Morgan
Both my shins have sustained deep lacerations. A trip wire placed between two trees inflicted these injuries that are stinging fiercely and bleeding profusely. I swear I can see my bone amongst the tattered flesh, but I’m not sure. I was too caught up in my thoughts to watch where I was going. I need to be more aware of my surroundings. I need to be smarter. He said I wasn’t smart enough to win his game, but I believe I am. I need to outsmart the Wolf.
The sight of the injury gives me the urge to vomit through my clenched teeth every time I turn my eyes towards it. Slowly swinging the backpack to my front, I groan in agony. My hands are shaking, as is the rest of my body, and I’m dripping in sweat. The zip slips out of my pinched grip and again, I groan. I just want to lie down and close my eyes. I don’t have anything left in the tank. I’m beyond exhausted and my sight is becoming blurry with every blink of my lashes, but I can’t give up, so again I try pulling back the zip. This time I have it opened wide enough to retrieve the canister.
Pouring the last drops of water over my open wounds hurts like hell, and I growl through my teeth as the blood mixed with water runs across my feet.
Lord, help me.
The bandage from the backpack, the one he left for me, the one he knew I was going to need is now in my hand. He knew I wouldn’t see the trip wire. He knows everything that’s going to happen before it even does, and he told me he’d always be one step in front of me. He didn’t lie, he is.
One bandage, two open wounds. I must find a way to cut the material, but how?
I leave the backpack on the ground with the empty canister and use my arms to pull my body across mouldy leaves and dry dirt. I search for anything sharp to cut the bandage into two halves, but so far there’s nothing. My vision is becoming worse and the nausea I’m experiencing is flipping my stomach so wildly that my will to give in and die is growing strong. For one moment, I contemplate death being the only option I have left. Maybe I should end this game here and now because I can’t even walk. Something buried deep down in the pit of my soul keeps me fighting, and I reach out my forearm, press it hard against the ground, and scream my agony as I drag my body a little bit farther from where it was.
A fallen branch catches the corner of my eye. It’s not clear to see from this distance, but I believe I can discern a protruding branch poking upwards. Lying on my side I begin to roll my body as if it was being unravelled from heavy carpeting. It hurts like hell, but I’m making ground faster.
Unrolling the material of the bandage, I try to hold it up from the dirty ground below, but it’s not working. My teeth become a vice to keep half the length at my height.
I work the fabric over the snapped branch, piercing the middle of the length, halfway down; the threads rip easily. I don’t stop repeating this action until the bandage finally splits into two separate parts.
I’m huffing as I attempt to wrap the wounds tightly, it’s harder than I anticipated, mainly because my legs are bleeding so badly the bandage is becoming drenched with blood. My sticky fingers are also not helping the situation, but with a determined scrunched face, I somehow manage to secure them in place, tucking the ends inside, at the back of my calf. I don’t think they’ll stay in place long, but it’s something for the interim.
Bang!
It’s a loud thunder clap I associate with the sound of a rifle being fired.
Bang!
There’s another shot fired.
Bang …! Bang!
He’s coming.
A wild pig comes screeching around a bend, heading in my direction. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stand, let alone walk, to get away from this beast. I freeze as my heart gallops and I stare down the boar making ground quicker than I can draw air –– this fucker is going to ram those horns straight through my guts; there’s no doubt in my mind about it.
Bang!
I hear a tortured screech, followed by a wild snorting sound and then the boar lies on its side, expelling feral sounds, but not moving.
The Wolf. He slaughtered this animal to save me. Why?
I see him standing far off in in the distance. I know it’s the Wolf because he’s wearing all black, and he holds the rifle pointed straight in the direction of my head. I scoot backwards. It’s not far, but I’m moving, I don’t want to screech feral sounds like that boar just did. I don’t when a bullet piercing my own skin before ricocheting between my bones and organs.
He takes two steps forwards, and I watch him like a hawk. He begins to walk, until his pace quickens to a jog. The gun still remains in target with my skull.
“Help.” It’s a drained call. “Help. Someone help me,” I whimper whilst continuing my efforts to drag myself to some sort of protective shelter.
The Wolf’s running. I can’t hear his footsteps as he sprints towards me. It’s like he’s weightless in his pursuit. How do his feet land so silently? I swallow hard and cry out just as he vanishes from my vision.
Where the fuck did he go?
The backpack is too far from me to grab it, and all I can think is I need to find somewhere to shelter immediately. But where? I can’t climb, run or walk. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“Red. You have to be faster than that.” I feel his breath race down my neck.
He’s behind me.
“Move,” he whispers with his cheek pressed against mine. “Move,” he says again.
“I can’t.” I cry out.
His touch disappears. Is he gone? I fold my eyelids closed just as I feel the barrel of his rifle press into the back of my skull. “RUN!” It’s a demanding deliverance, yet it’s not anger fuelled. He’s in control.
I fall forwards and slide my body away from him using my forearms, that is until I pull myself up onto my knees, and begin crawling. I hear his footsteps coming up my rear and sob hard as I manage to find enough strength to stand on the balls of my feet. I’m hobbling at first, then jogging ... I run. The scream that flies from my wide mouth is the most tortured and painful scream I have ever heard in my life. It’s a scream that comes from deep down within a person’s soul, my soul. He’s destroying me, inside and out. The Wolf isn’t going to allow me any mercy. He’s taking pleasure from these games, his hunt, and I’m sure he’ll get the ultimate pleasure when he guts me like a pig and hangs my skin from his wall as a trophy.
I can’t give up. I don’t want to be his trophy.