Her breath was coming in high pitched rasps between cracked bloody lips. She’d lost a heel at some point. A stitch of massive proportions was tearing its way up her side. She had to keep running, she could still hear them behind her. She kicked off both shoes and held the little straps in her left hand as she ran. Her right hand was charcoal black and it felt cold as ice. That was something to ponder when she was safe. Right now she had to keep running.
Where the hell could she go? She stopped for a moment to gasp a few breaths and to have a look at her surroundings. Pretty little townhouses and white picket fences. A dog started barking at her from behind a high wooden fence. She heaved violently as the stitch stuck its way into her stomach. She drew in a long whistling breath and carried on running. Her feet were stinging now from the pretty paved streets. She grimaced in pain as she stumbled and felt her right ankle click. She carried on running. She had no choice. If they caught up, she was deadmeat.
How dare they? She became angry. Furious. Her right hand clenched hard and her once fine nails dug into her palm. She squeaked in pain. She got her second wind. Her lungs heaved as she sucked in huge gasps of air and a burst of speed spread to her feet and she surged forward.
What have I done? What can I do to change this?
Nothing! Keep running! Find somewhere to hide!
She kept running, scanning the homes around her for a shed or a partially open garage. This was subburbia, people trusted each other. There had to be somewhere she could huddle until the mob passed her by.
She stumbled again, this time falling hands first into a hedge. The sharp sticks cut and tore and she had to muffle her shrieks. She extracted herself and saw she was in a small garden. Next to the large white double story house was a little wooden wendy house.
She stopped to listen for the pack behind her. There. In the far distance. At least they didn’t have dogs this time.
She slunk across the freshly mowed lawn towards the wendy house, listening carefully for any noise from the house.
It wasn’t locked. Thank heavens.
Her legs buckled as she closed the little wooden door behind her and she collapsed on a stack of compost bags. She was safe. For now.
Finally, the tears came.