Hunted

Each breath passes my lips into a crystallized cloud of white steam. I’m breathing heavy. How long have I been leaning against this tree? I need to keep moving. My left arm is lifeless now, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding just above my elbow. I used a bit of my shirt I tore off at the waist to cover the wound and collect the blood. I can’t afford to leave a red-hot trail to follow.

The winter chill seems to be dulling my senses. But in a counterintuitive way I feel and hear every movement and moment around me. Is this what it’s like for most prey animals? I can’t spend too much time worrying about that now. I must focus on my next objective; I need a place to hide. I am way too exposed out here on this tree. Every second I spend considering my next move is a second lost to my pursuers.

I can hear the rush water up ahead. Where had I heard it before? It’s damn near impossible to track something down a river. Well perhaps not impossible, but at least it should buy me more time. Movement, I need to get moving. I pushed as hard as I could against the tree to be back on my feet. I think the blood loss is starting to get to me. My vision darkened a little and I could feel myself sway in the wind, but it was brief.

The adrenaline kicks in again. I know I’m leaving a massively easy trail to follow in the snow, but if I can get to the water I bet I can buy enough time to think. It’s close enough that I can hear it, so that’s good, but distances can get sketchy when you’re in this state. I just need to keep focusing on each step, one foot in front of the other. Simple movement. The rhythm takes over and I lose track of how long I’ve been stumbling.

A hidden branch or log in the snow catches my foot and I start rolling. All I see is white and blue as the keeps whipping me in the face with each rotation, down the slant of the forest floor. With a slap to the face the water comes rushing into my mouth. It’s an insanely painful and invigorating sensation. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I could possibly be colder until I was soaked through. But water! I had found the stream; freedom is still a possibility.

It was about five feet across and two feet deep, just enough to ensure that I would be totally immersed. Not a time to think about being wet. I need to get moving. I can hear the voices in the distance. How long did I stay at the tree? How slow was I moving? What are they saying?

Pushing myself up with my good arm hurts immensely. Snap! Suddenly everything is a burst of pain. All my limbs no longer take my orders. Time slows to a near halt as I slump forward, my face dropping back into the cool water. The pain dissipates relatively quickly now. As my vision fades in the base of the creek I can see red pooling in front of me.

-V-