Morgan
The smell of bark and dirt are the first to fill my senses. The ground is cushioned below me and as I roll my head, I hear the crunching sound of leaves being torn and crumpled. Instantly, my cheek burns hot in one spot, so I shift my hand and cup my cheek to protect my skin. The need to wiggle my toes becomes strong due to a sudden tickling sensation alerting me to their existence. I moan as I twitch both ankles and then stretch my feet. God, how I ache.
A kookaburra laughs and it’s the perfect pitch of hysterical human laughter entwined with maniacal cackling. I dart my eyes open, only to close them the moment trees begin spinning. I want to vomit. Let me off this rollercoaster. I’m not sure what’s happening. Am I dead?
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
Leaves rustle.
My feet tickle once more. I again twitch both ankles before stretching my toes. The sensation increases.
Move, Morgan.
I bend my knees upwards. It doesn’t stop the tickle. Something’s crawling on me. I jump upright and stumble until I’m lumbering forwards. It’s a sharp pinch and then a stinging sensation. I bend and brush my legs. I think I’m being bitten by ants. Everything is blurry and disproportional … I’m breathing hard … I’m smacking at my skin. “Fuck.” It’s a breathless deliverance of the word. “Get off me. Stop biting me.”
I’m running. Pains are shooting through my spine. My thighs are burning. My mouth is hung open and bone dry and then I hear it, something is moving towards me. I halt on the spot. There’s bushland in every direction I turn. My heart pumps hard. My head pounds to its rhythm. I twist left then right. I’m searching for somewhere to hide. A thick tree trunk becomes my destination. It’s about five metres away from me. I can make it.
I flick my head in every direction. I see nothing, so I sprint until my fingertips brush the bark of the trunk and I fall behind it, landing heavily onto my arse. Every breath I take is dry and hot. But I can’t stop breathing, I just need to slow the pace in which I’m drawing air. “Stay away.” My mouth grows chalky, my palms are slick from my fear and the words that were disgorged with force from within me.
Mask. Long shirt. Long pants. Boots … they’re all coloured black. I stop when my eyes connect with his.
He shakes his head.
I snap my eyelids closed just as something comes hurtling towards me. It impacts my face hard. I open my mouth to scream, but the result is soundless.
Help.
I curl into a ball, sheltering my head with my arms folded over the top. I wait. I’m waiting for him to grab me. Drag me. Hurt me. He’s not. I’m still untouched. I squeeze my eyes tightly together and taste blood in my mouth, my body trembles in response, and all I can do is hold my breath. If I don’t breathe, maybe I’ll become invisible. I hear nothing. I feel nothing, so I open my eyes to the darkness my hunched body creates. I breathe slow, shallow pants. Something is pressed against my stomach. There’s a bulge where a bulge should not be and I’m now alerted to its presence. I take slow movements until I’m uncurled. The sun shines brightly causing me to squint as I try to locate him. There’s only trees and overgrowth that spreads far into the distance. He’s gone. I didn’t hear him leave. He’s vanished.
I’m crouching when the backpack falls from my lap to the ground. This is what he hurled my way. I’m quick to unzip it and pull out each item. The bandage. The canister. The torch. The compass. There is no pen. There is no notebook. He’s kept my letters.
I ran at first, I ran until my legs become rubbery and don’t have enough strength to keep going. Now I’ve been walking for what seems like hours. Honestly, I think I’m tracking in circles. The backpack, although containing very little, weighs a tonne on my back, and the sun is so raging hot it’s burning my skin. Sweat beads flow over my brows and drip from my chin onto my breasts. I need to keep moving. I can’t stop. I’m strong enough. I can get out of this maze.
Turning my body towards what I think is a westerly direction, I push through overgrowth which is new to me. It isn’t any different in the way it scratches my legs though.
“Fuck!” I huff, hopping toward a sturdy overhanging branch. Placing my foot into my hand, I inspect my sole. Another twig has pricked my skin leaving a small cut. I don’t bother wiping the blood sliding in between the webs of my toes away this time. There’s no point, because it will happen again in no time.
Letting go of the branch, I take two steps and then something goes shooting past my ear. I hear the whooshing sound it makes as it whizzes by. “These birds,” I duck, thinking one has swooped a little lower than it might have intended. If I never have to be around another bird again in my life, I’d be thankful right now. I’ve no clue about them and I’m wondering why they keep coming so close to my fucking head. I continue to move in the new direction I previously chose. I’m beyond lost. I don’t know where to go. I just need to keep moving. It’s the only way I’ll survive. Or this is what I keep telling myself.
Something goes zipping past my ear again, only this time it stings the tip in its wake. My instincts tell me to bow my head lower; I listen, then crouch down in the long grass.
What in the world?
I rotate my head in every direction. I can’t see much, or hear anything, but I elect to stay down at ground level, since it seems like the best option. I know he’s here somewhere. He might not make any sound and he may be invisible, but the hairs rising on the back of my neck as well as the feeling of dread flipping my stomach is enough for me to stay still.
Thud!
An arrow splits a groove into the gum tree directly in front of me. It’s poking straight out. The red bristles on its end have me swallowing with a hard gulp. Holy shit. Arrows. My body tenses at the thought of how close those previous sounds were. Full-fledged fright follows this thought as images of my brains splattering in every direction fills my mind. Anguish becomes the result of this vision and I cringe, as my body shudders.
What do I do? I don’t know what to do. I begin to whimper, caught in indecision. My heart hammers at a rate that threatens combustion. I don’t know what to do.
Thud!
Another arrow lands in the tree to my left.
I leap upright and instinctively run in a zig-zag pattern until I fall. I spring upright once more and scramble in as many directions as possible over a short distance. Arrows continue to whiz by me, one after another. I hear the whooshing sounds and I feel the brush of air they leave behind. Either he’s a terrible shot, or he’s an exceptional shot and this is just to frighten the shit out of me. If it is the latter, it’s working because fright pulses through me and my heart tries to abandon my body, not wanting any further part of this terrifying situation. I duck, weave and even dive at one point to escape the artillery continually being fired my way. There’s no way out. I trip over my feet that tangle and my knees skid along dirt. I scream. I scream loud and then I lay flat and play dead.
I can’t breathe and with my eyes wide I see an opening between two large boulders close to where I lie. Another arrow goes whizzing over the top of my head, and I know it’s another one because the force of the wind that sailed past my hair was much too intense to be anything else. I scurry along the ground, finding my feet just in time to launch myself into the small opening these two boulders allow.
It’s a tight squeeze to wriggle into, but I manage to insert myself and the backpack through the narrow opening. I can feel the colour draining from my face as my heart thumps to a terrifying beat. I try to pinch my lips forcefully together to be as silent as possible, but my breathing is not co-operating and a small high-pitched squeal exits my mouth, one I didn’t expect. I’m forced to slam my hand across my mouth to smother the next scream that might follow. I’m crouched and stilled. One of my hands is trying to keep me balanced, and is pressed into the ground while the other remains pressed against my lips. I wait, for how long I’m not sure, but my legs cramp painfully. I know it’s not safe to stay here, but nowhere is, and I can’t figure out what to do. I twist my feet trying to alleviate the cramps plaguing me, but I lose balance and I fall. I’m falling. I can’t grab a hold of anything on the way down, and before I know it my side smashes against something hard. I yelp. “Ouch. Oh. Ouuuch.” I clench my teeth together and pant, trying to alleviate the pain in my ribcage.
It’s as black as the ace of spades when I manage to roll over and take an uncomfortable seated position. I can’t see anything. I’m trying to pull the zip on the bag to retrieve the torch, but I’m shaking so much it proves difficult at first, however I manage to take it into my grip.
Light appears from the torch in my outstretched hand and the beam reveals walls. Cave walls. I gasp. “What?” A picture. It’s a picture of my family. All four of us and we’re smiling happily. My precious babies. My beautiful husband. My stomach knots as my eyes drop saddened.
Slowly, I raise my head and study the image, even though I don’t want to, but I believe it’s important. Why else would a photo of my family be stuck to a wall inside a cave? He wanted me to come in here. This is a part of the game. I scrutinise the clothing we’re wearing and the palm trees behind us, trying to gauge where this was taken and when. Cruise’s wedding last spring. I run my finger over our smiling faces, tracing them gently before gulping back my tears and biting at my lower lip. I’ve not seen this photograph before. Not ever. I can’t stop staring at it, wondering where the hell it came from.
As I shift the torch, I catch another image. This one is of me and it was taken when I was in high school. I’m sitting on a grandstand smiling and Matilda, a classmate, has her head rested on my shoulder. I remember this day, that grandstand, and this photograph … I have a copy in my home album. As I continue to shift the light over the walls I see photo after photo of me throughout my entire life, that is until I clutch my chest and crumble to the ground. An awful cry forces its way from my soul to the ears of God. Reid has his lips connected to that of another. His hands are planted on her arse. Her arms are around his neck. I know the dress she’s wearing because I was with her when she bought it. I know the hair clip protruding out of her thick red locks because she purchased it on the same day. I know her pin thin heels. I know her.
“Linda. Why?” I cry shocked.