Morgan
Frigid water sucks me under and folds me in. My entry causes a shock that steals my breath and sends my limbs lame. Everything around me is as black as a raven’s feather, and I’m not sure if it’s just because the blindfold remains in place or if I’ve sunken so deep, no light can pass through. I must find the surface and then a shoreline.
Swim, Morgan.
I do. With courage.
There’s a strong pulling sensation that sucks me down and as it does the blindfold slips from my head. My eyes are wide as I fight the harsh suction. It's so rigorous that my limbs struggle to propel me through the water, but I refuse to give up because I can’t drown. I can’t die like this. My muscles burn, and no matter how hard I try to push past the pain, I can’t. I’m battling a whirlpool much stronger than any rip I’ve ever been dragged into before, and the more I fight, the more air I lose. I stop fighting and relax my limbs in the same way I would if I found danger in the surf.
Conserve.
Hope.
Pray.
Swim.
It’s all I can do.
I’m suddenly weightless as if many hands press me upwards, guiding me to safety. I whip my head below the water, searching for the source of the aid being afforded me, but nobody is with me, and then I’m laid on my back, floating. One harsh suck of air has my lungs inflated, and I don’t splutter or cough, which is odd for how close to airless I’d become. Instead, I roll onto my stomach and swim like my life is depending on me doing so. My life is depending on it. I’ve no idea which way to steer myself; I’ve no idea where I am, and when I rotate my arms over and over, until it feels like I complete the motion for the millionth time, I find myself raking my fingertips into an earthy surface.
“Oh, lord.” I’m trembling when I manage to tow myself from the water. I puff excessively in between each cry I make due to overwhelming despair. I’m weeping like a lost child, fearful and in danger.
Where am I? Why is it pitch black?
Running my hands over my eyes has my eyelashes folding with the movement. I stare into complete darkness that causes me to shudder. I’m wet, still shivering, and completely scared out of my wits.
Seated on what feels to be a mound of sorts, I tilt my chin upwards and search for light, a familiar object, or a landmark that might aid me in gauging my current position. There’s nothing until a half crescent moon pops up out of nowhere. This moon offers a guide. I can’t shift my eyes away, not for a second, because what if I lose sight of it? What if it disappears in the same fashion I did … without warning and entirely unaware? The risk of its loss is far too significant, so I sit fixated on the crescent shape hovering above me.
A loud ear-splitting scream explodes from my mouth as something slithers over my arm and across my waist. I already know it’s a snake without having to search for it. Instinctively, I grab the scaly critter from my body with desperation and peg it away from me.
“Shit! Ewww! Yuck!” I leap upwards, squealing.
By far, this is the worst start to one of the wolf’s game so far. I slump to the ground, heaped in fatigue. No more tears build, even though I wish I could howl inconsolably to release the stress pent up inside of me. The adrenaline that is now pulsing throughout my body brings with it the wakeup call I need. I can’t continue to sit here. I need to move.
I crawl as far as I can either way, but the darkness the night brings makes seeing which way to go impossible, that is until the moon almost transforms into a rising sun, and daylight is only a whisker away.
I must find a way out.
Grey. The colour grey is what I’m met with when I turn in a circle on my bottom. Every direction I look has boulders circling me. There’s so many of them they create a vertical cobblestone structure. There’s not a tree shooting from the ground in sight, only branches poking out from between the boulders stacked tall. The backpack that was in the wolf’s prison with me, however, lays on the ground within arm’s reach. I grunt as I outstretch my arm and pull it to my stomach.
As I shift my attention to further along the ground, I tremble when I see many circular white pipes, exposed in parts throughout rich brown dirt, that leads into a pool of calm murky water … murky water which starts where the soil ends on every side. I flick my eyes across from where I’m sitting, only to gasp at the sight of a huge metal box, taller than I’d stand, wider than I am, with more pipes coming out of it. I don’t understand what I’m seeing, but something tells me this is a place the wolf has created as part of his game.
The only way out of here is up. There’s not enough room to walk around the water’s edge because some parts of the dirt disappear where the rock face enters the ground and the water starts. And I’m not re-entering that pool just to explore the other side.
Round, thick sarsens become my latest challenge, and although it takes every bit of energy I have, I manage to work up the courage to begin the climb needed to get out of the wolf’s trap.
The first time I reach my arms up and grip onto a surface that I think can hold my weight, I fall. The rock is not a rock at all; it’s putty in my hands as it crumbles into dust.
Come on, Morgan. Find a path out of here.
I step back and search the structure towering in front of me. Left, right, centre. Left, right, centre. It’s like searching through a series of mazes. Each path I choose ends in a place where I could fall to my death, but I keep searching.
I continue my mental process of elimination. Not that path. Or that one. My eyes widen. My shoulders pull back the moment I locate a possible route. It’s as clear as day, mapped in my mind when I again reach my arms upwards and take hold of a small smooth surface the boulder creates. Groaning through my gritted teeth, I pull my leg up behind my arm, my trek underway. I can do this.
Each yank of my body becomes more difficult than the last. My muscles burn. My legs shake, and my balance falters. I throw my hand out, gripping the top of a jagged rock and lose my footing. Warm liquid rushes down my inner arm, and I don’t have to look to know it’s my blood ... the sting from my sweat entering the open wound is knowledge enough.
Fuck!
Darting my eyes to the ground and then upwards, I realise I’ve not much farther to go, so I push myself until a final forced growl explodes from my mouth and I launch my body forwards and slide the length of my torso over the edge, scrimmaging with the backpack as it falls off one shoulder and swings around my neck.
“I did it,” I puff, falling onto my back, cuddling the backpack tight to my chest. A flood of emotion rockets through me: happiness, relief, fear, sadness … they all mix into one overwhelming mass, and I’m not sure if I want to scream out my relief, cry until there are no more tears left to cry, or curl up into the foetal position and sleep …
The need for rest is something I struggle with as my eyelids grow heavy, and my eyes itch with irritation. I’d give my right arm to sleep right now, even just for ten minutes, but I wouldn’t give my life to sleep, and if I lie here and do so it will be the end of my life. The wolf has proven time and time again that he is the hunter because that’s what wolves do—they hunt. And I’m his bait because that’s what lambs are for—they exist as prey. Get up, Morgan, I warn myself.
I do. I find my feet and search the environment around me.
Dry, dense bushland stretches on forever. My heart thrums in my chest. No more bushland. I can’t do anymore fucking bushland. Shifting my eyes from left to right, I picture the wolf standing in there somewhere, waiting for me. His evil, hungered glare and his commanding stance already overpower me. His heart, cold enough to extinguish my soul and erase my existence at a moment of his choosing.
I need to keep focused and stay strong, even if I’m famished and fatigued.
Rustle, rustle.
The sound of a branch moving, even though there’s no breeze about to cause a shift, has me slowly peeling back the zip on the bag hanging at my front. I’ve no idea what’s inside the backpack apart from the scissors I slipped in there. What if he searched the bag when I was no longer conscious? What if they aren’t in there anymore? Please let them be in here.
I frantically move my hand as I try to keep the remainder of my body still. Oh my God, where are the scissors?