet were trailing behind her, traveling the pathway with the ease of an athletic runner. She knew that it wasn’t her imagination. This wasn’t a good sign to anyone on the run from violent terrorists.

“Shit.”

Stormy retreated quickly behind a tree, standing straight to hide from her attacker. She scanned the terrain and picked up a thick branch.

The man was moving fast, almost in a full sprint. Stormy held the branch high overhead with two hands, ready to swing. She was the best softball batter in her school at one time.

The hurried footfalls got louder and dashed closer. Her heart pounded in her ears, nearly blocking the sound. Her lungs burned from a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Closer. Almost here. The snow crunched just on the other side of the trunk. Pure adrenaline and panic fueled her swing. Her arms whipped around and came to a sudden stop, jarring her body. The limb she held hit its mark, but it was like smacking a brick wall.

The man’s head snapped back from contact with the branch, and his feet flew into the air. He crashed onto his side.

Stormy dropped the branch, staring down at the man, and saw a dirty indent on his forehead with blood pouring out.

There was no time for her to assess her actions. She noticed he was wearing a backpack along with military-style fatigues. It had to be one of the men searching for her. Panic stole any logic in her head and sent her sprinting blindly.

She sped through the dense foliage, and branches and limbs tore at her face and jacket. The cold air sucked into her lungs stung like an ice pick being driven through her. Get away. She had to get far away from there.

A painful stitch was quickly forming in her side. Perhaps she should’ve worked on her cardio more in the gym. She had to slow down when the pain became unbearable.

She bent over, heaving. Her mind twirling like a carnival ride, she did her best to breathe deeply through her nose and out of her mouth. Eventually, she was able to calm and refocus her thoughts.

The sound of rustling leaves caught her attention. She twisted around, her heart picking up pace again. But instead of a man emerging from the brush, she was surprised to see something completely lifted from a fairy tale.

A bright streak of white pushed through the stark brown in the form of a wolf. It had something bulky in its mouth. It didn’t look hungry, not that she’d know what a hungry wolf looked like. Weren’t wild animals always wanting to eat, especially when there was snow on the ground?

Stormy looked around for a place to run for safety from an animal who could track a mouse in a field of corn and run like a racehorse. Yeah, she wasn’t going to find that hiding spot. She stood there, staring at the white creature as it moved through the trees. It seemed as though it was coming straight for her.

Oh s**t. It must be very hungry. She was so dead. She zipped up her coat and pulled her hood over her head, then sucked her hands into her coat sleeves. Maybe if she didn’t show any flesh, he wouldn’t eat her right away. She’d be like a candy bar in a plastic wrapper, ready to tear open and bite into. That thought made her stomach growl, along with the panic already swirling there.

Maybe if she didn’t move, it wouldn’t notice her and just pass her by. She knew that was a dumb thought, but stress and panic did that to a person. She backed against a tree, slipping around the trunk to the other side, hoping it wouldn’t see her.

Barely breathing, she leaned against the cold bark, listening for the footsteps. Waiting. Waiting. Would it tear her head off first or go for one of her limbs ... like a chicken leg or wing? She began shaking from fear or the cold. She wasn’t sure. Both?

She suddenly realized she couldn’t hear the animal. Wolves were the stealthiest creatures in the forest. Was it still there? Had it changed course? The only way to know was to check. She whimpered at the thought, recalling all the horror movies she’d seen where the killer was right behind the victim to be stabbed with a huge butcher knife.

She had to look to be sure. It may be the last thing she ever did. Ever so slowly, she leaned sideways to peek around the tree. Her eyes scanned the area, not seeing a single thing moving. What the hell? Had it gone away? She leaned back and caught something white from the corner of her eye. She screamed and jumped away, tripping over her own feet, hitting the ground hard.

The wolf was there on her other side, sitting back on its haunches, tongue hanging out of its mouth like it was Lassie. At its feet was the backpack the man had been carrying.

Oh god. This wild animal killed the man, took his pack with food, and now is coming after her. She didn’t want to die like this. Her bones spread across a forest in Eastern Europe.