Page 2 of Run
The man makes his way closer to the car, oblivious to the girl tucked under the wheel at his feet.
We only just moved into this house. It’s a shabby, one-floor shack that sits close to an almost identical one. We’re only a half-hour from the City of Rochester, but we might as well be out in the boonies considering I can ride my bike through miles of corn fields and only spot a house here and there. Or, in our case, a small grouping of two or three houses.
Both my house and the one next door are run-down, with crap littering the yards. But the crap in our yard doesn’t belong to us. It was here when we got here. We’re just renting, so my dad says we keep our mouths shut about it.
“Arlene!” the man yells again. “When I find you, girl, you’re going to be sorry.”
Oh shit.I know that tone. And if my own dad warned me about this guy, he must really be something. Good thing I ain’t scared of nobody.
When I storm out of the house and let our own screen door slam, the man stops. I hear him grumble something about a bastard kid and I chuckle to myself.Asshole.
A small breeze picks up, and we both hear a little cough. The man turns his head quickly, trying to find where the sound came from.
“Whaddaya lookin’ for?” I yell to distract him, but he barely acknowledges me. “Hey, old man! I said, what the hell are you looking for?” That gets him.
“You sassin’ me, you little shit?”
I grin. “I ain’t scared of you.”
The man huffs. “Yeah? Well then, why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you what you should be scared of?” The guy squares his shoulders at me, like he’s actually ready to fight me.
“Yeah, real scary, you pot-bellied, greasy old man.” That ought to get him going. But if I’m being honest, he’s notthatold, and he’s not really pot-bellied. He has a thick middle that could be muscle for all I know.
There’s a little chuckle. We both hear it.
“Where is she? That little brat. I’ll teach her a lesson once I get my hands on her.”
Damn. This guy’s a real piece of work.
His eyes dart around, looking for the girl, fists clenched at his sides. The muscles in his back, neck, and shoulders ripple as he tenses, radiating anger. “You talkin’ about the girl with the red hair?”
“Yeah. You seen her?”
“Yeah, I saw her. She went that way.” I point out toward the side of the house, and he takes the bait.
Trotting down the old wooden steps of our house, I quickly make my way over to the girl tucked in her hiding spot. Looking around and not seeing the man, I drop to my knees and stick a hand under the vehicle, wiggling my fingers in a silent invitation for her to take my hand. When I don’t get a response, I crouch down on all fours and peer under the vehicle.
I come face-to-face with a pair of piercing green eyes glistening with unshed tears, a hand wrapped around her mouth as she nervously sucks air in through her nose. Her other arm hugs bruised, knobby knees close to her chest.
After popping my head back up and looking around to make sure the man is still out of sight, I lean down and reach under the car, taking the girl’s hand in mine. She flinches at the contact and tries to pull back, but I tighten my grip. After a brief pause, she lets me help pull her out.
Kneeling on the gravel, I begin rubbing my palms together to get the grit off of them, when a soft crushing sound comes from around the side of the house. The girl freezes, sheer terror in her eyes. She darts those eyes over my shoulder, then back at me. Then over my shoulder, then back at me.
Before I can make a move, the girl whispers, “Run.”
She grabs my hand, drags me up and takes off.
Nearly falling a few times, I manage to get my feet under me, but hot damn, she’s fast. Once we hit the end of the grassy backyard and breach the wheat field, she drops my hand.
The old man grunts and I turn my head as I keep running, seeing he’s still in pursuit of us. He’s actually pretty quick, but I’m not afraid he’ll catch us. I almost lose sight of the girl as she darts this way and that, weaving through the tall brown wheat stalks that almost swallow her up whole. Her ponytail swings side to side as she runs, arms stretched out like she’s plowing through the field.
She makes a quick left and heads into the woods. Panting, I turn back again to see the man is nowhere in sight.
Knowing we are safe now, I risk hollering to the girl, “Hey!” I follow her through the entrance of the woods, which quickly opens up to a rocky area and, despite my sneakers, feel the sharp rocks jabbing my feet through the soles of my shoes as I navigate them.
Coming to an abrupt stop, I see the girl sitting on a larger rock, bare feet resting in a shallow brook as she scoops water up and dribbles it over her legs, which have little red welts popping up on them.
Suddenly, I’m aware of my own stinging legs. “Gahhhh!” I shriek, looking down and seeing little red whip marks rising up them. “What the heck is this?!”
