Escape
794 Words
Rhea Ann Dawson was dead - killed by her boyfriend, Finn Dalton.
The wail of a police siren jolted me awake, adrenaline kicked in, and a few minutes later I had gotten out of the car and sprinting as far away from it as possible before it exploded. I couldn't get far enough though and the explosion did the rest, throwing off the alley onto the street. But adrenaline still worked overtime and even though I was bleeding badly and had a few broken bones, I was able to get up on my feet and crawl into the garbage truck that was parked close by. Once I was nestled up in it, I fell asleep.
I woke up again, thanks this time to the scorching sun burning up my face. I immediately tried to block its rays with my hand but it didn't budge. Then I felt a piercing pain tearing at my head and secondary ones in my shoulders, back, and ankle. I bit on my lips to hold back tears, forcing myself up.
I looked around and it became harder to hold back the tears. I was in a landfill, surrounded by piles of trash, with nothing else in sight. At least, not from where I stood.
I held my face in my hands, the blood that had trickled down earlier had dried up, and tried to convince myself to make a move. Rita was still waiting for me. I'd been gone for at least one day and I gave her instructions to call Finn. What if he tries to kill her too?
My subconscious disagreed, arguing that Finn wasn't like that, and I reminded us that he just tried to kill me. Everything I thought I knew about him was wrong and if he was with Rita, I had to get to her before he harms her. And if I don't leave here as soon as possible, these fumes will make sure the hospital has more work to do than fixing my broken bones.
"No thanks to the lazy fools that couldn't be bothered to notice a full grown human in their garbage truck," I mutter with sarcasm, pulling myself up with the help of a rod. My subconscious argued again, this time reminding me I could have awoken in an incinerator.
I sighed, holding my rod tightly, as I looked for a path down the pile on which I stood. My eyes began to flood again and I shut them tightly. I had cried enough. Now was the time to survive.
After limping for hours on end, I spotted a cabin in the woods downhill and joy and relief tore through me. I was severely dehydrated, hungry, and my skin had turned crispy red from the heat of the sun. It didn't matter if a serial killer lived there, I would wrestle him for a chance to feel at home even for a second.
My joy was cut short as soon as I took a step forward. I tripped and fell, rolling downhill until I slammed into a tree. If a serial killer really did live here, I had given myself to him without a fight. With that thought, I shut my eyes again almost certain it would be the last time.
*
I woke up to blackness and the high-pitched ringing that had somehow become my new normal. The pain in my head and body had greatly subsided and I no longer felt dehydrated. The ringing dissipated and I began to hear a noise. It was muffled and sounded like an argument and I tried to sit up.
"The doctor said you should be careful until your injuries heal," a childlike voice came from beside me and I realized its owner had been sitting still at my side all the while. "I wouldn't want your stitches to open up," he continued, helping me to sit.
"Who are you?" I asked gently, trying to hide the feeling of alarm washing over me.
"Diego Garcia," he muttered softly, "what's your name?"
"How did I get here?"
"No fair," he grumbled and I had to stifle a chuckle. "Dad and I found you passed out in the woods so we brought you home."
"Oh okay, where's Dad?" I asked, realizing I got into the cabin after all.
"In the living room, arguing with Mom. You still haven't told me your name." He sounded really sad and I could tell he could use a friend.
"It's Rhea," I said, wearing the cutest smile I could find even though I was sure he couldn't see it. "Diego, one last question, please."
"Go ahead."
I bring my hand to my face, wriggling my fingers. "Why's it so dark in here?"
He sounded confused. "It's not."
- Writer
