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Zoe
Zoe’s foot struck something hard and unyielding, and she pitched forward into the darkness. She shoved her hands out in front of her to brace herself, but her face still hit the cold ground. She cried out, too loudly, and then froze. She held her breath. Had they heard her? Were they still coming for her?
A flashlight beam swung across the trees in front of her.
Yes. They were still coming.
She pushed herself to her feet and veered off to the left, hoping not to be lit up by their beams. Though her chest burned and she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her, she started to run again. How far into the darkness could those flashlights shine? Pretty far, she thought.
Just because she’d seen the light didn’t mean they were on her trail, she told herself. They might not even be after her at all. Several kids had scattered into the same patch of woods.
The cops couldn’t catch them all.
She needed to be one of the ones who got away. She didn’t know what would happen if they caught her. She didn’t know what she’d be charged with. She’d used, but could they prove it? Could they make her take a test? She didn’t know. She didn’t have anything on her, so they wouldn’t think she was selling. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe they’d go easy on her. She’d only been arrested twice before, and both of those times were for drinking. This would be her first drug-related offense. Maybe they’d have mercy on her.
Did mercy even exist?
And even if they did take pity on her, that didn’t mean that her stepfather would. She had no idea how he might react to a drug charge. He’d called strike two about eight strikes ago. Eight? Or was it nine? She’d lost count. But she didn’t know how much more he could take. He hated her, wanted her gone, had been threatening to send her to some “facility” for “at-risk youth.” How she hated that phrase! At risk for what? Punching him in the throat, maybe.
Shouting. And the deep bark of a dog. Had that been her imagination? Surely the cops wouldn’t bring out the bloodhounds to search the woods for some teens? She had a terrible thought: maybe the teens weren’t the only ones in these woods. She slowed down a little, as if that would help her spot others. This was ridiculous. She could stand perfectly still and still not see anything.
She pushed her burning legs to go faster again. The terrain was uphill now. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. She hoped there were other teens in the woods, other kids for the cops to catch. She hoped the hookups weren’t in the same woods. She didn’t know those guys, but they hadn’t looked especially friendly. She didn’t want to run into one of them out here. She thought they’d probably string her up to slow the cops down.
She didn’t know how much more she could run. She wasn’t in particularly good shape, and her lungs really hurt. She couldn’t catch her breath. It was all uphill now. Should she turn and go back down? Try to slant away from them? She stopped and turned. She couldn’t see anything. No movement. No flashlights. Maybe she was okay. Maybe she’d lost them. Maybe they’d given up.
She changed her course by ninety degrees. She wouldn’t go up or down; she would go sideways, give her legs a break. She didn’t run. She tried to walk quickly, but she knew there was no quick left in her. She heard another bark, and then her left foot missed the ground. She cried out again as her left foot kept sinking. Where had the ground gone? She flailed her arms for something to grab onto. Her right fingers found the needles of an evergreen tree, but as she grasped at them, they came off in her hands, and then she was falling ... falling ... sure this was it ... she was going to die this time.
And all she could think about was her mother.
