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That might be a good pun if I wasn’t so terrified.
The car spins circles, zigging and zagging without regard for all he’s destroying. He slows down, revs his engine, then flies forward.
Again and again, he repeats the movements, obviously fully prepared to mow me down with the rest of the field.
When I reach the barn, the grass line ends, and I have no choice but to run out in the open. I turn back, waiting for the moment when the car is facing the opposite direction, and then, the second it is, I run as hard and fast as I can. I don’t stop until I’ve reached the back side of the barn, where I rest against it, catching my breath. The car is still driving, but I can’t see it from here. I find a small amount of relief in the fact that it sounds no closer to me than it was before.
I release a breath and take a look at the two large double doors to get inside. If they are locked, this could’ve all been for nothing.
To my relief, as I move closer, I see one of the doors is cracked open and barrel forward toward safety. Inside, the air is shaded and dusty. The sound from outside is slightly muffled, giving me the first sense of peace all day.
The space is dark, so it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust before I can make out my surroundings. I search for anything I can use as a weapon but come up empty-handed. The stalls are empty, and there are no tools lying around. I could try to break one of the wooden feeding troughs off of the wall, but I’m not sure I’d be able to and don’t want to draw any attention to myself with the noise, so that’s my last resort.
Dust flies up under my boots with each step across the dirt floor, and the place smells vaguely of horses, sweet feed, and manure. Memories from summers spent on my grandparents’ farm flood my mind. Whatever animals were here, whomever they belonged to at one point, they’re obviously long gone.
In the last stall I check, there’s a wooden ladder built into the wall, so I cross the barn on my way to it. There’s a chance I’ll find something of use upstairs.
After testing the wood of the ladder’s first few steps to be sure they’ll hold my weight, I put my foot on the bottom rung and hoist myself up. I climb slowly and test each additional step before I put my weight on it, relieved when each one holds me without issue.
When I reach the top floor, I walk cautiously toward the far wall and peek between the boards for a look outside. The car has headed in the opposite direction, but he seems to be slowing down.
I hold my breath. If he comes in here, there are a few hiding places, but ultimately, I might’ve backed myself directly into a trap.
The car turns, and for a brief moment, I’m lightheaded. But he points it toward the driveway, and the car jerks forward. Without hesitation, he flies down the driveway, slinging gravel and white dust in every direction. I sink down to the ground with a sigh, then fall backward onto my back.
For the first time, I can catch my breath. While I’m safe—while he’s gone—I have to do that. My energy is waning, my ankle has begun to throb, and I fear if I push myself further than I have to, I’ll never make it.
I lie still until the sun passes across the sky, casting moving shadows in the room around me. Part of me never wants to move again. I contemplate staying here and dying peacefully, my body turning to ash on the rotting wood beneath me.
It doesn’t seem so bad.
Beats the alternative, anyway. But I can’t. Some part of me is a fighter—the embodiment of the strong women I’ve spent the past thirteen years of my life writing about. I can’t let that part down.
As the sky begins to darken, I get up and peek out again. The driveway is empty, meaning he still hasn’t returned. Wherever he went, it must be far. Then again, I think everything could be pretty far from wherever we are. It feels like we’re in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Maybe he’s still searching for me. Or maybe he’s worried I’ve gone to tell someone where to find him, and he won’t be back at all.
A girl can dream.
My stomach growls as the evening turns into night. I’ve wasted enough time now. I need to come up with a plan. Need to get moving again. I wish there was a way to call for help, but the barn isn’t equipped with a phone, and there’s no chance in hell I’m going back in that house for any reason. I’d rather risk it with the field and highway.
Back on the bottom floor, I check the last room, which is littered with hay, animal feed, and mouse droppings. In the corner, I spot a few random tools that make my heart soar. I rush over and sort through them. There’s a rake, a rusty hammer, a broom, and a pitchfork. I pick up the pitchfork, deciding to use it for protection, but also to help me walk, as my ankle is still quite painful when I put pressure on it, and now my wounded leg is beginning to sting. I realize I must’ve torn open whatever remains of the wound at this point.
Despite how badly I’m hurting, I have no idea where I am or how far of a walk it will be to the nearest highway or town and, as the night progresses, I have to assume it’ll only be a matter of time until he returns. As much as I’d like to stay and rest, I need to go now.
I head back for the door and send up a silent prayer.
Sweetheart, if you’re up there—if you can hear me—please help me get out of this.I don’t know if I believe in heaven, or where I think we go after we die. What I do know is that, right now, I need whatever help and hope I can get.
I step out of the barn and suck in the humid, rapidly cooling night air. Fireflies dance around the field, giving the sky a peaceful glow, filling me with nostalgia for simpler evenings and quieter times. Liam used to catch fireflies in jars when he was a kid every night during the summer. Declan and I would sit on the front porch—or stoop, when we only had an apartment—and watch as he ran around for hours, mesmerized by the bugs. We’d have to wait until he went to sleep to release them, then tell him they escaped and went home on their own while he was sleeping. He believed that until he was ten I think.
Times were so easy back then. What I wouldn’t do to go back.
Enough reminiscing, Mari. Snap out of it.
I’m wasting precious time, and I have a decision to make. If I follow this field, there’s a chance it goes on for acres and acres with no end in sight. Chris took the driveway and obviously headed somewhere. I think it’s my best bet to head in the same direction, though I’ll stay in the grass just in case he comes back and our paths intersect.
I barrel back into the tall grass, blades slapping my face and arms as I run. It’s scarier at night—all shadows and darkness. Anyone, or anything, could be in here with me, and until I was right up on them, I’d never know.
